Chapter 37
Old Thoroughfare Camp, Fallow Mire
Soon after departing from the impromptu camp by the stone circle, the Inquisition agents finally left the unstable footbridges across the stagnant pools of water behind them, once again emerging on the wide, walled road leading towards Hargrave Keep. The road here seemed to be in an even worse shape than the section near the village, parts of the wall often missing altogether, and while someone had brought in cartfuls of bricks to repair it, the materials stood abandoned and simply cluttered up the road. Now and then overturned carts, some of them together with their long dead drivers, as well as fallen trees blocked the road, and these obstacles on their path were being used by the Avvar bowmen, now beginning to harass them more and more as the keep drew closer.
Maxime had decided to leave another Inquisition soldier behind with the three more or less seriously injured at the camp, which had reduced the company of soldiers down to five, clearly a number much lower than was preferable. It was imperative that no more of their men fell to the preying barbarians, and so despite the soldier's urges to chase down the bowmen, the Herald ordered them to hold the line, allowing Varric, Harding and Vivienne to answer the threat from range. The barbarians, seeing one of their kin killed by Bianca's bolt to the throat and another being set on fire by Vivienne's magic, realized that the Inquisition forces would not be baited into their trap, eventually deciding to retreat to undoubtedly arrange a warm welcome for the attacking force back at the keep.
"So far so good," the Herald remarked as they continued walking, now through a slightly more elevated, dryer land, the treacherous pools of water starting to recede, though there were still plenty of tricky quagmires in whichever direction one looked. "Wonder what's over there," Maxime said, pointing at the barely visible contours of some large building to their left, impossible to make out in the thick mist.
"Well... according to the map of Scout Greenhome, that's an old windmill," Harding replied, having consulted her notes. "A weird place to find a windmill... do crops even grow in this mire?"
"I very much doubt that," Cassandra shook her head. "They must have brought in the grain. But from where? And it must have cost a fortune. These people were barely sustaining themselves!"
"Well, I guess Bann Hargrave and her descendants wanted some bread with their swamp fish or game," Varric shrugged. "Anyway..." he stopped for a moment, looking at the road ahead where the rock fence was now replaced by massive, crumbling stone pillars, interconnected with gigantic iron chains. "That is... a darn impressive approach to the keep, I have to say."
"Yes, this Bann Hargrave seems like one not for half-measures," Maxime chuckled. "Maybe she needed something like this to intimidate the Avvar."
"Could be," Varric agreed as they proceeded on their way. On the side of the road, they could now see many collapsed structures of stone and wood, old outlying guard posts, stables, and various other buildings that had once been a part of the bann's vast holdings. "Just seems odd that the villagers would not have moved to live here after the bann's line died out," the dwarf mused, looking at the sturdy stone walls. "These look like they could have been repaired with some effort. It would have been easier than building a brand new wooden shack, and the result would have been a much safer and more comfortable dwelling."
"I think that from the tales of Scout Greenhome we've already established that these villagers were rather... odd," Harding remarked, walking next to Varric.
"And when you say odd, you actually mean stupid," Varric chuckled, earning himself a wink from the dwarven lass. "Hmm, I think I can see some kind of a gate ahead..." he said, peering in the distance. "That has to be the keep... uh-oh..."
"Uh-oh is right," Maxime snapped, turning around to address the soldiers. "Back off, men. We've got ourselves an undead infestation to deal with." Careful not to be spotted by the massive horde of reanimated corpses milling about the keep's main gate, the Inquisition agents moved a few paces back and out of sight. "You two," the Herald looked at Varric and Harding. "Try to inch a little closer to give us a headcount. We need to know whether this is something we can take on or not."
"Right you are, Your Heraldness," Varric nodded, together with Lace sneaking away from the plain sight of the road and then using the sparse birch trees and the underbrush to crawl closer to the horde and get a better idea of the undead numbers. It took them less than a quarter of an hour to complete their scouting mission, the two dwarves returning to the others busy arguing amongst themselves. "Twenty-two, I'm sure of it. You just counted one of them twice," Varric said.
"Nuh-huh," Harding clearly disagreed. "Did not. You just missed the one closer to the gate. You could not have seen it from your position."
"Nonsense, that was just a shadow from the torch at the gate," Varric laughed, earning himself a disapproving scowl.
