AN:
I apologize for the delayed update - I know I promised one for the weekend. Well, what can I say? Things don't always work out as expected, and I am still not entirely happy with this chapter. A promise is a promise, though, and I hope I'll find the time to rewrite some of this someday (if I won't be convinced that it's utter clutter by then, :D)
Thank you for reviewing, following this story or simply reading and enjoying it so far. It means a lot.
So, here it goes -
Disclaimer:The Dragon Age world doesn't belong to me.
Chapter 9 – Dirty Fighting
They all remembered her from the battle. She had led the elven archers on the battlements, and all had been impressed with the human woman's skill. Still, Shianni wasn't one easy to impress and she didn't get past things easily. Even then, in the middle of the madness, it had hurt a little that it had been a shem, of all things, that who her cousin had entrusted with their lives, while she herself had gone down to more – spectacular – business. Always the show-off, her cousin. Although she couldn't fault the human in the slightest, the way her cousin had discarded them under the command of a shem, who, most likely, had done it all more for the sake of glory than anything, and had no inkling or consideration as to Alienage elves, had irked Shianni. After all, that neither Soris nor herself had the chance to join Kallian in her travels during the Blight had been a whim of fate more than anything else. The fact that this woman seemed to share a sort of unsanctioned dalliance with her cousin didn't help. Shianni wasn't to go easy on the red-headed bard, Blight companion or not.
The said bard towered over them all in their suddenly too-confining hovel. Cloaked and hooded, much like Kallian had been, she almost brushed the upper threshold with the tip of her hood as they entered, even as she kept her head low and her face shrouded. Kallian zoomed to the dining table, settling two bottles of good wine and a satchel stuffed with dried fruit there, while the human lingered in the doorframe, seemingly puzzled over what was next to do. Cyrion spoke first, as it was due, bidding the guest a hearty welcome, pleading she not be too disrupted by this hasty summoning in their humble abode, which he dared humbly hope she would find hospitable enough.
"Master Cyrion, I am at a loss of words. But thank you," came the lilting answer. Then, she removed her hood, and Soris couldn't help but speak the obvious, blowing so silent words towards Shianni that he could barely hear them himself
"By Andraste, she's blind."
His words, though, didn't slip past Leliana, as she turned towards him and smiled, of all things.
"Soris, yes? My ears may not be pointy, but they serve me quite all right. I'm glad you're well – or, better than I am, I think, since you can see me whence I cannot."
"Speaking of which, Master Cyrion… - it took Kallian a while to conclude her business earlier, and I took the liberty to linger around here for a bit. I thought, well, since, in my state, the only thing that could give me away as human was my height, I seated myself and, wrapped in my cloak as I was, I'm afraid some people here may have mistaken me for a beggar or the such." Leliana rummaged through her pockets, seeming faintly amused. "Here's what I came up with."
"You – those were our people's – poor people's money!... How could you?" Shianni jumped at the sight of the few silvers and – perhaps – two dozen copper coins that Leliana held.
"What would you have me do? Blow my disguise, invite restless youngsters to punch me senseless, rob me, or Maker-knows what else? It's not like I would keep it to myself." If there was somebody prone to step on already painfully writhed toes just to get the true measure of how they ached exactly, Leliana was most certainly a one. Charming feat, once one got to know just how benign her whole interest in these matters was, but quite annoying otherwise, especially for the unknowing one at the receiving end of such a display of wit.
"I can't say who those people were, those who gave coin to me – for reasons that are most obvious. But, as you say, it's your people's, and I dearly hope I'm not offending if I'm to suggest that maybe it should remain here, in the Alienage." Leliana paused for the effect.
"Take it. It's hard earned money, if I may say so myself," she said at last, her half-way joke being paired with a half-sad smile as she raised her chin in defiance, her face in the light for all of them to see. Nobody dared tell her otherwise, so that was that and the matter settled. Count on Leliana to puzzle everybody just so, and have her way with people in the end, with little or no opposition – even give her family money, without them believing for a moment that she'd done exactly that. As Leliana put the money on the table in a no-nonsense manner, Kallian snorted, clearly amused.
They seated themselves at the long table. Cyrion was, as his due, at the far end, Soris took his seat on the hearth side, while Kallian waited for Shianni to take the other end before settling Leliana and herself on the side across Soris.
The dried meat that Alarith had brought earlier had been put to stove with a mix of ale and flour, and Cyrion had added a bunch of dried vegetables of choice to it. The steaming pot was laid in the middle of the table for everyone to reach, as always, and the stew didn't smell half-bad, either. Kallian made a point of serving everyone herself, starting with her father, and everyone ate quietly for a while.
"So, what news?"Cyrion asked, taking another spoonful of the stew.
"On our way we stopped here and there, in a few inns and taverns. People are disgruntled and impoverished everywhere, but the Blight hasn't spread much north of Denerim."
Kallian agreed.
"That, and we heard that people have not been released from arms. Not a one has returned back home."
"Dare I ask what you make of that?"
