A/N:

Just a quick note: As with the Wardens, I'm capitalising Qunari in reference to the group/society, and lowercasing qunari in reference to the individuals — or at least, according to how Varric would.

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Varric swirled his beer stein as he watched a couple errand boys and girls talk and eat at the same time. When they were on the elderly side, Varric made sure to order porridge. He knew his coins went straight to their children and grandchildren's mouths. The errand boys and girls were also more comfortable reporting the fruits of their menial work when Varric sat them down in his suite in the Hanged Man, where they could pretend they had a job and were merely sharing a meal with their boss.

"Sundermount?" Varric repeated.

An errand boy nodded as he scooped up porridge with a piece of bread. "To the Dalish clan settled there, even. I didn't tread closer for fear of their hunters, but the soldier walked in and out of their camp without a fuss. When he returned to the Gallows, he gave the herbalist peddler a bottle of vallaslin ink."

Varric's brows rose. "Does he still have both eyes?"

The errand boy shook his head in disbelief. "The Dalish didn't fire a single arrow at him. They wouldn't have had a hard time aiming, considering he had gone without a helmet."

Varric groaned into his drink. Charis had taken Varric's advice to heart. Even in the unlikely possibility that the soldier was Bartrand's spy, Varric felt sorry.

"Last night, he stole cargo from the Coterie," an errand girl reported. "Or, they were stealing the cargo, but the soldier killed them before they could run away with it. Silks and such meant for nobles in Orzammar. The soldier let the courier keep the goods; told the boy to take his little sisters and run to Tantervale's farmlands, find honest work."

Varric maintained outward passive interest, though the last detail caught his ear. "Boy?"

"Eighteen or so," the errand girl confirmed. "He's a farmer's kid named Pryce, lost his parents to the blight four years ago and has been passing for an adult ever since. He mainly ran errands for Athenril. Now she's paying several errand boys and girls to learn the soldier's schedule."

No doubt to organise an accident.

Athenril headed a relatively ethical smuggling ring that Garrett could have easily worked for if he hadn't joined the Red Iron mercenaries by chance instead. The mercenaries that House Tethras were invested in mainly watched out for Tethras businesses or properties when they could, but they weren't dedicated protection. So when Garrett had impressed Varric as a former Red Iron, Varric's interest had piqued. Good thing he hadn't sent them a single coin. It wasn't until recently Garrett had learned that, in an attempt to enter the political sphere, his former group had started accepting hits against pro-Ferelden nobles in Kirkwall. Garrett had ended it as he did most his problems — with wisecracking and blood.

Regardless, Athenril was evidently seeking retribution for her doubly stolen goods. Varric found himself debating if he should warn Charis about the danger.

The last errand boy piped up as he wiped his bowl with bread. "Nothing as exciting on my end. The soldier made his monthly visit to the Hightown market, purchased feminine products, and returned to the tavern near the docks he's staying in."

Varric resisted the urge to pinch his nose bridge. He was the smooth, charismatic storyteller who slyly slipped out of danger to tell the tale. Untangling the living, knotted snake that was anything Bartrand did not stump or fluster him. Yet for reasons Varric had yet to divine, Charis had spent the past few months collecting herbalist materials, tripping over crime, and building up a reputation as the door to knock on when one needed feminine products for free. Charis wore a helmet outdoors when he could help it, but if he was trying to woo the female Antivan merchant who visited Kirkwall every month by purchasing her goods, the soldier would see more success by exposing his face. Howsoever Charis might intend to communicate with Bartrand in Ferelden, he had evidently given up on trusting Kirkwall's couriers and instead spent his efforts confusing Varric.

