110. Meeting and Greeting
It took some time, and a lot of coaxing from the elf, and being physically sat on by a Qunari and a mabari, but they finally managed to bring the captain down from his screaming, frothing rage. Good thing, too, because for a minute there, the prettyboy had been screaming that he was going to kill them all.
If Garott hadn't had such a tough skin, he might've taken that personal, y'know?
Now, the guy lay on a bed in one of the guest rooms, still playing couch to the Qunari and dog. Percival's hands covered his face; a softer man might have started weeping, but the captain hadn't been soft in a long time.
The elf didn't seem fit to smooth things out anyway. He still had that anger simmering under the surface, and if Finian was having difficulty masking it, it must have been a doozy. Garott had heard snippets about what had happened, with Howe and the Alienage and whatnot, but he hadn't guessed it would affect them both so deeply.
Ah well. So Garott was the level-headed one. He could swing that.
He grabbed something off Oghren's belt, making the old man grunt. Then, he hopped up onto the crowded bed, planting himself right next to the boss's head. When the captain lowered his hands to look at him, Garott silently plunked Oghren's waterskin next to the man's ear.
The human's hands shook, but he took it without protest, taking a nice long drag of whatever the old man had inside it today. Once he'd had his drink, Garott took the skin and capped it, then tossed it back to Oghren.
"Thank you. I'm… all right now." He glanced down at his captors pointedly. Sten and Hugo lifted off him, but Garott stayed put. Percival sat up, rubbing at his face.
"So that was the guy who offed your parents, eh?" Garott asked.
"My parents. My nephew. All the knights, and servants, and guests, and anyone who ever had any ties to the Cousland line…" Percival grit his teeth. "Yes. That was him."
"I suppose having a bear bite his head off is out of the question?" Morrigan's voice drawled. She hovered in the doorway, having appeared from who-knew-where.
"Are you offering?" Percival said. "Because if you are, I may just say yes."
"We can't kill him," Fin said, though Garott caught the slight tremble in his voice. "Neither of them. If either dies now, or even goes missing, it'll count against us at the Landsmeet. They'll think we're trying to silence competition. We can't touch them."
"More's the pity," Zevran agreed.
"But the dagger cuts both ways, eh?" Garott said. "We can't touch them, but they can't touch us either. What d'ya say we go find a tavern and flaunt our presence right under those nug-humpers' noses?"
That drew smirks all around.
"I… could certainly go for a drink," Percival said, his expression lightening. He rolled off the bed, and Garott hopped off after him. The dwarf couldn't help but notice that the noble secured his old Highever shield across his back, for all to see, even though doing so inhibited his ability to draw his greatsword.
In this case, the shield was the weapon. Percival may not have liked the games of nobility, but damned if he didn't know how to play.
"The Gnawed Noble is nearby," Finian supplied as they started filing out. "If we want to flaunt our presence in front of a bunch of hostile nobles, that will be the place."
They didn't precisely sneak out of the estate, but they didn't go out through the front door either, and no one suggested that they go find Wynne to invite her. They wound through the library and slipped out a side entrance, then passed through the courtyard into the marketplace.
The square was packed tight, rivaling the Commons district of Orzammar in its bustle. Garott would have bet his nose that it rivaled Orzammar in seediness, too. There were plenty of thieves winding their way through the crowd (he could well imagine the elf being one of them, back in the day) and plenty of guards to look the other way.
Then, there was an exaggerated gasp across the square. "By the Maker! Percy?!" a voice squealed, and the captain stopped dead in his tracks.
A girl shoved her way through the crowd, dressed in a bright silk dress and trailed by a pair of tired-looking guards. "Percy! It is you!" She launched herself at the armored man, squealing in delight. Once she had attached herself, she bounced excitedly. "I heard about what happened at Ostagar, but I didn't believe it! You're such a rebel, standing up to Loghain!"
Garott had difficulty stifling his sniggers. Judging by the way Zevran looked aside and the tight press of Fin's lips, he wasn't the only one.
Percival shrugged off the girl's grip. "Habren," he said stiffly.
She deflated a bit. "You don't still think I'm too young, do you Percy? Because I turned fifteen just this last week and-"
"It's not that, Lady Habren." His voice smoothed out, and Garott caught a glimpse of the smooth-talking lady-killer the man had once been. "I've merely got other things on my mind. Get back to your shopping."
She pouted. This girl was fifteen? If there was a Maker, then by the Stone had he gifted her. Wow.
"Oh, I know. A Grey Warden… you must be so good with a sword. Are you going to save us from the Blight?"
The girl was relentless, but Percival gently moved her back. "I will try. For now, I have Warden business to attend to." Sure, if 'business' meant 'getting completely hanged at the tavern.' "I will speak with you later, when I do not."
