Echoes of Arlathan

Master Arainai

Master Arainai was following them. It was both obvious and deliberate, but the only possible explanations for this behaviour were excessively negative and disheartening.

It was deliberate because a fine horse like the one he was astride could easily have outpaced the ox-cart carrying Jylan, Samar, and Dirthamen, provided the rider had simply upped the animal's pace to a modest canter. Instead, it was plodding along at a walk, right beside the cart.

It was obvious because from his perch behind Samar, Master Arainai continuously made attempts to converse with them.

"Are we blocking the road?" Samar questioned him, twisting around on the crate of wool he was sitting on to see the other elf, who was grinning.

"Not at all! It is a fine stretch of highway as you can see, plenty enough for two such carts to pass with ease."

"Then you could just, y'know, go around us."

"I think I will not."

Master Arainai was dressed very warmly and joked with them that he had never quite gotten used to the cold of Ferelden. He wore fine black leather boots with tufts of grey wolf fur feathered from the top under his knees. The grey of his trousers was visible only along his thighs before a curtain of sparkling silverite links fell past the edge of his black tunic, which was cut in several places with bands of grey wool and glossy black leather. There were metal plates layered under the embossed leather finish of his vambraces, a detail Jylan was only aware of because he had seen the foreign elf wearing them during the war and had observed him cleaning them. It was very likely he wore a gorget of some kind under his clothing, the fur enclosed around his throat and fluttering to his chin hiding any sign of it. His cloak was heavy and full, the pelt of some great beast making up the inside of it. His horse was creamy white, and his blond hair was swept back in a braid and knotted behind his head, showing off the three smooth lines tattooed down the side of his smiling face.

Jylan considered it reasonable to assume that the assassin was following them either to relieve them of the Cherrywood lock-box in Jylan's sore arms, or to kill them. He did not know what the ultimate purpose behind either act would be except to offer unnecessary terror on the road, but he was faced with limited alternatives. Master Arainai was Warden Commander Surana's right hand and shadow: for him to leave Vigil's Keep without the Archmage meant he was being sent on some manner of business, and that he tarried beside the ox cart indicated that they were involved with said business.

Jylan did not voice his concerns to Samar because Arainai was close enough to overhear him should he do so, and that would expedite the process of either theft or execution.

"Why are you following us?" Samar demanded, likely a response to fear.

"I'm not following you!" Arainai chirped from his slow, plodding horse. "I'm riding to Amaranthine."

"At the slowest possible pace. You may as well have walked."

"So could you, wouldn't it be a shame if-"

"If you whittled away part of the axel to make this thing break I'm gonna tackle you off that horse."

"Drat, I knew I forgot to do something this morning." Samar looked away from the other elf with a disgusted look, and then slid down off his crate, arms folded, fingers teasing the hilt of one of his knives.

'He's gonna kill us,' his brother mouthed, hidden by the crate between him and Arainai. Jylan was inclined to agree.

Dirthamen insisted on laying on his back between them and fussing until either Jylan or Samar consented to rub his belly. The hound was not concerned with the looming presence of death.

They arrived in Amaranthine City nearly three hours after leaving the keep. Jylan had walked for a portion of it, as had Dirthamen and Samar, because the cart had not moved much faster than a brisk pace. Because of this brief exercise, none of them were sore from the hours sitting on the jostling, rumbling cart. The driver muttered harshly for them to remain in the back because he knew where Garevel had made their arrangements for the night, and he drove them considerably far into the city until the cart could go no further, and he barked at them with rough directions to find the inn themselves: only two buildings down.

Master Arainai had vanished once they were through the city gates. This offered little comfort to Samar, who was susceptible to paranoia and fear, and did not resolve the matter for Jylan. He remembered the fact that Master Arainai had thrice broken into the impenetrable Redcliffe Castle to assassinate the Crow cell responsible for Amaranthine's war in the hinterlands. A crowded city would be of no consequence to him after the deathly silence of the castle. Again, Jylan did not share this information with his brother.

The innkeeper was a dwarven woman who took a letter from Garevel and held his seal to the light, ensuring it could not be a fake by the glimmer of gold and powdered lapis lazuli in the wax. She sent two men to bring in the trunks and bolt of cloth which Samar had stood beside while waiting outside, and then gave them a room. As the letter included both room and board, they were not required to pay for anything except alcohol, and it was not necessary to eat from the gifts of food.

"Save that stuff for the ship." His brother cautioned when Jylan suggested eating the loaf of bread before it could turn stale. "Trust me, it's only a few days to Gwaren but even a bite of something not pickled will be welcome. Stale bread is still bread." That was not reassuring.

The beer had a more bitter flavour here than at the Vigil and Jylan found it preferable to Quartermaster Felsi's brew. Samar went an unpleasant colour at the notion of more wine after last night, and opted for the same beer and a portion of water to go with their meal of fish and egg pie. It was a copper for both of them to drink.

"You really," Master Arainai set his plate and pint down at their table and Samar swore very loudly for having been snuck up on from behind like that. "Should not haul that box about with you at all times." Jylan had not been watching for him and froze with an intense discomfort in the back of his throat where part of his pie crust was now lodged. Death by choking had not been his expectation. "It tells people that it is too valuable for you to leave unguarded, and to take note of it."

"What-" Samar dropped his voice, his head, and his shoulders nearly to the table, "-the fuck are you doing here?"