"Alright, break it up you lovebirds," the Herald laughed much to the annoyance of both dwarves. "Whether it is twenty-two or twenty-three doesn't really matter. It is clear that if we try to take them head on, we're going to lose a lot of people, and that's just not acceptable. We're going to need a plan."
"Well... they're kind of crowding the gate without doing much," Harding shrugged. "We could have one group sneaking around the undead and get close to the gate, while another group engages the enemy and draws them away from the keep's entrance, letting the first group sneak in without any difficulties."
"That's a brilliant plan, Scout Harding," Maxime complimented the dwarven woman, making her blush from the unexpected praise. "Well, soldiers of the Inquisition," he said, turning towards the grim looking men. "Time to earn your keep."
"You want us to face more than twenty of those monsters?" one of the soldiers asked in disbelief, a twitchy young man with a lock of his blonde hair irreverently sticking out from under the helmet and falling across his brow. "No offense, Herald, but that's suicide!"
"I'm not asking you to kill them, we just need you to draw them away from the gate," Maxime spoke, clearly irritated that his orders were not obeyed unquestioningly. "You are faster than these walking corpses. Use that to your advantage."
"If it were so easy, why won't you draw off the walking corpses and we'll sneak into the keep," the soldier didn't let go. "This is horseshit. I'm not going to die in some Maker-abandoned bog. I'm not... I'm getting out of here." The soldier actually turned around to leave, but as soon as he had done so, Maxime was upon him, tackling the man to the ground and then pressing the blade of his sword against the back of the soldier's neck.
"I speak for Our Lady Andraste and the Maker, you fool," the Herald hissed at the disobedient soldier. "To ignore my order is to insult Andraste and the Maker, do you understand? To turn away from our cause and to desert, is to also abandon the faith in our Maker, and to be forever banished from Our Lady's bosom. I'm going to ask you one final time... is this what you truly want to happen?"
"I... uh... no, of course not," the frightened soldier stammered, struggling to speak, cold sweat pouring down his neck. "I will... do as you command, Herald."
"See that you do," Maxime nodded, rising from the ground and allowing the soldier to gingerly get up as well. "Now, we're going to sneak around the undead and position ourselves by the gate. Keep watching for my signal... when I raise both my swords up in the air, hit the walking corpses with your crossbows and try to get them to pursue you. Is that clear?"
"Understood, Herald," the soldiers answered as one, including the cowardly would-be deserter.
"Good," Maxime nodded, urging the two dwarves to lead them down the same path they had taken on their scouting mission, and very soon the group of five had managed to circle around the not particularly observant undead, Maxime raising his swords in the air and waving them for the Inquisition soldiers to see. The men reacted quickly, starting to harass the undead from distance with their crossbows. The reanimated corpses at first did not show any desire to chase after their attackers, but after a couple of the undead had been de-animated, they finally decided to pursue the soldiers, leaving the gate wide open for the Herald and his small group to enter.
The inevitable and anticipated ambush awaited them in the courtyard of the keep as soon as they entered. Cassandra pulled the Herald downwards as an arrow whizzed slightly over his head, fired by one of the two bowmen taking their positions on a wooden palisade just above them. One of the Avvar warriors had been hiding behind a stack of crates in the courtyard, now abandoning his cover to charge the group, but Varric quickly brought his attack to grinding halt by tossing a handful of caltrops in the barbarian's path. Having expected the undead to soften up the attacking force, the Avvar had only assigned three of their men to spring the ambush, but now the Herald's tactical move to evade fighting through the undead ranks put the Avvar at a big disadvantage. While Cassandra and Vivienne made short work of the struggling Avvar warrior, Maxime was already rushing up the palisade, forcing the Avvar archers to reveal themselves, and then Varric and Harding struck true, dropping the two barbarians.
"The inner gate appears to be closed," Maxime shouted from the top of the palisade, pointing at the lowered gate blocking further passage into the keep. "These Avvar are complete cowards! They challenge me to a fight, and then they hide behind locked doors. I thought these barbarians prided themselves in honor and courage? I see neither here!"
"Maybe there's some kind of mechanism with which to open the gate?" Varric shrugged, also climbing the stairs to the palisade, having noticed that it extended up all the way to the upper ramparts. "Let's go see if there might be something atop the fortifications," he added, the others all as one now following the dwarf to the top of the ramparts.