Digging up Charis' records also proved difficult for a dwarf without contacts in Ferelden. Varric had sent quite a bit of coin across the Waking Sea. The ship with Varric's answers had finally arrived only recently, confirming that a Ser Charis indeed existed in the king's army and had been working for it for the past ten years — the soldier was older than he looked. Just before the blight, Charis had been demoted to a permanent desk position due to an unnamed blunder. Among Charis' scarce acquaintances of note was a Sergeant Kylar whom few in the king's army apparently had a high opinion of. Kylar had also been reassigned at the time of Charis' demotion due to "unprofessional conduct."

If the king's army had sanctioned Charis' visit to Kirkwall, the fact hadn't reached Varric. For now, he had to contend with the uncertainty of whom Bartrand would be willing to hire if desperate enough. Varric hadn't exactly made it easy for his brother to pop up long enough to profit from his expedition gains.

Varric's door suddenly erupted with rapid knocking, to which an errand boy stood up from his clean bowl and allowed an errand girl in.

The woman panted. "Your soldier's in jail."

Varric chuckled in excitement and slowly stood up, his couriers rising as well and departing. Varric handed coins to each of them and strolled out of his suite for the city jail.

He arrived to an irate jailor and two men behind bars.

Guardsman Nabil threw his hands up. "What now!?"

In one cell was Charis, and in the next was a roughed-up young man in subtly luxurious doublet and pants. The two men were both slumped against the wall exhausted, if petulant.

Varric held his hands up placatingly. "I'm just here to sightsee why a Ferelden soldier and a noble would be arrested."

"Noise complaint," Charis muttered.

"Physical assault in the du Puis estate," Nabil stated. "Blighted Ferelden had stolen into a Hightown property and beaten up Comte du Puis."

"He abducted a woman," Charis defended, "and he's related to a serial killer stalking Kirkwall's sewers."

Nabil scoffed. "How do you know that?"

"He spoke Orlesian."

"Fereldens," Nabil cursed. "At the same time — from what Orlesian I could decipher — you, Comte du Puis, kidnapped a noblewoman for her protection? Against what, the sewer monster?"

"A blood mage," Charis and du Puis answered at the same time.

Charis muttered in du Puis' direction. "I'm still killing you after this."

Du Puis responded in Orlesian. Apparently, the nobleman had spoken the few words he knew in Common.

"You see?" Charis pointed. "For Andraste's sake, summon a translator down here and release me from this cell."

"You just declared premeditated murder," Nabil spluttered. "The only reason you're both allowed bail is because: one, the noblewoman isn't pressing charges and merely wishes to be left alone with her family, and two, you're raving mad. As someone who doesn't wish to spend his working hours listening to you jokers argue, I'm willing to blame the bottle."

Charis frowned. "I'm not drunk — don't touch that."

Nabil leaned off his desk where the soldier and nobleman's possessions lay, including a sheathed greatsword. The guard snorted. "Did Daddy pay for the gilded hilt? If the dwarf pawns it off for you, these cells can be a memory."

"Not a chance," Charis firmly rejected.

"You know," Varric cut in, "Knight-Lieutenant Emeric seems to believe that a Gascard du Puis is responsible for the disappearance of several women over the years."

"I know the Templar you speak of," Nabil snorted. "The old man harasses the Guard and his own Order to break into noble houses and trudge through sewers over a pouch of bones. Knight-Lieutenant Emeric has long passed his years of useful contribution."

Aveline had said the same last Varric had seen her, though more tactfully. There was no monetary profit in entertaining the illusion that Emeric, Charis, and Gascard were all sharing according to their wild imaginations, but Varric scented a chance at information.

Varric covertly passed Nabil a few coins. "I'll take Ser Charis off of you."

Both Nabil and Charis straightened up in shock before the guard freed Charis from his cell. The soldier hesitantly followed Varric out of the jail, hastily reequipping his belongings to himself along the way.

Charis stopped once they reached the outdoors and dug into his coin purse. "Allow me to pay you back—"

"You can try," Varric allowed. "However, I predict absence from the army without leave costs more than that purse can contain, Ser Charis. Unless you're eager to tour Ferelden's jail cells."