Master Arainai frowned very expressively at him.

"You had a third chair, I thought you were waiting for me." A brief mania enraptured Jylan's brother, causing his hands to flail at nothing over the meals between them.

"Who the fuck are you-!?" His brother hissed, and Jylan finally permitted himself to cough very hard and open his lungs again. Master Arainai held a hand to his own chest, aghast at Samar.

"I am wounded, ser. Is our card game so swiftly forgotten?"

"No," Samar breathed back, "I mean who are you to come and follow us around the city like this? What the fuck does Surana want? My brother's taken everything he's entitled to and not a copper more, so the Arl can take it up with his seneschal if he doesn't like something!"

"Rest assured, if anyone thought you or your brother were stealing anything from Amaranthine it would be Captain Renth sitting here, not I."

"That doesn't help."

"I suppose not, she is quite dashing with or without her armour and boasts a modest, friendly temper. Now, if you will excuse me, this is one of the few reasonably decent fish meals in the country and I should like to enjoy it hot." Jylan looked at his brother and Samar was staring back at him, both hands gesturing to the third, now happily eating, elf at their table.

Jylan did not know what would be a reasonable comment to make at this point, and opted to lift his beer and drink from that instead. Samar followed his lead and did the same, drinking considerably faster.

"Did I forget to mention the three drops of Aria Vandal I poured into those pints?" Master Arainai's muffled voice spoke from over a steaming forkful of his pie. "Sleep well, gentle lords."

Samar's dark face went pale and then very flush, and a mouthful of beer was splashed into his food.

"Aria Vandal is not poisonous," Jylan stated promptly, having stopped drinking as well with his pint still at his mouth when recalling the name. "The oil reduces inflammation in the-"

"You asshole," Samar growled in a black and threatening voice at Arainai, whose mouth was puckered in delight around his food. "Go somewhere else! Anywhere else!"

"You are much too tense, my friend."

"Fuck you."

"Is that a suggestion?" Samar choked and moved to stand.

"I implore you not to resort to violence." Jylan made it to his feet first, the Cherrywood box which had been in his lap now between both hands, and extended out to Master Arainai. It held the lyrium, the money from the Wardens, from Garevel, from Connor, the amber stone from Warden Lavellan, as well as the letters of recommendation and the writ of passage intended to carry Jylan from Amaranthine to Gwaren. There was still seven months of pay incoming to Gwaren, unless those transfers were cancelled by the Arl or other agents of his will, but even so there was food and a box of potions and the bolt of fabric, plus all of the supplies from the workshop.

"If you will leave my brother and I in peace then I will not deny you the only prize worth taking from us." He told the assassin, because it was not unreasonable that Arainai would be persuaded to take the wealth and depart without further issue. "It is not necessary to bait him into unwise action as I have been similarly manipulated over time." It was not fair- "-need not have the satisfaction."

The sight of the box alone caused a change in Arainai's face which stripped the amusement from his eyes. Jylan did not hear the mistake in his words until the blond elf gave a small startle and looked at him with a fresh sense of wonder.

"That was quite the slip," Arainai commented. Jylan did not understand.

"Who?" Samar asked, echoing the confusion.

"Archmage Surana," Jylan repeated, still holding the lock-box in both hands. Surana need not have the satisfaction of knowing Jylan's brother had for died pulling a knife on Arainai.

"That's not what you said," Arainai insisted, looking at Samar. "Is that what he said?"

"That's not what he said."

"What did I say?" Perhaps he had said Arl, not Archmage.

"Irving?" Samar said for him, with a confused look at Arainai, who met it with dark fingers touching his lips thoughtfully. "He said Irving?"

"First Enchanter Irving, no doubt." Arainai agreed. Jylan was still standing and holding the box out when Arainai waved a hand at him to sit. Slowly, he did so. "It is rare to hear one of the Tranquil mis-speak, and a flub of that magnitude is concerning. I- I apologize, to you both. Perhaps you will permit me to explain myself?"

"That's what I've been asking you to do all day," Samar complained, and Arainai patted the air to calm him.

"I know, yes, and I've been very coy about not answering you." He lifted his hand a little higher and flagged the attention of the innkeeper. The room's constant chatter and activity had muffled nearly all of their conversation, and she had to come quite close to hear what Master Arainai wanted. "More drinks for the table, madame, and the first round my companions ordered: shift it all to my tab. One purse is easier to count than three."

The order was taken and delivered, and Master Arainai changed his tone enough to keep Samar muzzled by his drink. Dirthamen, who had curled up at Jylan's feet for the duration of the meal after devouring a bowl of kitchen offal, now sat up with a yawn and placed his muzzle in Jylan's lap, huffing with sleepy eyes for pets and strokes between his ears. The hound remained entirely neutral to Arainai's presence.

"Very simply, I have business in Gwaren," the Assassin told them. The intensity of Samar's glare faded. "Business which may see me leave the city within a few days of arrival, more likely a few weeks, but ultimately no further than the dying days of winter: I have a very crucial rendezvous on the first day of Spring deep in the Kocari Wilds, and I will not miss it."

"What, being a rabbit's not good enough? You wanna go getting yourself turned into a toad next?" Arainai wrinkled his nose disdainfully at Samar's words. "No one goes into the wilds and comes back."