"Oh." The girl pouted, but relented. Then, she twirled her hair and swayed her hips in a way that was like a satire of flirt. "All right. I'll see you around, Percy."
"It was nice to see you, Lady Habren."
The Wardens moved past the girl and her two now-amused guards. Garott managed to hold in his own amusement until they were out of the girl's hearing range. Then, he, Oghren, and the elves all burst out in laughter.
"Way to go, kid!" Oghren crowed. "Why'd you turn 'er down? The rack on that girl… that's worth all the clinginess in the world right there!"
Percival gave them a wry look. "I've known her since she was four. She follows me around incessantly, and I'll give that she's always been pretty, but she's simply so young. I think Lord Bryland always wanted my father to consider her as a viable match for me, so kept seeing that we were put together at social events." He made a face.
"Your father didn't approve?" Finian asked diplomatically. "Why not? Her age?"
"I bet," Garott put in, "that he was such a trouble-maker that his daddy didn't want to inflict him on some poor unsuspecting girl."
"No and no." Percival sighed. "If you must know, I was somewhat intended for another."
"And who might that be?" Morrigan asked with silky calm.
"Delilah Howe." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Obviously, that can never happen now."
"Related to the Arl?" Fin asked.
"His daughter."
"But… she can't have anything to do with his betrayal, can she?"
"I don't know, Fin!" This stirred some reaction from the guy, at least. "I have no way of knowing how deep that bastard's blood flows. It could taint Delilah, or Thomas, or Nate, or any one of that snake's family! Maybe all of them! All I know is that I will never pass a day in the presence of any Howe without wondering whether and when they were going to shove a dagger into my back!" He took a breath, letting it out in a harsh sigh. "It doesn't matter. I wouldn't want to marry any noble girls, anyway, even if they weren't connected to Howe. That whole world… I'm beyond it, and I refuse to return."
Even so, he adjusted the set of the Highever shield on his back, and walked them toward the tavern.
Garott cast a curious eye back at the witch as they walked. Everyone knew that she and the captain had been doing the horizontal Proving on a regular basis. Alas, the woman's face was a mask. Always an enigma, was Morrigan.
Suddenly, Oghren brayed out a laugh beside him. "Well I'll be a nug-humping son of a duster! Is that who I think it is?" The elder dwarf took off at a strut toward one of the merchant stalls. Beside it, a dwarven man stood hawking weapons and metal tools.
The dwarf looked up at the old man's shout, staring for a moment. Then, recognition flicked across his features, followed by mixed surprise and amusement. "Oghren? Well I'll be damned. Did they finally kick you out of Orzammar?"
The man spoke with surprising diction for a weapons merchant. Garott trailed after the old man, curious.
"Nah. Finally found someone to take my drunken ass to Branka. C'mere kid! I wanna introduce you." Oghren beckoned him over, and Garott obligingly stepped up next to the old man. The merchant's eyes flickered to his tattoo, and then away, as if recalling that being a duster didn't mean squat up here. "This here's Garott Brosca, Grey Warden, trap-maker, and babysitter of old washed-up Warriors." He slapped Garott's back fondly. "You should see what the kid did to the Roads around Orzammar. Made the tunnels into a darkspawn death trap."
The merchant's eyes brightened at the mention of him being a Warden. "Ah, yes. I'd heard about you. You're the one that snuck into the Proving, right?"
Garott nodded slowly. "You from Orzammar, then?"
"That I am, yes."
"This here's Gorim," Oghren provided. He leaned forward. "He was Marnan's right-hand Warrior, until they booted both of 'em out."
The merchant's face broadened into a smile. "You know Marnan? That must mean she made it out of the Deep Roads."
"Yeah." Suddenly, Garott's chest felt tight. This guy had known the princess. It dug up a fresh grave. "Well, kinda."
The merchant read his expression, his elation fading. "What happened? Why isn't she here with you?"
"She… died. Got 'er out of the Deep Roads, to Ostagar. She became kind of a general to what remained of us… she was a good girl. Good head on 'er, y'know?"
Gorim nodded wistfully. "That I do."
"Thing is, we had to go into the Deep Roads on Warden business. She fought a good fight… went down protectin' the rest of us. How she woulda wanted to go."
Gorim nodded sadly. "That is exactly how she would have wanted to. All honor and courage to her memory."
"Yeah."
They shared a moment of silence. Then, the merchant sighed. "Well, Warden. It was nice to meet you. Thank you for the news." He held out a hand, and Garott shook it solidly.
"No problem."
Garott and Oghren pulled away from the merchant, only to find that the others had moved on without them.