Charis stiffened.

"Maybe it won't be that bad," Varric turned around to stroll away. "Maybe the king's army will only court martial you when they find out—"

"Are you…blackmailing me?" Charis spoke, more caught off-guard by the idea than Varric's words. "What have I to offer that is worth the effort?"

Hm. Maybe the knight hadn't illegally abandoned his post. Still….

Varric turned to look at him. "You speak Orlesian?"

"I understand some of it," Charis corrected. "Don't you?"

Varric interpreted the more traditional of Kirkwall's nobles for Garrett when necessary, and Varric possessed enough conversational skills himself. However, he preferred not to advertise his fluency when weaving tales in the Hanged Man or writing his novels, instead implying that his characters always only spoke Common to each other unless the plot demanded otherwise. Stories ran smoother that way.

Only those close to Varric in life or business knew of his fluency in Orlesian. Like Bartrand.

"Maybe," Varric vaguely dismissed. "At this point regardless, don't you agree that I essentially own you?"

Charis hesitated.

Varric watched him. Whatever circumstances that had brought Charis to Kirkwall, the soldier obviously valued moral rightness and went out of his way to help people, if too straightforwardly. Not all guards under Aveline appreciated the textbook manner with which Charis conducted himself. In a truly desperate situation, Varric himself would have broken into someone's home to rescue an abducted woman. He wouldn't have fallen for the gossip Emeric had been spreading for the past three years, though.

Charis' face twisted. "How much was the bail?"

Varric told him.

A regretful sigh answered the fact. "It would be suspicious if I suddenly summoned the money, wouldn't it."

Varric smirked. "You thinking of stealing from criminals?" See: Athenril and the Coterie.

Charis paused. "…No."

"Too bad." Varric clapped Charis' back and ambled ahead of him. "You're going to start doing so for me, Shiny."

"Shiny?"

"You always keep your armour polished. Would you prefer Square?"

"…I don't mind being Shiny."

Having a soldier in debt to oneself proved great. Varric could send Charis on menial errands when Varric didn't want the soldier to possibly tail him while he went out with Garrett, or when Varric merely didn't want to pay for an errand boy. Charis was also too straight-laced to use Varric's grocery money for himself, always returning with Varric's orders and the change. Varric could even barge into Charis' tavern room any time of day – or night.

The soldier maintained quite a sparse living space. Besides a box of feminine products, Varric managed to spot or secretly dig up a bow, a quiver of arrows, weapon cleaning tools, pieces of blank parchment, a wax stick, a candle, an ink bottle, several quills, and one extra pair of clothing. Charis evidently leaned towards black turtlenecks. If Charis owned incriminating evidence of a connection with Bartrand, the soldier had to be carrying it around with him everywhere, or slept with it in hand. The one time Varric had visited him unannounced at night, Charis had drawn a dagger from under his pillow, shifting a coin purse and a stack of papers bound by twine into view.

The only route towards those papers was earning Charis' trust.

Varric made sure to knock before breaking in since then.

Convincing the soldier to talk about himself, however, proved as difficult as pulling someone's teeth. Even now, when Varric had invited Charis to the Hanged Man to help him keep an eye out for someone, the soldier preferred to stand at attention while Varric sat, sipping ale and shuffling cards.

Varric minutely raised his voice without looking away from his cards. "See Gallard, yet?"

Charis shook his head. Not one to overly express himself, this soldier. He at least wasn't wearing his helmet indoors this time, given the fifty-fifty chance otherwise. Deciphering Charis' inner thoughts from the minuscule furrow of his brows challenged Varric the same way a blank canvas did many artists. The countless possibilities Varric could find in Charis' empty body language paradoxically made Varric's mind go blank.

He had no idea what Charis was thinking, except from one moment to another.

Charis was a living page-turner.

"Please stop," Charis murmured.

Varric blinked innocently.