"Language, Master Ashera, please: there are humans about." Arainai scolded him gently and then brought his voice back to the light, conversational lilt from before. "And Wardens come back from all sorts of ridiculous places. I may not be one of them, but I know more or less how it's done. Does this satisfy you? I am not here to rob or do unsightly things to you; I mean neither of you any harm whatsoever. But I do know some of what you are taking with you and as we are travelling in the same direction and aboard the same ship, it would be good to make sure you arrive at home unscathed and unmolested. Additionally, while I know you, Compounder, often dealt with significant sums of coin on behalf of your guild and Vigil's Keep, I do not think I would be remiss in assuming you have never had quite so much of it yourself to risk losing or misusing?"

"Your assumptions are accurate."

"Then from one who is used to it to one who is not, let me say I think we will find plenty of important topics to discuss on the voyage south." Samar grew dark and grumbling again at this.

"It's his money to spend, not yours."

"If I have my numbers right, Master Ashera, he has more money than most people know what to do with, but not nearly enough to last the rest of this year if spent frivolously." Samar threw both hands out at Jylan.

"What about him is frivolous?" Arainai patted the air again and Jylan assumed that this habit would only breed contempt from his brother in short order if continued.

"What is the largest sum of coin you have ever held in your hand and known was yours, Samar?"

"We're not on a first-name basis."

"Answer the question, maybe?"

Samar took a long, hard breath and held it deep, then exhaled and stabbed at the rest of his dinner with his fork. He shovelled a few bites into his mouth and chewed on it for more time, and eventually swallowed so he could speak.

"Two sovereigns," was his answer, but more followed. "It was my cut after the worst contract of my life. We ran a shipment of Nevarran silks and Fereldan timber from Wycome to Seheron. Seheron, of all fucking places. Captain and First Mate died in separate attacks on our ship from slavers, actual slavers. We were stopped by a Qunari Dreadnaught that nearly blew us to smithereens before it saw us firing back on a Tevinter vessel that had been following us for two days before then. I got back to Gwaren with two gold pieces and ten years off my life. Never again." Master Arainai was nodding with steady interest as Samar told his story, and then posed a question as Samar resumed wolfing down his meal:

"And how long did those two gold pieces last?"

"The first one? Maybe three months." That was not encouraging. "But the second I used to get Rian the teacher and time to learn his letters and numbers. He got a decent job from that, and got Jenna her job in turn, so that's two members of my family taken care of by one piece of gold. I can't complain, but: never again."

"If used wisely, serrah, your brother's money will make a substantial difference for your family for years to come. If spirited away on luxuries and gifts and simple niceties, it will be all used up by this time next year and every one of you will be back where they started. I do not claim to know your family or your circumstances, but I do know that people who have never had anything can lose themselves in the brief revelry of feeling that they can have everything."

It seemed an appropriate time to speak.

"I am open to suggestions and advice, Master Arainai."

"Excellent! But not tonight." Arainai chirped, finishing the last mouthfuls of his beer and then scooping the final lumps of his meal up into his mouth. "You two are tired, and have been through a great deal. I will accompany you to your ship's mooring place in the morning, yes? And Compounder: leave that box in your room. It will be safe, but you absolutely must stop clutching it like it will come to life and squirm away from you."

"I am not clutching it," he stated, a simple matter as the box was in his lap, at the edge of Dirthamen's snout. Jylan had one hand placed on the lid, but was not holding the box to his body.

"Put it on the table or put it on the floor," Arainai insisted. "It must come out of your lap: the hound is growing jealous. If anyone should come near it, they will be dead before your brother or I establish who threw the first blade."

"I implore you not to resort to violence," Jylan repeated himself from earlier. Master Arainai smiled in an untrustworthy manner. Samar grumbled, and drank the last of Jylan's beer.

Their beds for the night were modest. Very similar to the bed Jylan had been given in Vigil's Keep. The major difference was the significant dip in the crushed hay and wool from many bodies over many years, and this was partially responsible for his poor night's rest. The other reason was Dirthamen. The hound had eyed the beds with noteworthy attention while Jylan and his brother prepared to retire for the night, drawing attention but no comment from them. After the candle was doused and Jylan had acquired a semi-comfortable position in the bed, he was abruptly accosted by the hound's willful attention.

He would have inquired what Dirthamen was doing but was not so confused as to forget that the dog was a dog, and therefore incapable of speech. Instead he waited in the dark until the great mass of hard muscle and bristly fur settled itself behind his legs, head flung down on the dip of his waist where he was laying on his side. The hound promptly fell asleep, but Jylan did not. He was not comfortable, and in fact made note of tension points along his back and shoulders where he was experiencing outright discomfort. When he eventually rolled onto his back to ease the arrangement, Dirthamen huffed at him, and promptly flopped over his legs and stomach.

It would have been more appropriate to have left the hound in Vigil's Keep, with Rowan.

He slept poorly, and woke up in the black silence of pre-dawn. It took several moments before he remembered why he was sore, why his back was twisted in a bed that did not feel right, and why he could not remember his requisitions for the day. He had been relieved of his duties and his living and the adjustment would take time.

