Our Ghosts Are The Same

Dragon Age 2

Chapter 8: Orleasians, Darling, You Get Used To It (Part 2)

A/N: Part two of the banquet! We're getting back to the action now, thank the maker. Also, thanks for all the reviews. I especially like hearing what parts made you laugh and that people are enjoying my OC's. So, thanks!

Hawke helped Lord Cyril limp off the makeshift dance floor as regally as he could manage, collapsing onto the bench Hawke had led him to. She eagerly plopped down next to him, accidentally jarring his twisted and swollen ankle. He bit back a cry and glared at her accusingly.

"Sorry, milord," she said without real regret. "It's really too bad you tripped and-"

"You mean you stepped on me."

Hawke blinked at him as shocked as she could manage. "Oh, milord, did you hit your head when you tripped? I would never deliberately step on and break your royal ankle. Perish the thought."

Cyril's eyes squinted at her in suspicion. "I didn't think it was done deliberately. Not until now, at least."

"Oh, you poor, confused thing." Hawke patted his head like he was her mabari hound. "I guess I have no choice but to sit with you and miss out on all the dancing. And I do so love those strange, Orleasian dances." She sighed over dramatically. "Oh, darn it all. Well, at least you have me for company, you lucky dog."

When Hawke turned to grin at Cyril she noticed a dark shadow pass over his pale face. Furrowing her brow, she searched for the source of the sudden eclipse.

"Champion," Aedan Cousland began cheerfully, towering over the both of them. "If you don't dance with me now I'm afraid I'll be left at the mercy of Lady Dulce." He tried a grin then, but Hawke knew when someone was faking. She did it all the time.

Cyril shot in, angrily, "She's staying with me." He wavered once he received the full effect of the Warden's dead eyed stare.

"I think," he began slowly, "that the Champion can answer for herself. So sit tight and shut up. I can't tell what you're saying with that bloody accent anyway."

Hawke had to hide a laugh. Cyril was turning bright pink. As the son of a Duke she doubted Cyril was talked down to often. Too bad. A lot of the nobles here deserved to be knocked down a notch. "I must confess, milord, I'm not much of a dancer."

The Warden grunted at that. "Don't "my lord" me. Just Cousland will suffice."

That was fine by her. She was tired of formalities. "Okay, Cousland. You'll have to lead, though. I'm at a loss here." She waved her fingers at Cyril in farewell. "Sorry, pet, but the dance must go on."

"But-but-but," Cyril called after her as Hawke led the Warden away. She didn't even look back. She was too busy trying to remember the dance steps Sebastian had taught her. Unfortunately she hadn't been able to concentrate then because every time she tried to look at her feet she had bloody Andraste staring up at her from Sebastian's crotch. Anders had been right to be disturbed by that.

"Warden," she started, but the man frowned down at her.

"I said it's Cousland. Or Aedan. Please, don't call me 'warden'." His frown became a wry grin. "I feel like no one in Ferelden knows how to address me so they just use 'The Warden'. I forget my own name half the time since no one uses it."

"I stitch my name into my underclothes. Can't forget it that way and it really comes in handy if you're in the habit of leaving your underclothes in strange places." Hawke noticed the ward-Aedan had led them to the edge of the dance floor. She assumed he was waiting for this dance to finish and the next to start. "Aedan, I wasn't lying when I said I can't dance. You're going to have to lead."

He didn't seem to mind. "I had an Antivan sister-in-law. She made me dance with her when my brother was away."

"My brother had a sweetheart. Peaches. I pushed her into a millpond when my brother was away." Hawke noticed the music was starting again. She gestured towards the other dancers. "Shall we?"

Aedan's mouth tightened. "Ah, I would love to, Champion, though I'm afraid this dance might be a bit..." He paused, clearly not wanting to offend. "It's rather complicated. I'm surprised they choose it, but then again I saw a certain dwarven friend of yours speak to the musicians as soon as he saw us together." He gave Hawke a moment to realize what he was implying.

"That bastard wants to see me suffer. So he can write about it." Varric thought he was some kind of puppet master, and he sort of was, but that gimmick was getting old.

"We could just skip this dance," Aedan offered, but he knew her answer before she gave it.

"No, no, no. We're going to do this." She couldn't let Varric see her back down. Instead she tugged on Aedan's arm until they were in the midst of the other dancers.

Aedan's mind raced, trying to remember all the steps to the current dance. It was of Antivan origin, which meant it was fast paced and extremely complicated. Oriana had taught him this particular dance (she had called it a tango, right?), but truly it was made for more...dextrous players.

The Champion was relying on him to lead, though, so he knew he had better deliver. At least he didn't have to worry about Cartier or Sienna being underfoot. He had just given them the night off and it had taken them both less than a minute to vanish into the crowd and leave him defenseless and alone. Such loyalty.