"You were right, Varric, there's some kind of lever over here," Maxime commented, first to reach the mechanism at the side of the wall just above the main gate. "Let's give it a good yank and see what happens," he added, pulling on the lever, the screeching sound of reluctant, decades not oiled gears grinding and almost deafening them all. Once Maxime had managed to push the lever all the way downwards, they could see that the inner gate had been raised, allowing entrance. "That is such a strange design choice for a keep," the Herald mused. "This lever should have been on the other side of the gate, otherwise what is even the point of having an inner gate? This Bann Hargrave must have been one very strange woman."
"Too much breathing of swamp gasses will do that to a person," Varric chuckled. "Anyway... would you look at that?" he pointed at the heavy oaken doors at the back of the upper ramparts. "Do you see that lock there? You don't put that on just any door. There's got to be something valuable behind that door, and I should be able to crack that lock and get us inside."
"A treasury?" Harding asked, already looking overexcited.
"Calm down, you two," Maxime laughed. "Let's deal with those Avvar first now that we have a clean path to them. Then you can come back and deal with the lock."
"Bah, spoilsport," Harding muttered too quiet for anyone but Varric to overhear. "Well, what are we waiting for then? Let's go kick that boastful little prick of an Avvar leader!"
"That's exactly the right attitude, Scout Harding," Maxime grinned, leading the group of five down the stairs, down to the courtyard, and then back up the pathway stretching through the inner gate and further into the keep. They traversed the stone steps upwards, until a horrible view opened up to their eyes. Alongside the stone stair, a row of hastily constructed gibbets had been erected and unfortunately... two of them were already in use for the captured Inquisition soldiers. A young man and a woman, both of them barely out of their twenties, appeared to have been slowly and painfully tortured to death if the agonized expressions on their faces were anything to go by, the corpses then placed into the gibbet for exhibition and to warn and intimidate. Still, if the Avvar had hoped that the sight would sap the morale of the Herald and his companions, then the achieved effect was the exact opposite.
"We shall put these animals to the sword for this," Cassandra growled, rushing up the stairs ahead of the Herald, enraged by what she had witnessed. A trio of barbarians were already waiting for them at the top of the stairs, hoping to spring another ambush, but Cassandra's rage proved too much for them to handle, the Seeker bashing the enemy warrior with her shield so hard that the surely twice as heavy man was knocked down on the ground, the Nevarran then crashing into the archers and slashing their bows into splinters. By the time the others reached the top of the stairs, eager to join the battle, their foes lay on the ground dead, bleeding profusely as thick red ichor dripped from the tip of the Seeker's sword.
"I think this served as a nice example of why we should never do something as foolish as angering Cassandra," Maxime commented dryly, the Nevarran acknowledging the remark with a slight smirk, taking a brief breather to recover from her efforts. Having rested for a moment, the group of five quickly crossed the inner courtyard, littered with some of the supplies that the Avvar had brought in with them, starting to ascend a particularly steep and long stairway that led to the tower of the inner keep and very possibly the place where the Avvar leader was preparing his last stand.
The tower was quite rundown on the inside, the ground littered by detached stones and pieces of wood having fallen from the walls and the partially collapsed roof. As they proceeded further into the tower, it expanded more to the sides to create a wider hall, and at the end of the hall a few stone steps ran up to the bann's seat from which she would have addressed whatever predicaments concerned the inhabitants of her swampy realm. Presently, however, the 'throne' was occupied by a burly Avvar barbarian, rising and toppling the seat over in the process as he climbed down the steps to face the Herald.
"Herald of Andraste!" the man shouted. "Face me! I am the Hand of Korth himself!"
"Right, this prick being the Hand of Korth? Not bloody likely," Harding laughed. "Maybe the Hand that Wipes Korth, if even that."
"Kill that insolent pipsqueak first!" the Avvar leader ordered his men, a trio of archers and two broad-shouldered warriors, charging down the stairs with their leader where they were met by Cassandra and the Herald, Vivienne boosting the frontline warriors with a magical barrier while Varric and Harding ducked into the half-collapsed arches at the sides of the central hall, securing the perfect positions from which to pepper the exposed Avvar archers up at the bann's throne with arrows.
Cassandra did not appear to have any difficulties in holding her ground against the supposed Hand of Korth, the raging barbarian all about brute strength, but lacking any finesse, making it easy for the experienced Seeker to counter his every move. Maxime was having a harder time handling the two warriors trying to flank him, but Vivienne's assistance proved invaluable, placing explosive fire runes on the ground and allowing the Herald to lead the unsuspecting enemies right into the trap. The archers at the top of the stairs had virtually no chance of hitting Varric or Harding, nor did they risk to fire into the frantic melee. As soon as they tried to climb down the steps to find a better position, Harding's bow and Varric's trusty Bianca made them reconsider, forcing them back.