He remained in bed until the sky began to lighten. Twenty-one push-ups, thirty sit-ups. He dressed himself in the same trousers and boots and tunic and cloak as yesterday, and did not pick up the Cherrywood box where it had spent the night under his bed. He did not wake his brother. He woke the dog and took Dirthamen out to the street so the animal could relieve himself and sniff the city with open curiosity. Dirthamen had been kennelled in Denerim before being taken to Vigil's Keep, but the royal district where House Guerrin had rested was incomparable with the dock district of Amaranthine. The hound was unwilling to return to the inn, but obeyed his commands.

That morning the innkeeper fed them hot gruel and hot black tea. Samar insisted that the copper fee for honey or jam accompaniment for the food was too expensive, and Jylan only suggested the jars of preserves from Mistress Stockard to remind his brother of their existence. His brother misconstrued this as Jylan having a noteworthy preference in the matter, and gently asked him not to indulge so quickly.

"I know it's gonna be rough going from how your Guild and the Vigil could feed you to what's in the Alienage, and it's not all that bad either, but just- y'know, pace yourself."

"I did not mean it as a suggestion of need, merely a reminder. We did not have jam in the guild, at least not during my term of residence."

"Well, good. I guess. Speaking of your guild, is there anyone you wanna go and make final goodbyes to before we leave Amaranthine?"

"No."

Master Arainai did not reappear at breakfast, and they left for the waterfront without him. Amaranthine City was on the border between the Waking Sea and the Amaranthine Ocean. As Jylan had only ever seen the water in the form of maps, he did not know where the absolute distinction between sea and ocean was formally cast, or on which side of the line the city rested.

But he did know that there was an immediate and intimate sense of familiarity with the briny smell of the water when they walked down through the city's steep decline to the harbour. The Guildsmen's hall was within this district, but they went straight past it to the green waters and barnacle-crusted posts and breakers of the seaside. Amaranthine had recovered from the hurricane in nearly all faculties: there were signs of repair on warehouses and the waterfront docks, not devastation or damage. Jylan did not know the city well enough to gauge changes elsewhere.

"So you… you lived in this city for years and almost never went out in it?"

"Leaving the hall was not required for many weeks at a time. Provisions were delivered, and several of those who left for errands or deliveries vanished for unknown but likely unpleasant reasons. I do not know if the guild remains as strict in its policies of free travel."

Samar was displeased but would not elaborate on why. He cheered up considerably when he led Jylan down through the forest of masts and furled sails and reached a particular vessel of great interest.

The ship was moored alongside many others of similar grand size. Instead of a plank of wood for a gangway, there was a stepladder fastened to the ship with ropes. The hull was cut in various places at Jylan's eye-level on the dock: little squares like shuttered windows, one of which was open and revealed the polished cross-piece of a large and menacing harpoon. He could not see up onto the deck, but there was little talk and less movement, the ship seemed quiet in the early morning light.

"The Lady Freeborn," his brother sighed in admiration, then cupped his mouth and sent up a loud, musical chant of several words Jylan failed to understand or properly interpret. It was likely not King's Trade. The cry caused the active echo of pounding feet, and four sailors flung themselves over the ship's rail, laughing and talking over one another with whistles and taunts.

Jylan could not follow the chatter. Three of the sailors were elven, one was human. The human was one of two women, her hair sun-bleached and chopped short, cheeks blushed harshly red by the Fereldan cold. She seemed very young. The elves were darker, and shoved each other with jostling hands.

Samar said something very loudly, but was smiling, and his voice thundered with introduction and excitement, one hand clapping Jylan on the shoulder. He had pulled the hood of his cloak up over his face and could not look at Samar properly to ask what was happening. The sailors on the ship cooed and made interested sounds, repeating themselves to each other.

"Which language are you using?" It was an irrelevant question as regardless of the answer, he could not speak nor understand it.

"Rivaini," Samar elbowed him in the arm. It did not hurt. It was meant as a sign of affection. "Makes sense that the Circle took that away from you too." Jylan did not comment on this.

Samar spoke again and made a large gesture with his arm to scatter the sailors, who went off chirping and humming over the deck. Samar mounted the steps of the ladder, and looked back with a swing of his hand to tell Jylan to follow.

Jylan was skeptical of Dirthamen's ability to climb the steps, but after reaching the deck himself, the hound made only one rough attempt before simply running and leaping the distance. The dog's athletics delighted the sailors.

"Ashera!" The Captain was a human man with a marcher accent, black hair in waves and curls, a large, clean shaven jaw, and many scars on his hands. He wore a heavy black Captain's coat and greeted Samar in a way which suggested anger or frustration, but Samar continued in his good mood and brought Jylan closer to him. The Captain, at least, spoke Trade.

"Back already, are you? Afraid we'd sail off and leave you with the Hero of Ferelden?"

"Sailor's place is with his crew, Ser."

"Don't give me that glibness, who's the hooded mongrel?" This was a reference to Jylan. He focused his eyes on the brass buttons of that black coat.

"My brother, Ser."

"Bullshit." The Captain answered and then spat. The sailors who had greeted Samar from the rail laughed and were watching: some openly, others less so. "I bought it the first time, a brother in the Arl's service. You look fed and fine enough, but drop the tall-tales before you fall from one."

Samar was very quiet and Jylan realized he was being looked at, gestured to, and shifted his focus to his brother before he felt tension on the back of his hood. Samar did not pull it down but was clearly requesting its removal. Uncertain what this would accomplish, Jylan did as requested.