He took the Champion's ungloved hand and led her around, maneuvering for a place on the floor where they had enough room to avoid bumping into the other dancers. As soon as they had reached their intended place, however, the music began to speed up wildly. Aedan wasn't surprised to see that dwarf again (Varric, was it?) back with the musicians. Aedan knew the dwarf was responsible for the sudden, quickened pace, but he refrained from saying so to the Champion. Her head was bowed and staring at her feet as they moved around the floor. She stepped on him more than a few times, all of which she apologized for, but other than that there were no issues.

He knew he should have used this time to talk, to study her habits and reactions. It would come in handy, after all, if he was going to recruit her as a spy. But the idea of asking her to turn on her home, the city who had just named her Champion, made him angry and uneasy. If anyone asked him to do the same they would have found themselves on the ground. Or in the ground, depending on his mood.

He felt restless. His eyes wandered about the room as his body recalled the steps he'd been taught years ago. It was then that he noticed that there was an awful lot of movement in the throne room, especially considering that most of the work should have been in either the dining room or the kitchens. For the first couple minutes of the dance he ignored it, trying to keep his attention on the Champion. But, curious as always, he slowly moved them closer to the throne room just in time to see several suspiciously dressed men pick up the remaining pile of the Champion's gifts and run off with them. "Damnation," Aedan swore, getting a stronger hold of the Champion's arms and pulling her off the floor and into the throne room. It took them a few minutes as a crowd had developed around them, but Aedan kept cursing and kept pushing through until they wound up back in the throne room. Alone. Whoever had been working in there so fervently had long gone. "Maker's balls," he murmured under his breath and he glanced about the room in a hurry. The Champion was less than impressed.

"Cousland! If you wanted to get me alone all you had to do was ask." The Champion tsked him and jerked her hands away. "But, in all seriousness, what the fuck are you doing?"

In response to that, Aedan simply raised a finger to point at the suddenly empty area around the throne. "There's nothing there," he told her, waiting for her to realize.

"You brought me here to look at nothing?" She didn't sound impressed.

He actually growled at her: he had never been very patient.. The Champion flinched, no longer grinning. "Can you stop being so flippant and think? I know others like you; you use sarcasm to seem undependable."

She gasped over dramatically. "Hey, I'm always like this and I still had to fight an oversized Qunari. People depend on me because I really am a walking pun machine...and where the fuck did all my stuff go?!"

Aedan brought his hands together in mocking applause. "And my lady finally gets it. Someone's run off with all your shiny presents. What are you going to do about it?" He knew he should probably stop taunting her, though the Champion didn't seem at all fazed or irritated by it. He also shouldn't have accepted every glass of wine the servants had passed him. But, damn if it didn't help with having to listen to Dulce.

"They took my father's staff."

The Champion's voice was hardly above a whisper. Aedan's eyes snapped to her face, his good, drunken humor gone. He couldn't stop himself from saying, "We'll get it back." When he saw the faint glimmer of hope her eyes held for approximately two seconds, he regretted his words. His time in Ferelden should have taught him that making such promises never worked out in the end.

Hawke was seeing red, only red. The shit those nobles had given her...she could care less what happened to that pile of crap. But her father's staff had been in that pile of crap. She definitely cared what happened to that.

She turned to Aedan who was looking at her in an almost concerned way. "This was planned."

"Yes." He nodded and looked towards the exit. "I glimpsed a rather large crew working on this while we were dancing. They can't have gone far, not with that much cargo. What are their possible escape routes?"

She knew that answer instantly. As an apostate she knew the first thing to learn about a new home was how to escape it. That thought might have made her sad at one time but not anymore. "There are three options given how much cargo they're trying to move. One," she held up a single finger. "They head to the docks. Two, they travel using the undercity. And finally, they go out the main gates and into the Wounded Coast. I really doubt they'd risk the mountains on account of the Dalish."

He nodded in agreement and even in a little bit of approval. "Your logic is sound. I would suggest alerting your friend, the Guard-Captain. But this is your city and I will follow your lead."

Hawke moved to find Aveline before something about his words made her turn around. "You'll follow my lead? Meaning you'll help me get my father's staff back?"

"Oh, I wouldn't let you go without me." He seemed eager, too eager, but Hawke supposed the Warden would have to be a tad bloodthirsty seeing how much trouble he got himself into. "There's no way I'm standing around here with the stuffed shirts while there's work to be done. Not even if the Maker himself demanded it." Aedan showed off his blade and gestured to the adjacet room. "Get the Guard-Captain. Have her and her guards cover two of the exits. I'll help you cover the third."