The tavern was right there anyway, so they trundled through the doorway with no problem.
The Gnawed Noble was packed with tall people, but the sounds and smells of people getting drunk were universal, so Garott didn't feel any discomfort. Oghren took a deep breath as soon as they stepped inside, and Garott shoved him forward with a laughing, "Keep moving, old man."
The other Wardens were pretty easy to spot, what with the Qunari and the gigantic dog and the obvious apostate that colored their group. They had settled into and around a booth near the front of the tavern, with a pretty waitress already taking their orders.
Garott climbed up into the booth next to Fin, and Oghren scooted in after him. Percy and Sten sat opposite them, the latter stiff and obviously uncomfortable. The sight drew a chuckle from Garott.
Morrigan leaned against one side of the booth, and Zevran against the other. Both of them were leaking discomfort all over the place… Morrigan because civilization confused her, and Zevran… well, maybe the assassin expected something the rest of them didn't. His lines were all tight and ready for action. It was hard to say… Garott didn't know him well enough to judge.
Garott added his order to the others ("anything but lichen ale") and the waitress left.
Finian leaned back in the corner of the booth, grinning. "You can't imagine how much this tickles me. Used to be, I was always glared at if I even got near the door of this place. Now, no one can stop staring."
Garott glanced around. Sure enough, eyes were trained on their table all around the room… no wonder the assassin was jumpy. The bouncer watched them, and the barkeeper, and a number of fancily-dressed patrons. Garott was used to this sort of thing, so he hadn't even realized.
"'Tis more likely," Morrigan drawled, "that their stares have more to do with your company than with any change in status on your own part."
"Well, yeah. Most likely. It's not often that a Qunari walks into the Gnawed Noble." The elf grinned. "Still pretty funny, though."
"I get that," Garott chuckled. "Same happened to me when I returned to Orzammar. Used to be it was all 'get outta our sight, Duster.' Then you go Grey and suddenly they're partin' before you and giving ya free drinks."
"Wait," Oghren said. "Wardens get free drinks? Why didn't anyone tell me?!"
Garott snorted. "Like you need it, old man."
"Hey, habits like mine get expensive. What I gotta do to join the club, huh?"
Percival shook his head. "Somehow, I suspect it's a bit more than you're willing to take for the occasional free drink."
"You'd be surprised, Goldie."
"Pardon me." The conversation paused as someone moved to stand over their table. It was a well-dressed man with a neatly trimmed beard. "You're Bryce and Eleanor's younger son, are you not?"
The captain took a moment to study the stranger. "I am. Bann Sighard, right?"
The man nodded. "I had heard about what happened to your household. You have my deepest sympathies."
"You do not believe the reports about my father's being a traitor, my lord?"
The bann cast a quick glance over his shoulder, toward a table where a well-dressed man conversed with a woman in leather armor. "I find it… difficult to believe, all things considered." The man returned his attention to Percival. "People who question the official reports have a habit of disappearing, including my son. You haven't seen him…?"
Percival shook his head. "If I do, you will be the first to know."
The bann nodded, deflating. "Even so. It is good to finally have this whole mess near a conclusion."
Percival nodded. "We shall see you at the Landsmeet, my lord. Good luck in your search."
The bann nodded and returned to his fellows.
"That poor man," Fin said softly. "Do you think we have time to help him search?"
"It will take a while for all the nobles to file in," Percival said. "However, I do not think that interfering anymore than we already have would be wise."
"Or perhaps t'would be most wise," Morrigan said. "Certainly, if you found his missing son, he would owe you a debt of gratitude. He would have no choice but to throw his support for you."
Garott snorted. It wasn't pretty, but it was a good point. "You think any of the other nobles have any conveniently missing kids?"
Percival bowed his head and rubbed his eyes. "I'm not sure whether to be horrified by these suggestions or grateful for them."
"Grateful, obviously," Morrigan said.
The waitress returned with their drinks, carefully setting each in front of them, and handing the Antivan his brandy. Then, she pulled a piece of parchment off the tray and set it in front of Garott. "Man at the bar said to give this to you."
Garott was immediately suspicious, and he could tell that the others were too. He picked up the thing, doing a quick check-over for contact poison or some other nasty trick. Hard to pull off with a piece of paper, sure, but doable.
Satisfied, Garott unfolded it, and the other two Wardens leaned in to read with him.
We couldn't help but overhear, and the answer to your question just now is 'yes.'
Come to the guest rooms to learn more. First door.
What question? The one about whether any nobles had missing kids? Garott arched a brow.
"How did he even…" Percival shook his head. "I don't like this. Why wouldn't this person come to us directly?"