He returned his gaze to the Captain's chest so as not to offer offense to his brother's employer. Samar put his hands around Jylan's shoulders and leaned next to him until their heads touched, looking at his Captain, and it seemed reasonable to assume that Samar was smiling broadly.

The man was quiet but one sailor gasped and another slapped his leg and started laughing. Something more was said in Rivaini before the Captain suddenly burst out in a much louder laugh than the crew around him on the deck.

"Well to damnnation with what I think I know of elves!" The captain yelled, and his crew laughed too. There were now more of them crawling down the rigging where they had been quietly working, coming up from the lower decks to observe what was happening. "How bored did the Maker have to be to put the same face on two men? Fine, a brother in Amaranthine, now I believe you. Now what's he doing on my ship?"

Samar winced, ended his sideways embrace of Jylan, and became sheepish, palms together.

"Passage to Gwaren?"

The Captain spat at the deck.

"Gold, or get him off my ship. Have we not lost enough money on this cursed contract!"

"I thought you might say that, Ser." Samar ceased to be timid, and spoke more firmly. "Shall we go to your quarters? My brother didn't come unprepared or empty-handed."

The Captain of this ship seemed an angry and uncompromising person, who was in fact neither very angry nor that unwilling to reason. He took them across the deck and down through a set of doors, which led immediately to a room with windows looking out the back of the ship, a small cot built into the back wall, a table bolted to the floor with maps and an open bottle of wine, and-

"At last! My companions arrive well-rested and in good spirits." –and Master Arainai, reclining comfortably in one of the two benches bolted to the floor just like the table he was seated at. "Finally, good Captain Hevelt and I can speak of business, not just possibility."

Samar bristled at his presence. Jylan did not comment or inquire as to why: Arainai had told them last night he intended to reach Gwaren aboard the same ship.

"I expect this kind of swill from plenty of people, Ashera, but not you." Captain Hevelt grumbled at Samar, but then turned and held out a hand taking them to take the seats across from where Arainai was now sitting up properly, hands folded in front of him and head turned up with glowing attention. "Do I start with how your brother's paying for this passage to Gwaren, or with asking you why in Andraste's Name I've had a Crow in my quarters all morning?"

"I'm not a Crow, Ser, and I am here because you invited me in!" Arainai protested, "Most politely, and with good wine to share- although not as good as what the younger Master Ashera has in that satchel of his."

Captain Hevelt kept his gaze on Samar.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know why there's a not-Crow in your cabin, Captain," Samar answered quickly. "He told us he needs to get to Gwaren on business for the Arl of Amaranthine, but you told me two days ago we won't be ready to sail until next week, so I don't know. For my end, my brother was dismissed from Vigil's Keep for getting caught up in their politics and I need to take him home with me. He has a writ of passage from the Seneschal to get him there."

"Writ's just gold in paper form," Hevelt uttered. "I'll accept it if the seal is good."

"Jeevan?" He opened the satchel at his side and reached inside, withdrawing the fine card with the writ and Garevel's stamp on it. The Captain took the card and examined it by the light of his windows, then returned it to him. Jylan kept his eyes on the man's chest, straying no higher than his shoulder.

"When we're ready to leave: I'll take it then, not before. As my Boatswain says, it'll be at least four more days before we're finished minor repairs and loading what scanty cargo we can get a-hold of for shipping south. Blasted hurricane ruined nearly everything."

"There is also a bottle of wine with the Seneschal's kind regards, Captain," Samar added.

"I'll take both." Jylan withdrew the wine from the satchel, and gave it to him. There was an extended pause in the conversation. "Is there… something wrong with him? I thought it just nerves, but..." Jylan did not understand the reference. It was Samar who attempted to answer.

"He's, um…" His brother replaced the hand on his shoulder, rubbing along the seam of the cloak. "He's tranquil, Captain. Probably gonna be the quietest passenger we've ever carried, but a little odd, I'll grant you. You get used to it."

The Captain's boots creaked and he hummed softly to himself. The loudest sound in the room was Dirthamen's idle panting when the hound moved around under the table, where he had comfortably placed himself after sensing no danger in the room.

"Fine," the Captain shifted away from him, focusing on Master Arainai. "Now where does that leave you and the Arl's business? At least two other ships will leave before ours."

"That is very true," Master Arainai purred from his seat. "But you are going where I would like to go, with the people I would like to go with. Calm yourself, Master Ashera, you remain misinformed: my business has nothing to do with the Arl and I simply prefer to travel in familiar company. A few days idling in the city is all well and good to me, I have a long time to be where I would like to go. What is of interest to yourself, Captain, is a request I have of your ship's services."

"What kind of request?" The Captain asked.

"A brief, but important, delay of our passage in the Fereldan Capital. And I do mean brief: only a night at most, and should we arrive early enough in the day then I may be able to wrap everything up before nightfall." That did not make sense but Hevelt was in a more appropriate position to say as much.

"It's four days waiting for the Lady Freeborn just to leave Amaranthine," he said, "You could get to Denerim on a good horse in that time, or less if you've the mettle to move faster."

"True, but it would be quite the feat for my horse and I to leap the distance from the Denerim docks to the Lady Freeborn's deck if she is at sea, no? My dear, respectable Captain, I am not a fool who asks for something without knowing the value of it."