Hawke nodded and ran off to find Aveline and Donnic. Speaking quickly to them she explained the situation in hushed tones and with a few curses.

"I could give a damn about the rest of the stuff," Hawke admitted to her large, ginger friend, "but Malcolm's staff? That is not leaving this blasted city while I'm alive."

Aveline frowned before ordering her husband to take a few guards to the city gates and keep anyone from exiting that way. Kirkwall's entrance would be the easiest to guard, Hawke and Aveline both knew that. The docks and the undercity, though? Much more difficult to manage.

"I'm going to find Varric," Hawke announced to Aveline.

"Woah!" The Guard-Captain stopped her right there. "We need to decide where we're going to look for your staff."

"My father's staff. I'm just borrowing it." Aveline didn't bother trying to tell Hawke that you couldn't borrow from the dead seeing as you could never actually give it back to them. "And I think I'll search the undercity. Just after I grab Varric...and the Warden."

"What?" Aveline's cry was ignored as Hawke raced away, searching the crowd for the only dwarf among them.

He felt like an ass. Aedan hadn't expected Hawke to feel much loss over the noble's gifts so he hadn't broken the news of their theft to her lightly. He should have, but he had all but forgotten about her father's damned staff. He still carried around his family sword; he knew how important an object can be when everything else is taken away.

Pushing those thoughts away, he searched the room for his warden. Oh, and for his squire, Edith. Damn, she spoke so little he nearly forgot about her. At any rate he reached Sienna first.

"Where's Cartier?" he asked her, tapping his fingers rapidly against his thigh.

She shrugged in response. "You said we were off-duty. I think he went home with a couple of the serving girls."

"Damn. Well, you're back on duty. We'll have to go without Cartier..." Aedan paused suddenly and sputtered, "What do you mean 'a couple of the serving girls'?! That suave, Orleasian bastard."

"Yes, well, I wasn't invited either so don't feel too left out."

Aedan decided to forget that as soon as he heard it. He looked for the Champion and saw her practically dancing on her toes in obvious impatience. "Let's move."

He greeted her quickly, taking mental stock of his weapons. He wore a sword that was more ceremonial than anything, but it still had bite. He had couple boot knives, too. No shield, though. That was an issue for a later time. To Aedan's surprise Edith was already standing with the Champion, poised and ready to go. That saved him the trouble of having to hunt her down. "What's the plan?"

"The guards are taking care of the main gate. They'll stop the thieves if they try for the coast. That leaves the docks and the underground passages." Hawke didn't seem at all fazed that Aedan and the Guard-Captain were putting her in a position of command. "Aveline," she turned to the captain. "You and a few of the guards still left head for the docks. Varric and I will head for the undercity."

Varric grunted. "Great. I just bought these boots. I was hoping to have them for at least a week before stomping through mud and shit, but, hey, what can I do?"

Aedan ignored that. "Warden Sienna, go with the Captain. They should have a mage with them." He smiled wickedly. "Just remember, here we're fighting men, not darkspawn. Try to refrain from tearing off limbs or decapitating them, if you would."

"As you command, Commander." She grinned stupidly at him before inching over to join Guard-Captain Aveline.

Edith gave him a glare to remind him that he would not order her away so easily. "Champion, my squire and I will follow you." Bending down to retrieve one of the knives in his boots, Aedan offered it to the Champion. "Seeing as they took your staff, you are welcome to have this."

The Champion shook her head, a faint ghost of a smile gracing her features. "I've already got that covered, milord." Grabbing a hold of the bottom of her dress, the Champion pulled up her skirt well past her mid-thigh to reveal a wicked looking blade strapped to her leg. She unlatched it and dropped her skirts and Aedan suddenly realized he had been staring.

Looking away quickly, he also realized the Champion must do an ungodly amount of walking in order to have such toned calves and thighs.

"Shall we move on before they make off with all my shit?" the Champion asked, hopping on one bare foot while she tried to pull her other shoe off. She gestured comically to her skirts. "Good thing I'm used to fighting in robes, eh?"

Now barefoot and armed, Hawke set off for the nearest exit. She cursed again the fact that Sebastian was no longer there, having left early to help Elthina with some humble, but very important Maker damned task. At any rate, she still had Varric. And evidently the Warden as well. That had to count for something.

He looked at your legs.

Some stupid, troublesome part of her subconscious decided to bring that little tidbit up. She needed to focus on getting the only family heirloom she cared about back. What did it matter now if he looked?

He stared is more like it.

Another, more logical part of her mind cut in. Of course he did! None of those fancy, Orleasian ladies would have hiked up their skirts like that! Everyone was staring; you only noticed he was because you were staring at him!