"But if it's true," Fin whispered, settling back into the booth. "We need all the support we can get, Percy."
"Agreed," Garott said. "It's worth a try, anyway. And if it's a trap… well, we been through worse."
Percival pursed his lips, but nodded. "All right. All going?"
"Better not." Garott leaned over and dangled the note over the nearest candle, burning the thing to ash. "Things like this, it's best to be discreet. C'mon, elf."
He and Finian clambered out of the booth, and Zevran fell into step behind them. Damn Antivan was looking straight-up twitchy, now. Eyes darting everywhere, fingers flexing… Garott was beginning to wonder whether he'd maybe gotten hit on his head at some point or something.
"Hugo. Guard," the captain said. The mabari obediently padded after them, and Garott shuddered. Stone, he hated that dog.
The three of them slipped into the back hall, passing through the crowded tavern with much more ease than they'd have been able to if one of their flashier companions had come along. The three of them all knew a thing or two about blending in for nefarious purposes, after all.
They knocked on the door, and a smooth voice inside told them to come in. Garott was half expecting an arrow to the face as soon as he stepped through, but none was forthcoming. In fact, the handful of men inside were pointedly relaxed, their hands all in full view and removed from their weapons. An underworld armistice.
That did not stop the Antivan elf, though. Zevran hissed an Antivan curse, his weapons smoothly leaving their sheaths. "I knew it. What game are you playing, Ignacio?"
"Put your toys away, whoreson," a willowy man at the back of the room said, his voice a smooth and cold Antivan accent. Ah. "We are not here for you." The man turned his attention to the Wardens. "I thank you for accepting my invitation. If you've truly a wish to gain the favor of the Ferelden nobility, we have an offer that may prove… mutually beneficial."
Finian stepped in front of Zevran (who, Garott noted, had not put his weapons away), his posture switching to that friendly/non-threatening one he took on when he was getting ready to charm the scales off the snake. "Certainly, you understand if we are suspicious. How do we know this isn't merely a trap to capture a stray Crow?"
"Because it is not my job to track down a deserting son of a whore. That is the designation of Taliesin. To the rest of us, he is as good as dead." He paused, studying them with narrowed eyes. "If you doubt my words, ask the ghost yourself."
Fin cast a glance back at Zevran, who nodded hesitantly. Slowly, his blades returned to their sheaths.
"Now that that silliness is behind us, perhaps we may discuss business, no?"
"And what kind of business are we referring to?"
Garott snorted a laugh, because that answer was obvious to all of them.
"You must realize," Finian continued, "that any poor fortune among the nobility would immediately be suspect at this late hour. We cannot afford to wish any of them wrong."
"Of course, of course. Such things would certainly be… unfortunate. We need not even consider such things." The Crow leaned back against the wall, every line of his body reading unconcern. "You see, I am in the business of information. There are bad men in the world. Bad men who kidnap good men's children. Sometimes, those good men come to me, and ask me to write down the bad men's names. I put the names in a box, and if someone takes those names, they might read them. And if they come back later, and tell me that something has happened to the bad men whose names they read… that they've had an accident or some such… I pay them for the trouble. It is simple, no?"
Garott couldn't help it: he laughed. "Prince's balls. The Carta was never this pointlessly vague."
"One can never be too careful," the Crow said.
"You have always been a clever snake, Ignacio," Zevran said sharply. "What's the catch? Why are you seeking outside help on a Crow contract?"
"You are currently dead to me, whoreson," the Crow spat back. "Pray I do not learn otherwise."
"Then I will ask the question," Finian cut in with forced calm. "Why do you seek our help? If we gain the support of the father, what do you gain?"
"Any questions that must be answered will be in time. All others are irrelevant."
Garott crossed his arms. "So which one is that one?"
"That remains to be seen." Ignacio eyed them both. "So, are you interested in my little chest, and the names within? Or shall I take my business elsewhere?"
Garott exchanged a look with Finian. The elf was as torn as he was. Fin asked, "And you say this 'good man' is a noble who will be at the Landsmeet? Which one?"
"Alas, that is a name I cannot write down."
"Understandable," Garott said. He didn't have a problem executing a hit, especially if there was a kidnapped kid involved. Still, working for the people who had once sent a guy to kill them… well, it was a risk.
Garott tossed a glance back at Zevran. "Whaddya say, elf? Can we trust 'em?"
Zevran was still stiff and tense, but he nodded slowly. "If it is as he says, and Taliesin has taken up the contract against me…" He hid a wince. Apparently, something about that hit a nerve. "Then yes. The Crows would have no reason to lie to us. To you."
Finian nodded. "All right, Ignacio. We might be interested in seeing those names."