"You're staring." Charis pointedly didn't tear his eyes away from the tavern door. "I would rather not be fodder for your stories. I understand you're a published author."

"You overestimate yourself," Varric chuckled, covertly returning his eyes to his cards. "I don't write literature about just anyone. Still, paint won't dry faster if you stare at it." Varric gestured to the chair across him. "Why not play a round of Wicked Grace with me? You'll love it, Shiny, it has a lot of rules."

Charis stared at the spot, hand resting on his pommel. "If a fight suddenly breaks out, I'm better served standing."

"Come on," Varric urged, dealing cards. "This is the Hanged Man. Patrons do desperate, crazy, or embarrassing things here that they won't remember the next day all the time. A fight is sure to break out."

Charis froze just as he sat down. "I knew it; I'm not meant to be here."

Varric picked up his card hand. "You saying you're allergic to violence? Serpents are higher than Songs."

Charis coughed. "I would rather not fight if I can help it. What suit is higher than Serpents?"

"Knights." Varric belatedly spluttered at Charis' remark. "Wait, don't tell me you've never drawn your sword. She seems like a beauty! Where did you get her?"

Charis hastily picked up his card hand. "…I've just been kicked out of a tavern before, and I'm not eager to repeat the experience. I received my sword from my cousin. What do I do with matching suits?"

Isabela's arrival at their table interrupted Varric's response. The raider slumped into a chair. "Ooo Wicked Grace? Count me in."

Varric noted Charis' reflexive twitch to escape. "Be gentle this round, Rivaini. I'm teaching the game to a soldier who has been kicked out of a tavern before."

"A common story," Charis muttered.

Varric snorted. "Not with you, Shiny. Keep as many matching suits as you can; once someone draws the Death card, the game ends and all players must show their hand."

"Death," Charis echoed, "not Joker?"

Isabela's lips stretched as she watched them. "I bet three copper."

"Call," Varric followed.

Charis shifted in his seat, flustered. "I don't wish to gamble money."

"Let's just talk, then," Varric casually suggested. Jackpot. "Your tavern story sounds like it's worth three copper."

"I drank a lot and got caught in a bar fight." Charis placed a Serpent down and drew another card, triggering the second turn. He kicked a brow up. "For three copper, I'll tell that much."

Varric unwittingly smiled as he imitated Charis. "The player with the most matching suits by the game's end, wins."

Isabela didn't replace a card in her hand, either confident in her cards or just stirring up mischief. "Check. For three copper about myself, I'll admit I'm a raider."

Varric relaxed in his seat. "Raise. I have a seat in the Merchant's Guild."

"You're a raider?" Charis asked Isabela, not reacting to the bait. "Where's your ship? Call; it was a dwarf-run tavern."

"Call," Isabela replied. "It sank."

Everyone replaced a card, and Isabela passed on raising the bet.

Varric continued. "Raise. My seat was formerly my brother's until he left me for dead in the Deep Roads and fled Kirkwall."

Charis frowned at his cards. "Call. The ones who started the bar fight were dwarves."

"That's not worth the raise," Isabela tutted. "Give us something juicier!"

"I'm not sure the full story merits the raise," Charis shared, hand briefly twitching around his cards.

"Then throw in another story," Varric offered.

Charis sighed. "No, I don't think I will. The tavern was in the Common District of Orzammar."

Isabel and Varric simultaneously choked on air.

"That's a raise," Isabela deadpanned. "Uh – my luck went down starting when an Antivan smuggling ring fired at me for transporting slaves. I didn't know at the time, until I finally evaded cannonfire long enough to check the cargo I was paid to move. They're free now."

Varric maintained his loose expression while his mind raced. Bartrand had a strong obsession with Orzammar. Andraste's knickers, Varric couldn't fold now. "Call; my brother betrayed me over an idol made out of red lyrium."

Varric's stories didn't seem to be fazing Charis. They played through another turn of replacing cards in their hands and no one raising the bet.