Realizing this logical part was actually right, Hawke felt a lot better about the situation. Granted, now she had to concentrate on tracking down a den of thieves in Darktown, but, hey, that was any normal Tuesday.

Her current team consisted of herself, Varric, the Warden's squire, and the Warden himself. It seemed a good mix. One mage (though, without a staff), one rogue, and two swordsmen from what she could tell. What the Warden's actually abilities other than swordplay were, Hawke had no idea. They'd come to surface soon enough, she was sure. Hopefully when she wasn't too close to him.

Aveline would been fine on her own. She had a warden looking after her. Hawke worried about Donnic at the main gates, but Aveline seemed sure of his abilities. Considering how many times she had had to rescue him, Hawke didn't share her confidence.

The quickest entrance to the undercity was in Darktown. There was another in the docking area, but Hawke knew Aveline well enough to know she would take care of that entrance. Hawke led her odd party to Darktown, wondering if it would be worth it to grab Anders along the way. She quickly decided against it, however. The Warden, Aedan, would sense what he was and Hawke didn't care to open that particular can of worms.

The only light in Darktown at night came from small torches or campfires, as well as a few magically lit lanterns. Despite all that, it was still a difficult place to maneuver. She heard Aedan snort behind her and say, "This is just like the bloody Deep Roads. Some vacation this is turning out to be."

"They told you Kirkwall was an ideal vacation destination?" Varric asked, chuckling. "What else did they sell you?"

"A couple of acres in the Deep Roads," was the equally sarcastic answer. "Of course, it's all infested with darkspawn and rot, but they knew I was in to that sort of thing."

Hawke ignored them both, though she did so love eavesdropping on witty party banter. The squire had grabbed her arm and pointed to their left. Tucked away in one of the corners was a man trying to stuff several objects into an overstuffed sack. Every time he fit something new in, something else would fall out. It was a highly aggravating dilemma.

Hawke decided she'd have to help him with that.

"Oooh, what's this?" she asked, creeping up next to him and grabbing the newest item to tumble out of his big bag of surprises. "It's awfully shiny for Darktown."

"It's mine!" was his stupid and cliché reply.

Snapping her fingers, Hawke called a tiny ball of light into existence. Already he was shirking back from her in fear. Good. "Forged for the Champion of Kirkwall," she read the engraving on the small dagger he had dropped. "Odd. I thought I was the Champion of Kirkwall. I'm going to be awfully embarrassed if I've been wrong about that this whole time."

She looked around the thief, searching for any sign of her staff. No such luck. His sack wasn't long enough to hold a staff, anyway.

"Warden?" Hawke motioned for Aedan to move in closer. He had been watching her work and was waiting for a chance to step in. He'd get that now. "This man doesn't have my staff, but," she stressed that 'but' heavily, "he may know where the rest of my things are being taken."

"I agree." Aedan stepped in next to her, helping to back the thief further into the corner. "I would bet that our man here is supposed to be catching up with his fellow degenerates. Aren't you?"

The thief was pale, heavy, and stupidly loyal to his friends. "I worked alone."

Well, that definitely meant he hadn't. Varric told him harshly from the back of the group, "Then you'll hang alone. How does that sound?"

"I believe I can speed this up," Aedan announced loudly. He moved past Hawke without waiting for her approval or disapproval and shoved the thief face first onto the ground. Taking one of the thief's arms behind his back, Aedan used one boot to put pressure on the limb. Jerking the arm up while pressing downwards, he said threateningly, "Tell us where you're meeting the others before I break your-"

Crack.

"Whoops." The thief screamed and Aedan released him quickly, letting the now broken arm fall. He simply stared down at the thief guiltily before he met Hawke's amused eyes. "I may have underestimated my strength, though in my defense I'd like to say that darkspawn are harder to break."

"Whoops?" Hawke repeated his words in disbelief. "Just...whoops?"

Aedan shook his head and cursed. He reached for the thief's remaining arm. "Okay, let's be a little quicker next time. Or else I break this arm, too."

They got the information they needed. The thieves were using a hidden passageway in Darktown to get to the part of the undercity that led to one of the Lowtown foundries. The plan after that had been to hide in the area underneath the foundry until the hunt for them died down. Then they'd head for the docks for a ship to take them to Antiva, where they could sell their stolen goods.

After hearing his story, Edith then suggested they hogtie the thief and leave him with Tomwise, just in case he was lying about the location of the meeting place. Hawke let the squire take care of that. She was too busy holding her sides as her body heaved with laughter. When Aedan asked her what was so damn funny, all she could choke out was, "Whoops."

Hawke stopped laughing when it hit her where the thieves were headed.

A man named Quentin had once inhabited that area.

And, for a very short time, her mother had, too.