The crowd was growing restless by the minute, waiting in their sections for the event they all wanted to witness. The large group of wealthy nobles who came and frequented the Blue Lagoon sat in their roped off section alongside their guards. The refugees that were lucky enough to be inside were either scattered throughout the crowd or piled together towards the back, leaving most of the space filled with Athenril's men and some of the Coterie to act as security.
Then again, this was only the early crowd. The fight would not start for another hour. Yet the energy in the room would have sufficed for a Templar lockdown for blood mages. Athenril did not know whether she should laugh at the thought, but banished it since she had business after the fight. She leaned against a makeshift bar counter, purveying over everything in her sight. Not one thing was amiss in terms of where her men should be located and the extra help.
"Getting a little ahead of yourself, acting like a queen there, Athenril."
"Please Brekker, I know better than to aim that high. Comes with unwanted attention in our line of work, plus I wouldn't make as much money if I did." Athenril never did like Brekker since he had been a two-timing bastard before he accepted into the Coterie. Now he was just a perceptive highwayman like the rest of them.
"So, where is that little golden Mabari of yours right now? Taking a flea bath to make her presentable?" A mug of ale slid down into his hands.
"If I ever rewarded that with an answer, I'm afraid even a lame joke wouldn't save you."
"Save me from what, knife ear? The fact that your men are scattered about, or the fact that I can take my winnings before your measly little hands can touch 'em?"
She held down the errant thought of slicing the bastards' throat. Of course, killing him would have been much easier, especially lately, but tonight was all business. "Unlike you, Brekker, I can't get drunk all night and let others do my work. I actually have an establishment to run."
Athenril took her leave towards a side door behind the ring as Brekker grumbled another slur towards her, hopefully something actually creative,. She took note of tonight's opponent, glancing at his build and seeing that he was no slouch. He certainly earned his title. His trainer was next to him and seemed to be going over tactics, yet instead he looked at Athenril with a cold look. The man's eyes soon warmed up with a smirk, nodding his head towards her. She nodded back in return, continuing her path towards Durga, who was already in deep conversation with Bato and fidgeting like a rabbit.
The woman should be used to this sort of nerve-racking behavior since she arrived; however, it came to Athenril's attention that the woman never brought in a crowd like this.
"So I take it you're nervous tonight? The crowd is rather large for so many at this hour, and that's not even counting those being fashionably late for the match."
Durga huffed a little while braiding her hair. "How nice of you to observe what's making me go insane."
"Well, time for you to pull up your big girl pants and get your act together. The purse for tonight's win is bigger than we can imagine should you win or not." This earned a whistle from Durga. "So you need to be in top game tonight. Win big tonight and you might be able to pay me back in less than a day. Well, a few hours if all goes well."
This earned a grimace on Bato's face, who was reading between the lines. Durga shifted an eyebrow at his demeanor, wondering if he was thinking some bad luck jinx. That was when Briley walked up to them holding a tray of teacups.
"Which round is it this time?" Durga asked holding the final braid in place as Briley handed her a cup.
"Give or take, depending on the crowd's mood," Athenril gave a quick glance to the human woman sipping her tea. "I said during the second or third round. Just be sure to make it convincing to the others. Think you can do that, sweetheart?"
Durga drained the rest of her drink, wiping off a few droplets. "I'll make sure he can chew tonight, boss."
Athenril smiled, if sardonic could pass for something of warmth, walking back to her perch at the bar. Things were going to go smoothly in the next hour and a half, but would go much better if the guest of honor arrived.
Varric was not one for second-handed stories or half-spun lies, unless they came straight from his mouth. Mostly due to their nature of being second-hand tales, they lacked certain elements to them that would make them greater. 'Could be greater,' would fit more appropriately when a man has a crowd gathered to hear about a hero's exploits. This made Varric plan his outlines, fabricated or patched up, with great care. These things had a certain formula to them, much like baking a cake or cooking a nug, which had to follow in making it just right.
"I think that lamb wasn't cooked all the way." He asked wtih a haggled groan, much like an intrepid character being introduced to the crowd leaning against the wall of his home looking pale. It was a pity Carver's stomach was not agreeing with him. There were times Varric wished he had the stomach, a phrase ill-timed, to play nurse. Even if he was the cause of said sickness
"What's wrong? Dinner not agreeing with you, Junior?"