"Well, Master Cyrion, stray darkspawn have been spotted everywhere. I wouldn't make much of it yet. Other than that, I could think that maybe the Queen fears foreign invasion, with the weakened state the country is in, but one cannot be sure. Thing is, people are grumbling indeed. Famine is sure to come this year, with no-one home in time for planting. What news here, in Denerim?"
"Can't complain. There's lots of work to be found for the likes of us. People can't afford to be picky these days, and things need to be done. Other than that… Kallian, I don't know if Shianni told you – there are people here in the Alienage who would see her Hahren. We are very proud of her."
"Really? Shianni, you didn't say a word!"
"That's because I don't want to be Hahren. What do I know, the uneducated girl that I am. I'm too young for the such."
"She don't want to, because she wants to marry that Alarith sod!" Soris bludgeoned in.
"Ah?"Kallian arched one eyebrow.
"That's not why... I told you why. I'm too young." Shianni said it pleadingly, as in inviting her cousin to see reason, but her cheeks were flushed enough to give her away.
"Well, Alarith is not from our Alienage" Kallian said on an even tone, as if she meant nothing by it.
"He's a widower, has four kids. He wouldn't dare set his eyes on my sister…"
"Soris, shut up." Kallian snapped. "You're being an arse. Father, what do you think?"
"Well, as things are now, there is no one to sanction a marriage." Cyrion spoke with caution, seemingly trying to tread on middle ground. "We need a Hahren first, and people do trust Shianni's judgement, after what happened with the Tevinters. They followed her in battle. You were here, you saw it."
"I agree. Shianni is strong and determined. By all means, she should be Hahren – when she'll be fifty years old, when she'll have had a good life with a husband and will have raised a houseful of kids – or whatever she sees fit to do with herself until then."
"Who would be fit, then? Would you come home and be Hahren, then?" Soris growled, almost.
"I'm a Grey Warden, Soris. I can't come home" Kallian said gently.
"Whatever that means…"
"It means that my duty is with the Wardens… not that I know exactly what that be, seeing that I am the only one in Ferelden. Perhaps getting to the bottom of this new treachery would be a start…" Kallian mused, suddenly oblivious to the matter at hand.
"Or, maybe, you could think of yourself for once, having done more than enough for everyone else?" Leliana had been quiet all the time, but she seemed vaguely annoyed with the topic in general. Kallian snapped.
"Sure. Or, perhaps, I could crawl under a rock and die." She realized what she said only after she said it – the look on Leliana's face spoke volumes.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." Without thinking, she hugged Leliana and kissed her cheek.
Silence fell at their table. Her cousins were awkwardly trying not to stare at her, Leliana seemed downright hurt, and Father was doing his best to pretend that nothing had happened. Like when Kallian'd been a kid and had embarrassed him unknowingly. Kallian had fought dragons and brood mothers, had honed kings and arls into doing her bidding, yet she could not change things in the slightest for her already misfortune-stricken cousin, no matter how dearly she wished it – and, worse, she'd snapped at Leliana of all people. It was easier to deal with a full-fledged high dragon that with one's family, it seemed. She wasn't ready to let go of the matter still, and she opened her mouth to speak when Leliana's hand reached her own, pleading for silence.
"Wine, master Cyrion? May I?" she didn't wait for an answer as she reached for the glass, which was indeed almost empty, and she started pouring wine, much to everyone's surprise. Four pairs of eyes followed her moves as she faultlessly filled the glass to the brim, intently watching her finger that hovered over the edge without touching the brim of the glass, while the bottle in her left hand danced gracefully up and then down again, without spilling one drop of red liquor. The argument of before had long been forgotten, and Soris almost stuttered when he spoke.
"How did you just do that?"
The purpose of breaking the rugged mood accomplished, Leliana allowed herself a small smile of gratification.
"I listen... Like I said, my ears serve me well."
Cyrion also seemed to have regained his composure.
"We deeply apologize for this uncivil outburst. I'm afraid you have seen us at our worst, and that my nephews have not exactly been forthcoming this evening. These are worrisome times, and I'm afraid they have taken their toll on all of us."
"No harm done, master Cyrion. I understand how you all have your share of trouble here in the Alienage." Although Leliana had spoken in the lightest tone possible, Kallian's her ears caught a discrete undercurrent that showed her what exactly her loved one thought of the entire matter, and she found herself agreeing that perhaps forcing the 'neutral' cousin in the whole argument had been a bit excessive, more so since the whole thing seemed to have been long before decided upon.
"Perhaps I could sing some, lighten the mood?" Leliana offered, and Kallian felt bad about it – she had done too much already for her grumpy, unaccepting family – but Leliana didn't give any signs that she might have thought such herself.
"I'm afraid that we have to refuse, however pleasurable it may sound. It is after curfew, and we'll soon have to worry about being quiet enough not to stir the guards. Which reminds me, Soris, can you put those boards up the windows? If the guards see light or hear voices, or music, for that matter, they won't miss the opportunity to enter and rob us of our food and drink while 'enforcing the curfew' – I do apologize for this." Cyrion said, as a means of explanation.