Isabela squirmed. "Now I have to know. Raise – to make up for the failed slave delivery, an Antivan merchant sent me after an old artefact in Orlais. I lost it with my ship while trying to leave the Waking Sea."

Varric smothered a wince with a swig of his ale. "Call. My brother is Bartrand Tethras."

"I don't think that's worth the raise," Charis chided. "I already knew your surname beforehand. Tell me, what do you do with Garrett Hawke?"

Varric tightly gripped his casual air. "The usual: chase profits, knock heads. Well, to match the raise, I can say that we've fought dragonlings and a dragon before. What were you doing in Orzammar?"

Charis subtly frowned in disappointment. "Death."

The soldier laid his hand down, revealing the Death card.

Varric and Isabela followed, clicking their teeth at Charis' better hand.

"You…cheated," Isabela remarked. "You're supposed to reveal Death once you draw it!"

Charis leaned back in his seat and carded a hand through his hair in relief. "You've both been cheating from the start. And I do believe you two owe me a story worth all the ones we've shared so far."

"Beginner's luck," Isabela muttered, washing away her defeat with ale, before she launched into a tale of how she had first met Garrett.

By the end of it, everyone was chuckling, or at least Charis' facial muscles were relaxed. Varric followed up with a full description of the Deep Roads expedition, though he kept his tone light to match the atmosphere. Charis thanked them both before perking up in the direction of the door. Gallard had arrived.

"Great!" Varric waved the man over. "Now we can play a round with real coin!"

"That's what you needed him for?" Charis stood up for the lavatories. "I'll fold out of the game early, seeing as I'm here to earn money. Shout if you need protection."

"You'll hear shouting," Varric snorted with a gesture to Bianca.

Isabela leaned over while they passed cards around. "I have to know; what's the story there?"

"He may or not be Bartrand's spy," Varric replied coolly.

"So you're keeping him close?" Isabela cooed. "Do you need me to extract information from him?"

Varric chuckled. "No one's asking you to seduce him, Rivaini. Now you, Gallard, what do you make of him?"

Isabela hummed teasingly. "He's easy on the eyes."

Gallard snorted as he picked up his hand. "I'm just a bagman, Tethras. It's not my place to say — even if your human did merk a crew of ours over some goods the other day."

"Ah," Varric baited, "but as an accountant, money is your concern."

"The Coterie is my concern." Gallard started the bids off with silver. "You're all friends of Hawke. You should note that the Bone Pit has recently begun suffering cargo raids without a clear perpetrator."

Varric watched Gallard rub a notch in his elven ear earned from a knife fight in Darktown years ago. It was a nervous or irritated tell. The thefts were costing Hubert Bartiere, Garrett's business partner, his cuts to the Coterie — and were costing bodies, given the Coterie directly invested in the cargo's protection. While Garrett funded and profited from other businesses, he relied on the mines for steady income. On either side of the law, no one was happy.

Varric clicked his teeth. "How long has this been happening?"

"Long enough," Gallard deadpanned. "Blood will start spilling. Given Hawke's attachment to his Ferelden labourers, I suggest he clears them of guilt before we do."

"What of your own people?"

The table jerked, noticing Charis had returned.

The soldier sat down, choosing to watch the game instead of play it. "I've been blind before to crimes committed by my fellow soldiers. It is difficult but ethical to consider them."

"The Coterie isn't a military unit," Gallard drawled.

"No," Charis agreed. "But you run like clockwork— a tightly-run ship. How else could you have usurped the Sabrathan during their civil war? That criminal empire had been around since the Imperium."

Gallard eyed Charis, the line of his shoulders relaxed. "An internal culprit, you say? It's worth considering."

"You're not angry about the Orzammar goods, I hope," Charis added.

"As I've said before," Gallard dismissed, "I'm just a bagman. What I can tell you is the current pool for when Athenril will whack you."

"Do you have a stake in it?" Charis asked.