Carver was not one for nicknames or jokes, but let it slide as the noxious gurgle in his stomach erupted. "Varric, if it wasn't I would just be experiencing the most delicious stomach cramp. I am just bursting to the seams with flavor. Why are you not joining me in my misery? You practically ate for three shore men."
"I guess Dwarven stomachs are made of sterner stuff when it come to our meals. Must be an inborn resilience to all that ale and poisoning we just love. Still, better safe than sorry." Varric set his hand towards the poor boy's head feeling his temperature, only to suddenly move it away. "By the stone boy, you're running a high fever! What was in that meal of yours?"
"I don't know." Carver held his hand up to his stomach trying to ease the swelling motion. "But it just happened…I can't be sick. Not tonight, I was supposed to watch her tonight."
"Couldn't have picked a more proper time for this junior. Here, give me your arm and lean on me. We're getting you on something soft and taking you to a healer, fast."
Much to Carver's fever induced whining, he put up a thorough fight to avoid being cared for like a sick babe. Thankfully, one of the maids took over, forcing him to rest. The cook was sure to catch hell for poisoning the last heir of the Amells, but everyone was more afraid on how Leandra would react ever since Bethany's funeral. Varric decided to sweep such issues under the rug, knowing the outcome was going to be the same around the woman. He could also take it for better or worse, since she was his employer for some of their illicit activities that lined her coffers. One activity being the poisoning of her own son just to keep inside from tonight's fight.
However, time was ticking by and the dwarf was on the clock. He exited the manor with Carver's golden ticket in pocket and a letter in hand given to a runner. The gold sovereign was a nice little bonus to make the errand successful.
It seemed the twilight sky gave a perfect view of the stars, all bright and numerous. The moon was barely shining, only a sliver of its shape, signaling the new moon. Add these circumstances to a trek through Lowtown waiting to be mugged. Check.
Nobles and the less savory members of Kirkwall all packed in an area getting drunk and an andrenaline high. Check.
Waiting for the proverbial shit to hit the fan at the after party? Left unchecked, due to testing luck.
Tempting fate was not as fun for the supporting cast in his stories, mostly due to them winding up dead or precursors for others later down the line. Yet Varric did not see himself as any faceless supporting cast. If anything, he was a main character that wanted to live the ripe old age of impossible, spinning as many tales as possible.
The Blue Lagoon came into view, with more door security than usual, who eyed Varric with disdain.
"Oi duster, no customers are allowed in tonight. We're closed for a private party." The bouncer spat out a slimy gob.
"Gentlemen, as much as I know about the time, there is a thing called fashionably late to keep the others waiting."
"Well I was told not to take any blighters in after the bell was wrung. I'm missing the best fight right now, so don' give me any lip."
Varric knew talking was not a great asset when your teeth could be sprawled across the cobblestones, so he cut to the chase holding out his ticket. "I can assure you boys I'm meant to be here, late or not."
Both looked at the thing as if it was a deadly knife. Grabbing it out of Varric's hand, the first bouncer looked it over, taking in its detail, while the other knocked on the door in a special pattern. "Oi, the last special guest has arrived…it looks like the man of the hour."
A voice shouted from the inside sounded exhausted. "We'll let him and switch positions. We need extra hands since the mishap with the fleabag taking a bite out of Nerkiel's hand. Little blighter fights like its master."
"Shit, better hurry on up in taking care of it. Let our dear guest inside." The other bouncer gave the ticket back to Varric, ushering him in just in time to see a huge wolf being 'escorted' out the back way while muzzled. Being one of sound mind not judging what went on in the blue Lagoon, Varric could not deny the gossiper in him thinking who would pay to fuck a wolf. Granted his attention diverted to the huge yells and screaming coming from the back, given the vibrations from the floor. Suddenly a great clanking sound of metal banging against metal vibrated from below to the ceiling. The noise escalated into a thunderous roar as the muffled sound of voices, from below, peaked in volume sounding damned unpleased.
"Looks like the fight are over, going by everyone's reaction."