In the end, the barbarians were undone in large part due to their time-honored tradition of wearing animal skin rugs, the protective furs highly susceptive to Vivienne's fire magic. She had already helped the Herald to dispose of the two warriors by setting them on fire, and now she turned her attention to help the dwarves smoke out the archers from their ineffectual hideout. As roaring fire erupted all around the bann's seat, the bowmen were forced to dash down the stairs to escape the flames, but as they did so, Varric and Harding easily picked them off. Only one of the three archers reached the bottom of the stairs alive, the sole survivor notching an arrow into his bow and releasing it at the Herald from a near point blank range, but somehow Maxime managed to bring up his crossed twin swords and due to some kind of amazing fortune deflected the arrow. Harding retaliated quickly with an arrow through the Avvar archer's eye, putting an end to all this nonsense.
The Hand of Korth was still standing, trying to smash Cassandra's head with his mighty swings, obviously by now realizing that his challenge had failed utterly and miserably, but it only served to enrage the man further. "Whose god is the superior one now, dumbass?" Maxime taunted the barbarian. "Renounce your heretical gods, accept the faith of the Maker, and perhaps we shall let you live!"
"Never!" the Avvar leader roared, breaking off his attacks against Cassandra and lunging for the Herald, but it was the exact move that Maxime had been counting upon. With dancer's grace he sidestepped the attack and then ran his sword under the Avvar leader's arm, driving it through his armpit and the shoulder, severing major blood vessels and inflicting a lethal wound. The Hand of Korth fell on his knees, breathing heavily with sharp, ragged gasps, struggling to remain conscious. Varric frowned, unwilling to see the barbarian suffer needlessly, stepping up to the man and putting Bianca's bolt through his head, killing him near instantly.
"Well, that's enough out of these dumb barbarians," Maxime commented, giving the dead body a disparaging kick. "Anyone's seen the prisoners?"
"I saw a locked door at the back of the left isle," Harding remarked. "That's the only place where they could be kept."
"I'm on it," Varric was already on his way, reaching the entrance and making short work of the simple lock, opening the doors to stare into the faces of the relieved men and women of the Inquisition.
"The Avvar have been dealt with," the Herald announced, coming up behind Varric. "Is everyone here alright?"
"Yes, Your Lordship," one of the women replied humbly. "Some of us are injured, but we can all walk. Two of our more seriously hurt friends were taken away by the Avvar. I don't suppose..."
"Dead," Maxime stated flatly. "But they have been avenged tenfold. Take solace in that."
"Right... yes, of course," the woman nodded, looking like she was barely holding it together. "I think we should be able to return on our own..."
"Not a chance, we will travel as one," Maxime stated. "I won't have you louts getting lost somewhere again. Get ready for travel, we will depart shortly." The chastised Inquisition soldiers hung their heads and started to prepare for the long journey ahead of them, but despite the demoralizing admonishment, the relief of having been rescued was palpable amongst the men and women of the Inquisition.
"It is rewarding to see all this hard work coming together and leading to success, isn't it, Maxime?" Cassandra allowed herself a rare smile as she turned towards the Herald, finding the man walking around the main hall of the inner keep and examining the place with a critical eye. "Herald? What are you thinking about?"
"Just wondering... this keep is huge, isn't it?" Maxime replied. "And we always hear complaints about Haven being too small and ill suited for our needs. But it looks like this might require too much effort to restore to a working order..."
"Darling, I don't see how living in a Maker-forgotten swamp is any better than staying in the frozen pit that is Haven," Vivienne offered her valuable opinion. "This place is barely accessible. How would you even get supplies up here? You would need to build solid bridges across the mire, these footbridges would simply not suffice."
"You're right," Maxime nodded after a moment of thought. "I don't think it's even worth claiming as a base for the Inquisition. There's just no reason whatsoever to maintain our presence in this region, what will all the villagers dead. We'll dismantle our camps on our way back and leave this miserable place for good."
"And with any luck, we'll never have to conduct any operations in a swamp," Harding spoke up hopefully.