"Do you have any idea how much a detour like that will cost me when I've no goods for Denerim and enough losses from that damned storm?" Hevelt snarled at the other elf, and Jylan looked to his brother where Samar was staring incredulously at the Antivan. "If my crew expect their pay, then it'll be coming from your pocket before I even think of something like that!"

Arainai showed him a hand. He was leaning on the table with one elbow, his face held on his curled fist.

"My dear Captain, I do know." Arainai flicked his wrist hard. It looked like magic, but it was likely a sewn compartment in his vambrace or sleeve. A white card appeared between his nimble fingers, and was held out for the captain who snatched it up. The card was brushed with gold.

"This…"

"My business is not the Arl's." Arainai repeated, his voice firm, but solemn. "I am not well known in Ferelden and that has been my own doing and preference, truly, but I am well known to him. I was there when Urthemiel breathed its last polluting breath over the country and I helped drag the Hero of Ferelden's limp body from the smouldering aftermath. I was even the one to slap him and make sure he remembered how to breathe before the Blight could claim him as one last victim. I made a request of him, heart-to-heart, Captain, and this is his answer. Show it to any Dwarven Guild house, show it to the Seneschal of Gwaren, to any of the Arls, His Majesty's court, or simply to your own company's clerks and associates, and your worries will vanish. All I am asking for is one day in Denerim, and a pledge to see the younger Master Ashera and myself whole and well when we disembark in Gwaren."

"Done." Hevelt stated. "The repairs, the cargo, even the docking fee in Denerim: this could cover all of it. I'll not question the Arl of Amaranthine or the Hero of Ferelden. My cabin is yours if you desire it for the voyage, Master Arainai."

The assassin only gave a gentle, friendly laugh, and declined.

The next four days passed very slowly. Samar was required to tend to the ship and the crew, he had a position of substantial responsibility overseeing cargo, the deck, the lines, the final repairs, and the state and sea-worthiness of the vessel. Jylan knew nothing of sea-faring or ship building, his presence would only have proven burdensome and uncomfortable. He endeavoured to remain at the inn. He did not feel boredom, he only knew that it was preferable to keep his hands busy rather than simply stare for hour after hour at the walls of the small room.

Master Arainai drifted between periods of close attention and vanishing into the city for whatever purpose he desired. Jylan felt no compulsion to ask or wonder where he went. He only knew that the assassin made a point of returning every few hours to check on him. He did not know why.

On the second day, he appeared at breakfast after Samar had left for the docks, and made a strange statement.

"I would see what you know of self-defense."

He knew nothing. He was tranquil. Tranquil were not permitted to resist the actions of others.

"Petty Circle nonsense, and you are not in the Circle any longer." Master Arainai dismissed his statement. "The Arl is a mage and I taught him how to fight properly, perhaps without my finesse or captivating good looks, but proper, and usually unexpected."

"The Arl is a battlemage, it is expected that he should know how to mediate encounters with various weapon and attack styles."

"And you are not a battlemage, but you're a grown man going to live in a new city with unfamiliar people, and you need to know what to do should that city turn on you."

"If it will provide you with a sense of emotional fulfillment or utility, then I will consent to your suggestion. However, I understand that this offer is likely motivated solely by your own boredom."

"Not solely," Arainai laughed, "but a little bit of boredom, yes. Come with me."

He did not know how to fight.

He did not know how to lunge, grapple, block, or swipe. He did not know the different grips for a short dagger, or what they were intended to provide the wielder. He did not know how to read the fine details of the weapon, or how to anticipate the movements of an aggressive foe.

If he was not obligated to remain in such volatile circumstances, then his primary focus was to escape the encounter. Master Arainai noticed this and then asked him directly if it was so. Once confirmed, the staggered movements and odd flecks of violence changed into a simple, controlled exercise: evade.

"Your stride is too short." Arainai corrected him in the yard just beside the inn's cramped stable. "You're not wearing those hobbling robes, Compounder, you've got to spread your feet a little. Don't take three steps where one will suffice, move away."

The other elf stood next to him, facing the same way as him, and slid one foot back, bidding Jylan copy him.

"Do exactly as I do." Back, back, left strife, back, right, back: consistently back. When they ran out of space, Arainai reset them and made him cross the yard again in a different pattern. After the seventh run, it abruptly became easier and less likely for Jylan to trip.

"See! Big steps, feet off the ground." The other elf praised. "The ground is never even and no one cares how quiet you are when you're in a fight like this: lift your foot and push back, land and push, land and-" push, and continue. Arainai said it was like a dance. Jylan did not know how to dance either.

"Promise me that if you are ever in a fight you will take that hood off."

"The faces of the Tranquil are often considered unnerving to-"

"Good! Should anyone accost you, Compounder, you should do whatever you can to scare the shit out of them." Removing the hood also allowed him greater field of vision and an easier time watching where he was going when backing up.

A key component of combat, he was told the next day with sore legs, was aggression. Tranquil did not feel aggression, therefore it seemed a fruitless act of insanity to insist upon his instruction in the basics of engaged combat.

"Tranquil aren't aggressive, no," Arainai conceded after only twenty minutes of talk and awkward attempts to make Jylan follow his movements. He was not too fast, merely investing in something Jylan could not do. "But you know what you are? Stubborn. Absolutely, unapologetically stubborn. You don't have to get angry to stab someone, or to avoid being stabbed, you just have to be absolutely committed to either of those thoughts. Either I am going to stab this person who is trying to harm me, or I will not be stabbed by this person. Let us focus on the latter. Here are your vambraces from Velanna, let me show you how to lace them properly. Over your shirt sleeve… excellent."