He hadn't quite finished his word, though, when a loud knock at the door and a harsh voice announced that which he had spoken of.
"City guard, open up!"
There was a commotion, as they all jumped on their feet at once, and then a small moment when no one knew what to do next. Once they decided, though, for a course of action, it was Shianni who opened the door.
"Good evening, sers."
The guards didn't bother to answer that, however, as they pushed Shianni to the side and entered, their boots trotting loudly on the planks of the hovel's floor.
One of them, who seemed to be the head of the patrol, spoke.
"We know for sure that one of you is hoisting weapons. Which one would that be? Come forth, and nothing bad will happen to the others." The guard measured the three elves in sight. Not one of them seemed to be the sort that would smuggle weapons, and he snorted, disgruntled at the prospect of having been sent on a wild goose chase.
"Search the house" he ordered curtly, as he settled into a chair, thoroughly leaning against its back, legs outstretched and arms spread loosely at his sides.
While his men did the searching, he sat there idly, his face betraying nothing else but boredom and the faintest trace of contempt – but that couldn't be made out for sure, seeing that the man kept to obstinately contemplate the ceiling for some abstruse reason, as if what he saw there was of the utmost fascination.
After making a thorough mess of the one chamber in the hovel, the men turned to him with questioning looks.
"Found nothing, eh?" the guard said, still staring at the ceiling. "Hmm." He seemed lost in thought for a while. Then he added quietly, almost like an afterthought, while calmly caressing his beard.
"Too many cobwebs you have here. I'd say you haven't wiped them for a year or so…"
Nobody dared tell him otherwise, and the man went on in the same even voice, like he was speaking to himself.
"So small houses, you folks have. I don't understand how you don't get to dust your ceiling with your hair. I bet there's some cobweb on my helm right now." As for proving his words, the guard removed his helmet and measured it with a critical eye. It was indeed full of dust and had gathered a healthy amount of cobweb.
Soris' eyes darted up without thinking. One could very well trace the moves of the three human guards by following the long marks that their helms left on the shabby ceiling, and Soris' sunken shoulders exuded fear as he fumbled in search of a fourth trace that he couldn't find, apparently.
The guard seemed innervated all of a sudden. He removed his gaze from the ceiling and stared straight to his men. He then spoke briskly, as for trying to infuse some of his newly-found energy to his men.
"Why don't we all sit at this table and have some of this wonderfully flavored stew… mhmm, it even has meat in it!.. while our very indulging hosts will nicely explain to us whose supper exactly we're disturbing, seeing that they are three, and their table is set for five?"
As his underlings hesitated in joining him, the man's tone became even more cajoling.
"Come, lads. The pretty knife-eared wench will pour us some wine, and we'll all have a good time."
"And bring us some clean glasses, thunder strike you, what're you sitting down there for?" he roared towards Shianni, who was throwing him dirty looks. "Or, you want us to drink wine from your filthy mouth?"
The two guards faked a burst of laughter, obviously frightened and weary of their leader as much as any of the elves and the sound of it muffled a woman's gasp; their leader turned towards them again, with a satisfied grin.
"Now that is the music I want to hear."
He didn't make it clear if it had been the gasp, or the faked laughter that which delighted him so.
Shianni was red in the face, half in anger and half out of sheer embarrassment; she couldn't catch her breath. Cyrion, who had kept silent and unmoving all of the time, brought three glasses from the cupboard and filled them with red wine. He only spoke after he handed one to each guard.
"Good sers, we had guests for dinner, but they left. It is simply that we didn't manage to clean the table just yet. I'm sure that this is not a crime?"
The head of the guards took a sip of wine, seemingly considering the new perspective that had been offered to him. Then, he rose from his chair and coldly cuffed Cyrion's face from both sides, filling his mouth with blood. He seemed satisfied with his work as he settled back in his seat with a sigh.
"What kind of man are you, to be serving wine in your own house?" he said in a low, disapproving, almost pitying voice. "Let the wench do that – it's her thing. I don't understand you people, Maker strike me!"
It wasn't actually by divine intervention that it happened, although one could really read the irony in it. It was of less concern if Leliana had taken offense at the besmirching of the Maker's name more than at the sudden display of violence, as she stepped out of the shadows of the corner where she'd been hiding and smacked the foul guard's nape hard with the pommel of her dagger, sending him unconscious to the floor. Kallian did not dally in seizing the guard nearest to her, and she relished in the crackling sound that the man's neck made when it snapped under her bare hands. The third one was stunned, luckily enough, as he seemed to try hard to understand this new course of events that was utterly unexpected, when Shianni hit him in the head with a bottle of wine. He made a sad view as he slung quietly to the floor, red wine mingling with freshly drawn blood on his face.
They sighed in relief, all except Leliana. She seemed desolated as she buried her face in her hands.
"I'm sorry." Then she straightened her shoulders, facing all of them.
"This was no common guard. We'll have to do something about this, or bad things will happen…"
"Like what?" Shianni asked.
"I don't know. Use your imagination…"