"You wish," Varric laughed, then falling silent and pointing at the entrance into the inner keep where three figures had appeared, the larger one belonging to an Avvar barbarian, supporting two hobbling Inquisition soldiers. "Isn't that our friend, the Sky Watcher?"
"Looks like," Maxime nodded. "Let's go see what he has to say," he added, leading the group of five to catch up with the Avvar man, the rescued Inquisition soldiers also emerging from their prison and gingerly setting to follow their saviors.
"Herald!" the Avvar exclaimed, almost sounding pleased. "Your god looks after you again!"
"Trust in the Maker, and he shall provide," Maxime replied. "You should consider these words, Sky Watcher."
"Perhaps I will," the Avvar shrugged. "Found these two fighting a host of rotting corpses," he pointed at the two injured Inquisition soldiers next to him, one of them the young man who had tried to defect and getting threatened by Maxime. "Ended up helping. Made sure that at least not all of them perished."
"It is greatly appreciated, Sky Watcher," Cassandra nodded gratefully.
"Ah, and there lays the brat," Sky Watcher peered over the Herald's shoulder to where the 'Hand of Korth' lay motionless in a pool of blood. "His father, the chief of our holding, should duel me for the loss... but he is not going to care enough."
"You have seen the might of the Maker and Andraste," Maxime said, standing proud and tall before the towering barbarian. "You should forsake your false gods and work for the Inquisition to further the cause of the Andrastian faith."
"I would join you, Herald of Andraste, but I cannot abandon my Lady of the Skies," Sky Watcher replied equally proudly. "Still... what I have seen makes me want to learn more about this Maker of yours, and your Lady Andraste."
"I suppose that would be an acceptable start," Maxime agreed. "You are welcome to travel with us, Sky Watcher."
"I must give these idiots their last rites," Sky Watcher nodded at the corpses of the dead Avvar. "Stupid as they are, they are still kin. Once I am done, I shall join you in your holding. Worry not... I know where it is."
"As you would have it," the Herald shrugged and proceeded to lead his troops out of the inner keep, Varric and Harding catching up with Maxime as they climbed down the wide stone stairway.
"So, Your Heraldness... can we go and explore that treasury then?" Varric asked, Harding nodding excitedly by his side.
"Ugh, fine, whatever," Maxime rolled his eyes. "Just don't get lost with all that treasure."
"Depends on what kind of treasure it is," Harding chuckled as the two dwarves rushed ahead of the group and towards the outer courtyard, making a sharp turn and then climbing up the palisade and onto the upper ramparts, coming up to the doorway with the complicated lock.
"Say, Varric, did you also find it a little odd hearing Cassandra describing the mission as great success?" Lace asked, sounding a little uncertain as she watched Varric struggle with the lock.
"Yeah," the other dwarf nodded grimly, even as he focused on his intricate task. "I mean we lost about as many men as we rescued. And I'm not saying that we shouldn't have bothered, that we should have left them to their fate, because that would have been wrong... still, I can't help but think that it all should have gone better."
"It just seemed so pointless," Harding sighed. "Unnecessary. We shouldn't be fighting the Avvar. They have nothing to do with the Breach. It was just a big fat waste of everyone's time and resources."
"Exactly," Varric agreed, then swearing profusely as one of his lock picks broke. "So... have you also noticed our dear Herald getting very... zealous about all this Maker and Andraste business, hmm?" he remarked while retrieving one of his many replacement picks. "Wonder if we're heading towards the old Inquisition. I heard they were all about converting people at the sword point. Renounce your false deities or die!"
"I'm... not very comfortable with that," Harding admitted. "Listen, Varric... can I confess something to you?"
"Of course," Varric chuckled. "Everyone ends up confessing their secrets to me. It's because I'm so trustworthy."
"Stop that," Lace playfully punched him in the shoulder, forgetting that he was busy working and forcing him to drop the pick. "Oops... sorry, sorry!"
"No worries," Varric grinned, picking up the tools and resuming his work. "Anyway, you were saying?"
"Yes, so... you know, whenever someone asks me about the matters of faith, I always reply that I'm a devout Andrastian," Lace began to explain. "Truth is, I just say that because it makes things simpler and living amongst humans you end up avoiding any trouble. But in reality... I don't know if I actually believe in any of that stuff in the Chant."
"And why not?" Varric asked, feeling intrigued.