There were basic positions, rest and start poses for arms and legs. Most felt forced, others were more natural. Jylan was tall, but he was elven, Master Arainai did not want him to accept forceful hits to his limbs because the bones could break or the blows unbalance him.

"I'm not going to show you how to stand there and take a beating, you need to move back and use your arms to make sure I miss every time. If your body is no longer where I am throwing a punch, I cannot hit you. If my blade is longer than your stride, then you need to make sure you can get the tip to go the wrong way and always keep moving. When you sense a chance to run, you run."

It was not easy. It was not enjoyable. The sensation of his heightened heartbeat and the sweat collecting under his clothes showed hard work, but it was fruitless as he could not fight. He did not know how to fight.

Dirthamen knew how to fight.

"Do you know his commands?" He knew how to command the dog to perform many tasks. This was not what Master Arainai meant. "I mean, his battle commands. Compounder, this is a war hound, what did you think the Kennelmaster did with him every day?" He had not considered it pertinent to ask.

"Hound!" Arainai called abruptly, the cold sunlight carrying his voice to where Dirthamen, sleeping head down on his paws, sent both ears shock-straight and snapped his eyes open. The dog's entire body moved in one instant, and he was standing wide awake and alert. Jylan had not seen the animal rouse itself so quickly before. "Hound come!"

Dirthamen bolted from standing to sprinting, and kicked up loose mud and gravel in an effort to stop dead in front of- Jylan. Master Arainai laughed warmly at the display.

"He's bonded to you," the assassin explained. "His commands will always make him act in your favour unless you explicitly say otherwise. He's a Mabari: one of the few animals that will learn other peoples' names along with his own." Jylan considered this information.

"He knows that Samar is Samar, by name?"

"And that I am Zevran, or Arainai, whichever he has heard you refer me to as most often. And he will know Captain Hevelt or whomever you interact with most on board the ship. Have you never seen the Wardens introduce their Mabari to people? They don't remember everyone, but they learn the ones they're familiar with."

Jylan had no immediate reason to doubt Arainai's claims, but the assassin insisted on a test to confirm it for him. He made piles from items around the yard, and had Jylan walk the dog to them and introduce them as bucket, straw, and Arainai, who was simply standing to the left of the two piles. The commands were:

"Hound, ready." Dirthamen's wagging tail and ecstatic nature vanished. Ears up, shoulders down, eyes alert and watching. "Straw, maul."

The hound charged and with a feral growl slammed his large paws into the hay and crate set up, shattering the wooden box and tearing his fangs through the corded bundle of straw until the pile was completely demolished. The task complete, Dirthamen immediately ran back to Jylan, who was instructed to pet the animal on the head.

"Hound, ready." He repeated, and Dirthamen did exactly that. "Bucket, bite."

Another bounding run, and Jylan considered the possibility that Dirthamen would reach the bucket and stop because there was no sound reason for him to bite the bucket resting atop another crate. Contrary to that opinion, Dirthamen lunged, locked his large jaws around the side of the bucket, and his blunt teeth splintered the wooden slats, collapsing the bucket and causing the metal hoop around it to snap and bounce off. As soon as his jaws closed completely, the hound released and took two steps back, eyeing its prey as if the bucket may bite back, and then turned and ran back to him for another head-pat and praise.

"If you say the command correctly, I will be just fine," Master Arainai called from across the yard. "Please, whatever you do: do not say maul."

"Would he attack indiscriminately if I did so, without any provocation from you?"

"Did the bucket provoke you?" Arainai laughed. "He is a war hound, it is not his job to question his master. He trusts you to tell him when something is a danger, regardless of the reality." This was not a level of trust Jylan was capable of handling properly, the hound's bond with him had been a detrimental mistake.

"Hound, ready." He gave the command. "Arainai, frighten."

The maul command was powerful and thorough, the bite was short and direct, frighten…

Dirthamen threw his head wildly before running, snarling and snapping at the air with wild growls ripping from his chest. He charged Arainai and the elf held both his position and his expression, but it became strained when Dirthamen skidded to a halt with long nails extended, throwing his head back and snapping at the air, barks and fierce snarls accompanied by enraged froth flying through the air. The hound was very close to him, but did not touch him, and when Arainai did not move the hound ran behind him in its crazed manner, performing the same terrible dance until the assassin gave up a quick foot of space and broke into nervous laughter.

"Alright- very good-" he laughed, and it did not sound the same as the laugh before. "If he gets too worked up, he may bite me. I do hate it when they start running in circles."

"Hound, heel." The barking stopped. The snapping stopped. Dirthamen did not calm as quickly as he had before, but he went quiet and stopped moving, stood there firm and focused with breaths panting over his exposed teeth. "Dirthamen, to me."

The hound backed away from Arainai by a few steps, then finally broke focus from him and trotted back to Jylan, who knelt this time to greet the animal. He rubbed behind the dog's tall ears as they swivelled to hear when Arainai crunched across the ground to meet them. He scratched Dirthamen's shoulders and the hound was happy to let his long pink tongue loll out of his mouth with unpleasant-smelling breaths. Arainai observed this with approval, and then kicked the ground.