Gallard's lips curled. "At the end of the day, I always collect."

Isabela pouted. "You're keeping the rest of us out of something. Quickly, dwarf — let's make them jealous."

"I have Bianca," Varric automatically teased.

He could question Gallard about the Coterie's full opinion of Charis later, when Varric could privately remind him why the thieves' guild avoided targeting Varric's businesses. In their language, Varric was a "pagan," someone who moved between gangs or had no affiliation. He was an irreplaceable resource, which also meant he knew details about gangs that they wouldn't want their competition to know.

"I must admit," Gallard said as the card game continued, "I didn't expect a soldier like you to loiter on this side of the law."

"I'm not breaking any rules," Charis dismissed. "I'm also fulfilling a debt."

"To Tethras?" Isabela tittered. "Then I can ask: why the obsession with sewers? I know several raiders upset with your interference in their lyrium smuggling."

Charis shook his head. "I was just passing through. The Carta and their hired help jumped me first."

Isabela tossed out a few coins, eyeing her cards. "I never mentioned any dwarves."

"They're averse to sea travel," Charis stated. "If they want to transport goods, they have to outsource. Anyway, as I said, I was just cutting through. If a serial killer is preying on Kirkwall, I must apprehend him."

"Here we go again," Varric commented.

"Knight-Lieutenant Emeric found a literal pouch of hand bones while following the murderer's trail," Charis pointed out. "If scholars can date rock and dirt samples in the Frostback Basin, then a couple of guards should be able to perform forensics."

Everyone blinked. "Frostback Basin?"

"A remote corner of Ferelden," Charis muttered. "Then again, said scholars were from the University of Orlais."

Empress Celene had developed the university into the most respected learning institution. The university could thus be considered academically ahead of the rest of southern Thedas. Still, Charis proved more knowledgeable than Varric expected. Perhaps Ferelden wasn't as backwater as the rest of the world thought — or at least, its nobles weren't. Charis seemed more and more like a noble's third child than fifth. Varric also hadn't heard of Ferelden involvement in archeology, though Varric admittedly had little incentive in keeping up with the academic world.

Gallard's brows twitched up in interest. "How would you suggest they perform forensics with a couple of old bones?"

Charis was visibly invested in the topic. "Knight-Lieutenant Emeric could petition the Circle to allow its mages to date the hand bones for the time of death. If the date lines up with Lady Ninette's disappearance, then the Knight-Lieutenant deserves official support in his investigation."

"You speak of alchemy and magic," Gallard noted. No doubt the gangster already had ideas on how to protect the Coterie from being associated with future crimes.

"The Templar bothers Hawke enough these days," Isabela remarked to Varric. "There can't be any harm forwarding this suggestion to the old man."

No, there wasn't.

"You've given me much to consider," Gallard sighed, revealing his hand and the Death card. "I owe you this, Tethras: on the twelfth month of Gamlen Amell failing to pay back his loans, I withheld all packages and mail for his house except for one letter warning him to pay up soon. As he has recently begun honouring his debts, you may now send Hawke to collect his uncle's mail for him. Or not, I don't care. The mail is with Harbour Assistant Aden."

"That was three years ago," Varric recognised the month, "when Hawke had just returned from the expedition. Maker's breath, Gallard, you're telling me now?"

Garrett didn't deserve to run errands for his uncle anymore. Besides, Varric had been meaning to visit Aden, considering his recent treatment of even Varric's couriers. The assistant was developing a personal taste for delivering physical abuse.

Varric sighed at Gallard's unruffled blink. "Shiny and I will check it out," Varric decided.

Gamlen's mail was likely harmless, and Varric could use the opportunity to gauge Charis' motivations. Varric had learned quite a bit about the peculiar soldier.

Including his tell.

;

A/N:

I plan to eventually involve all DA2 companions in this DA2 arc, so for now bear with me. Thank you so much for the positive reviews, it really motivates me to keep writing!