"Well... it just doesn't seem to speak to a dwarf, does it?" Harding asked. "It doesn't even mention us, it's almost as if we didn't exist. The Maker turns away from the humans, then gives another chance to the humans... I don't really get the impression that the Maker actually cares about the dwarves, or even acknowledges our existence. And even the Chantry clerics can't agree on what to make of it all. Most want to include us, but some don't..."
"I know what you mean," Varric nodded. "I don't think I believe in the Chant literally. If the Maker is real and truly looking out for us all then shouldn't we actually have at least some proof of it? But I do like the Chant as a myth in the literary sense. It's just a great, epic story, you know? I like to imagine that all those things once happened, perhaps not exactly as described in the Chant, but... well, that's basically the essence of my Andrastianism. If the Herald was to interrogate us to see whether we are true believers, I imagine that we both would fail rather spectacularly."
"Well... it's just comforting to know that we have one more thing in common," Lace smiled at him, looking relieved. "I don't think I could worship the Paragons like most of the kalnas families do. It just seems so silly."
"Oh, it's very silly," Varric said, then cursing again as he broke yet another pick. "Damn, I nearly had it this time."
"The only thing I'm left wondering about..." Harding continued as Varric selected yet another pick and resumed his work. "The Chantry clerics tell us that the souls of all good Andrastians pass through the Fade towards afterlife. But if the Chant doesn't speak to the dwarves... how do we know that's what really happens with us even if we believe in the Maker? Maybe we actually do return to the Stone..."
"I doubt it," Varric shrugged. "I'm not even sure why so many people are concerned about what happens after their death. Even if I was reborn into something else as many believe, what of it? It won't be me. I won't remember that I was once Varric Tethras, a wise-cracking best-selling author and notorious rogue and storyteller. Mind you, I'd probably come back as a nug or something."
Harding laughed out loud at that. "I'm sure you'd be a cute little nug," she giggled. "But yes, I suppose I see your point. I guess that life is so horrible for so many people that they try to convince themselves that there must be something after death, or else there wouldn't be anything worth living for. It wouldn't be fair."
"But life isn't fair," Varric said. "That is the point. You just live your life as well as you can and try to make the best of it. Why shouldn't that be enough?"
"Sounds right to me," Harding nodded. "Doesn't that mean that we should be more active and forceful in pursuing something we really want in our short lives?"
"I... I suppose it does," Varric hesitated a little, his finger slipping and the tool breaking yet again. "Damn it," he swore, retrieving yet another pick. Something occurred to him and he passed the lock pick over to the slightly surprised Harding. "Kiss for luck?" he winked at her.
"Uh, sure," Lace replied with a slight blush to her cheeks, briefly pressing the pick against her lips and then passing it back to Varric.
She's definitely not just pretty, Varric thought as he accepted the pick back. She's beautiful. And the words she said... that was an invitation if I've ever heard one. He shook his head, feeling very warm all of a sudden, trying to refocus on the sodding lock, though it was not at all easy with Lace crouching right next to him. Damn, Varric, old boy, will you dare to take yet another chance? Or are you afraid of getting burnt again? She's such a sweet lass... I don't think she would ever intentionally hurt me. The pick suddenly turned and the lock surrendered with a sharp click, even if Varric had not been thinking about what he was actually doing.
"What the... how did that happen?" he blinked at his hands and the doors that slowly parted, granting them entry. "Seems like your kiss brings good fortune, Lace. Something to keep in mind..."
"Yes, do keep that in mind," Harding winked at him. "I might even agree to help you out with that now and then."
"Well... shall we?" Varric poked the doors even wider, the first one to enter, Harding following him inside, the dwarves confronted with the view of several weapon stands and large crates. "This looks very promising..."
"I'll say," Harding nodded excitedly, heading straight for the closest chest and opening it. "You know... I don't think this is a treasury, Varric. Whoever keeps a treasury on the upper ramparts?"
"The same insane person who places a lever to open the inner gate on the wrong side of said inner gate?" Varric laughed in reply, opening another chest and finding a pile of discarded weapons inside.
"Hmm, that is a good point," Harding winked at him. "Still, I think this looks more like an armory, not a treasury. Doesn't make me any less excited about finding something valuable, though!"
"If you don't mind me saying, Lace... you just look so darn adorable when you're pillaging ancient treasures," Varric grinned at her.
"Doesn't that mean we should find as many ancient treasures as possible?" Harding asked him with an innocent smile on her lips.
"It absolutely does, Scout Lace Harding," Varric replied with a chuckle. "It absolutely does."