"Stand a moment, and permit me to do something stupid." Jylan did not understand, but there remained the unlikely possibility that Arainai would react negatively if ignored. He stood. Arainai showed both palms for a moment and took a step back, then spoke.

"Hound!" He called, and Dirthamen's disposition went tense and rigid again. "Jylan, frighten."

Jylan could see the recognition. Dirthamen's dark eyes opened until he could see the whites around them, and the hound put his ears down flat to his skull and swung his hind legs around with weight pinned on his front paw. He faced Arainai from a deep crouch, back legs poised wide to help keep balance and to block Jylan from the other elf. A deep, menacing growl rumbled hard and loud from the dog's body, and did not stop as Zevran kept his hands up and took two more slow and careful steps away.

"Mabari will never turn on their masters," he explained in a gentle voice. "It's important to know, and it's something no trainer can override. They have no sense of humour and during the Blight I nearly lost the back of my calf for jokingly telling one old friend to bite his master. I am deeply skeptical of you encountering anyone foolish enough to tangle with a mabari, let alone someone that stupid who also knows how they are trained, but if you are in a dangerous situation and Dirthamen is already attuned to you: that is, you have told him to ready and not made it clear that the danger is passed, then he will listen to no one else. Remember this, and be careful with it. If you ally is calling for the dog's help, he will not do anything until he hears you say it first."

"I will remember it." Unlike the rudimentary set of instructions for engaging in ill-advised combat, this information was functionally useful.

Jylan took a knee again, and touched Dirthamen's shoulder. The hound growled louder still, but then stopped.

"Dirthamen, to me." The hound rose slowly from its menacing pose, and then rudely huffed at Arainai and turned to Jylan again. His jubilant nature was dimmed by this final lesson, and he thumped his head into Jylan's shoulder in a demand for comfort. Although it was not satisfactory, he stroked the dog's neck.

The other commands Arainai taught him, without demonstration, were protect, alert, hunt, find, flank, and kill.

Samar did not trust Master Arainai's intentions any more now than he had several days ago on the ox cart. Jylan was resolved to the idea that Master Arainai intended harm to someone, but not them. Dirthamen liked Master Arainai a little less for that moment of upset during training, but did not maintain any sense of alarm around him.

Jylan did not consent to wear the vambraces when they boarded the ship, a week after Jylan's dismissal from Vigil's Keep. The Innkeeper sent the same two human servants who had carried the trunks the first time to carry them down to the ship this time, and Jylan carried the rest himself: the bolt of fabric, the Cherrywood lock box, a canvas sack for a single fresh change of clothes with Valora's potions and necessary personal grooming items, also with the satchel of care items for Dirthamen.

Samar offered the hand that pulled Jylan over the side of the ship, to the deck. He was settled below decks, in a nook along the starboard side of the ship where a canvas hammock was routinely hung for such passengers as himself. Master Arainai was in the nook one spot down from his, and travelled only with the gear on his body and a modest saddlebag. Samar would sleep elsewhere, as this was his ship. Jylan's trunks were under the hammock and served as a step to help him into it. There was a small broken glowstone lamp hanging from a cord over the hammock, which did not work.

Dirthamen could not get into the hammock to sleep on him, however, ship holds were not intended to be warm. He was uncertain whether this arrangement would prove more or less agreeable than the very warm but very uncomfortable inn bed.

He felt the change when the ship cast off its lines and began to move. It was a moment of minor, but noticeable, vertigo. Everything was moving but not. It felt like if he should drop something, it would land an inch from where he'd released it; the vessel was moving but the air was not. He felt the ship keel very gently to the right, then settle, then to the left.

Master Arainai fled the hold with a delighted chirp, to watch the city fade behind them.

Dirthamen keened softly from his spot laying on one of the trunks. The hound did not appreciate the sensation of the ship slowly easing its way through the harbour. When he touched the animal, Dirthamen grew calmer.

"We shall arrive in Denerim tomorrow," he explained to the dog, though its understanding of speech was not nearly so comprehensive as to understand what he said. "Master Arainai has paid for a day in the city, and then it will be the voyage south to Gwaren. If the weather is fair, the Captain has said we shall arrive in four days. If it turns foul, it will take outside of a week." But the Lady Freeborn was an ocean-going vessel, and Samar had already turned up his nose at the idea that a coastal squall would slow them by more than a full day. As his brother was a sailor and not a businessman like the Captain, Jylan chose to believe him instead.

Ultimately, it did not matter what he thought or believed of his situation. He was on the ship. He would either arrive in Gwaren or he would drown en-route. Timing made little difference. The finality offered a sense of stability, but not direction.

It was too dark to sew. On deck, he would be in the way. The hold was too small for Dirthamen to run, and there was nothing for the dog to attack or train tactics against. If he proved too burdensome and irritating to the crew, there was a slim, unlikely possibility that he would be removed from the ship in Denerim.

He climbed into the hammock, where the sense of vertigo calmed briefly before becoming more pronounced by the hull of the ship against his side. The smell of pitch and cedar wood was spicy, but not overwhelming. The pervasive odour of ocean brine was found on every breath, but this he found pleasant.

He made note of the pitch and keel of the vessel as it moved through the harbour. He counted the number of times it leaned starboard.

There was nothing else to do but wait.