Varric's looked over his shoulder, taking note of a shaved elf hitting the pipe leaning on the stairwell railing. He looked calm for a man not watching the fight of the century from Kirkwall's underbelly, a fight that Varric desperately wished he didn't miss and could have written down with his rendition.
"So I missed the big knockout and I'm not swimming in a sea of body odor yelling at the top of my lungs. Seems like a fair trade, since I'm sure to make some money off the results." Varric took notice that the elf didn't seem intrigued to see him.
"Oh really now, earned yourself a killing on both results without knowing Serah?" The elf in question was rather chummy.
"Serah Belzor. Yeah, you can say I betted a little on both sides, so it won't hurt me in the coin purse. Not that it won't for what I have planned later on tonight." Varric puffed his chest acting the part of the proud dwarf that others thought of him, but only false to a few.
"Well seeing as you're late with all that manly get up," Varric felt slightly insulted about his wardrobe. "I'll take you upstairs for the 'special event'. First things first, ticket messere."
Varric presented the item with a dramatic flair, only to be looked over and torn in half. Before it was given back to him the elf quickly patted him down taking away his hidden daggers in his coat and boots. Putting them away in a box he quickly handed Varric back his ticket stub.
"One for me, one for our guest. Go upstairs; I'm sure there is some refreshments and entertainment to keep you occupied. Until the real entertainment starts."
The grin on his face did not bother Varric as much as his undertones. Shaking off the feeling, he put on his Wicked Grace face, smiling like the Maker himself before ascending the staircase. Once upstairs there was a huge lounge that covered two thirds of the floor and a huge bedroom towards the back, guarded by two burly Coterie. Varric looked around noting the usual 'workers' dressed somewhat modestly with trays of food and drink. He didn't let this bother him until a man pushed by him.
"I cannot believe the ridiculousness of that fight. I tell you it was rigged from the start!" The man's accent was just as obnoxious as his manners.
"Well that is what you get for betting on a dog lord who can't take a punch. Still I do not feel sorry for all those refugees they let in. Let that teach them to know who their betters are."
Varric listened in on their conversation feeling a bit twitchy with his fingers aching to hold Bianca. Granted she was in safe hands, until he needed her for what needed to be done tonight.
He mentally went over the checklist in his head.
Shit hitting the proverbial fan? After tonight, it's going to reach the moon.
Guards? All within easy sight at every entrance and exit.
Party guests? All pouring into the room varying from states of boredom to joy.
The illustrious Guest of Honor? Behind the mystery doors.
Smoothing out his coat for appearances sake, Varric sauntered into the crowd blending like a shadow. He took mental notes of certain merchants in the room going over the rounds like it was a historic battle, but ignored his greater curiosity to gather info. Venturing near the refreshment table Varric grabbed himself a glass wine before dropping a small pearl in one of the wine bottles in secret,. He moved around to the nearest person, who was thankfully already drunk and boasting about his winnings for being the first one to enter the prize room.
This gained a lot of suspicion from Varric. He didn't know what was going on, but he certainly didn't feel bad reverse-pickpocketing a small dagger into the man's coat pocket. He was then hit by a random man, who was being hauled off by one of Athenril's men, complainign about the fight being rigged. This caused the guards at the grand door to help subdue the man before things worsened.
Varric took this as his cue to sneak towards the door, looking over the lock. He heard the men shout as he worked on the lock. It was taking him a few seconds longer than he liked, but he was able to unlock it before slipping into the room. Varric quickly shut the door behind him and relocked the door. For something as tricky as this he wished he didn't leave Bianca home as he felt the urge to pet her handle.
Of course, once he saw what was in the room, he wished he had Bianca immediately.
The room was laid out candles dimly lit, various smelling oils on a small table, a wall with various tools no farmer would use and … the champ herself lying on a bed.
Varric gave a quick survey of the room, connecting the subtle dots of what the prize for these lucky winners were. The prize, of course, was sleeping rather peacefully. Her attire was something only Athenril would dress her in, like one of the working girls downstairs, leaving a small shake of his head at the lack of imagination.
Oh come on now, this is too primative even for me. He thought, opening up a window while looking back at Hawke. She's dressed in white. That's too gaudy to bring attention to her skin and she looks more like a Harem girl. I swear, no one brings out the classics with fruit, wine, and colourful dresses to hide all that beauty.
Hawke slowly stirred as Varric wrapped her in a sheet that covered her more than the ripped disaster that was her dress. Picking her up, he gave a small groan at how much the woman weighed.
Woooo, she weighs more than Bartrand drunk off his ass. A loud scream erupted from the other room as the thunderous sound of footsteps rushed to the source of wine bottles breaking and dry retching. And that is my cue to walk on stage.
Varric walked over to the window sill poking halfway out overlooking the alleyway. A whistle was quickly echoed by a similar whistle as two Red Irons wandered out of the shadows. A slow blood trail was seeping out of the shadows as well, hiding the slumped figures that left earlier outside with the giant Mabari. Varric judged from the blood splatters on the cobblestones and the fact that said Mabari was staring at him with blood on its jaws thatthey didn't do a very good job.
Carefully taking Hawke over the sill while holding onto the sheet, Varric carefully, and with as much skill needed, slowly lowered Hawke to the men awaiting below. Varric had his tongue out between his lips as he worked in concentration. Go too fast and she would fall. Go too slow and this plan would fall to pieces.
"Get that door open now. We need to evacuate the premises and grab what we can!"
Sadly that shout put Varric in a rushed mood to temper with his timing, quickly slipping the sheets through his hands. One of the Red Irons caught Hawke with a surprised look as he also heard the same sounds.
"Oi, you just used up your escape route Varric."
"I sorta noticed that, Gentlemen." A thud on the door almost made him lost concentration as he pulled out a bomb from his coat. "However we are pressed for time and I do hope your reflexes are up to par."
Right before the door broke in from the sheer force of hired muscle, Varric let loose the smokebomb, dropping to the ground. A pair of strong hands caught him with some struggle to regain balance.
"My hero. I never knew you cared." Varric chuckled before hightailing it out of there with the men and their prize. He just hoped Meeran would be waiting for them at the spot he suggested.
Athenril wasn't a woman who gave into curses or moaning one's fate in the hands of the Maker. She never was one for that religious crap or one for acting all weak. If anything she was more fond of the working out aggression in a subtler matter of disciplining her men.
She looked down at Bato, who was strapped to the chair with a bloody stump where his right foot should be and a mangled left leg that couldn't be walked on. Briley was chained against the wall, limp at the wrists and barely breathing through his missing nose as Bato looked at Athenril with steely eyes.
"I am going to ask you one time and only one time, so it be best for you Bato, if you were to answer me. Who did you sell me out to?"
Bato didn't move as he opened his mouth. "I sold you out to no one. I followed my orders and spiked the Shem's tea. That's all I did."
"Really? That's all you planned to do tonight?" Athenril walked over to Briley cutting open his bicep in a slow cut. "Because I would have thought a very loyal man like you would stay to earn his fair share before skipping out of town with his lover."
"Briley didn't sell you out either. We told no one our plan outside of the crap you wanted spread around. If you weren't so damned concern with how much money you would be making, you would of noticed how the Shem could have helped us become strong to rival the Coterie.!"
Athenril scoffed at the idea before walking up to Bato with a playful smile on her face. "Bato you know as much as I do, she was muscle. I could get that anywhere in this fishtown with the right amount of money and goods. If anything, she was a piss poor apostate that couldn't hide from us let alone the Templars if she tried. She was good bringing money either in the ring or on her back and I decided it was better to try her out for both."
She looked over her shoulder towards Marco, who was leaning against the wall looking nonchalant at the spectacle. With a quick nod of her head he jumped off, wearing an eager grin before descending down on poor Bato.
Athenril walked out fo the room, ignoring the muffled screams that mingled with the others in Darktown as she walked toward the Docks. It wasn't like her to do this to her men, but no one treats her like a back alley whore stealing from right under her nose. No one fucked with Athenril without losing something important on them.
The gold locket around her neck felt warm and almost whispered to her how she would gain her revenge for this spectacle. Her fingers touched it with a reverence meant for chantry sisters, but she had to agree with it. She would have her revenge.
A/N:Yeah big apologies for updates, but my muse is slowly coming back. Just when you take a huge blow pushing back graduation to a few years instead of a semester it kills your self esteem. Big props to Arista doing the beta work, and secretly Zeden and Letti for kicking my ass into gear.