Someone is following me.
The thought darkened the enchanting atmosphere like the snuffing out of a candle. A leaden weight burdened her chest, and the doodles on the paper suddenly seemed menacing.
But who? And why?
The message on the paper appeared harmless enough. If she believed it, then its author meant to help her. But the way it was delivered, and the mention of someone in the city wishing her harm...it was all too confusing. And that was not including the little scavenger hunt for 'red things'. She only wanted a relaxing evening, godammit. Not more of this scheming and intrigue.
But never mind that. She should report the incident to someone. Cassandra was the first person that came to mind.
Ahnnie refolded the paper and jogged back down her previous line of travel. She would break into a run, if need be; it was imperative that she not expose herself any longer than necessary in these quiet streets. But then she slowed until she came to a stop, her face burning with shame. What am I, a baby? And Cassandra, my babysitter? The slightest hint of trouble, and I go running to her – except this wasn't a 'slight hint' of trouble. She would be completely justified in seeking help. So why did it make her feel incompetent?
A low humming in the night made her freeze. Someone is here. The person who followed me? She looked up, for the humming originated from ahead of her, and she saw a big, dark figure walking slowly towards her. His face was very bushy, but she could not make it out in the dimness.
No, keep it cool. Maybe he's just a regular citizen. Pretend you're looking at that shop window there...Or would it be better if she just continued walking? Pass him by, act like she didn't notice him? Which would attract less attention?
She decided on the latter course, seeing as they would cross paths anyway, and resumed her stroll at a deliberate pace. Going too fast might make her seem shady, whereas if she supplemented with curious looks here and there, it would give her the appearance of a tourist bewitched by the beautiful city; as perfect a cover as someone like her could achieve. Whether the figure knew who she was or not was up to chance.
But as they neared each other, Ahnnie realized her misgivings were unfounded. With a bit of embarrassment, she recognized Blackwall's face under the soft illumination of a nearby lamp.
"Evening," the Warden nodded to her when they finally came face-to-face. "Out for a walk?"
Ahnnie smiled sheepishly. "Yeah..."
"It's nice weather out," he remarked. "For all their frippery, the Orlesians have some of the best climate their side of Thedas."
Ahnnie fidgeted, acutely aware of the paper in her hand. "Yeah," she echoed.
Blackwall arched an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"
She pursed her lips. "Maybe...I..." Then it dawned on her. "Maybe you can help me!" Losing no time, she whipped out the folded paper and produced its contents for the Warden to see. She explained the circumstance behind its discovery as he took and read it carefully under the lamplight. "What do you think I should do?" she asked when he was done. "I don't have my weapons with me–"
"You don't mean to say you'll follow its directions?" Blackwall interrupted.
Ahnnie blushed. "Maybe it's just a prank. And those places – the market, docks, and cafe – they're not deserted areas, right? City guards should be there, and some of our people are out in the city as well. If I'm careful, perhaps it will turn out to be nothing, and I can go back to doing...well, whatever. Maybe you can come along to help." She looked up at him pleadingly. "I just don't think it's such a big deal that we have to alert someone like...like Cassandra, for example."
She was still displeased to hear herself sound like she was asking for his permission. Whether she would go regardless of his answer was still an unanswered question, however. She wanted to deal with something on her own, yet have someone capable like Blackwall beside her in case she should run into trouble.
"If I find anything dangerous, I'll return immediately to the inn," she decided to add.
Blackwall looked down at the paper in his hand, then up at the girl before him. She worried for a moment that he would decline, and mentally berated herself for even having that worry, as though she should depend on him so much. "All right," he finally conceded, much to her surprise. "Go get a weapon, and we'll see what all this is about. Don't make yourself too conspicuous, though."
"Y-yes," she nodded, hardly able to believe they were going to go through with this. It was one thing to think of doing it; it was another to actually do it. She set off for the inn again at a jog, but not to hide from invisible enemies in the shadows this time.
"Right, so this is the marketplace–"
"Yes, and there's the locations of the red things marked in red." Obvious, much? "But I'm no good with maps. Do you think you can equate the marked spots to actual ones?"
Blackwall studied the paper as they walked towards the Summer Bazaar. "This is where we'll enter from," he said, pointing at a spot on the crooked key. "Closest red thing to us would be right here – either the cafe or some spot in the market." There were two red marks in the circle of the Bazaar, one on a lower level, another on an upper level. They weren't entirely sure yet which level the cafe was on, but Blackwall was pointing to the lower one.
"Should we split up, then?" Ahnnie asked. Since there were two items located within the Bazaar, she figured it would speed their progress if they went in search of each.
"Which level do you want to take?"
"The upper one, I guess?" I didn't get to see that part of the market yet, she added as an afterthought. Funny how this was becoming a little sight-seeing venture as well.
Blackwall nodded. "All right. When you're done, meet me at the blue tower in the middle. And if I'm not there, you wait 'til I am," he added with a warning glance.
"Of course," she replied, rather chafed at how childish he seemed to think her.
They reached the Bazaar in ten minutes. Unlike that morning, it now glittered with sedate nightlife, flickering against the darkness like a gem in candlelight. Sweet music floated in the air as soft as a lover's whisper, and masked figures flitted between the arcades like elusive fairy creatures in a gilded wood, giggling and flirting with one another in their lyrical native tongue. To complete the picture, the tinkling of a fountain could be heard somewhere nearby.
Blackwall pointed to a section of the marketplace that led away from the main ringlike structure. "That's where I'll do my search," he said, and pointing to a staircase by her right, "That's where you'll do yours. You should find your object somewhere along the edge of the terrace."
Ahnnie nodded. "All right."
And so they went their separate ways. As Ahnnie climbed the tiled steps, her short sword clinking gently against her thigh (she decided to leave the glaive behind, as it could be mistaken for a staff in the distance), the thought of the whole affair being a sham briefly crossed her mind.
If it is, fine. But if it isn't...well, we'll see how it goes.
Blackwall followed the fragrance of delicately spiced Orlesian food to a small open air cafe, artfully canopied by the terrace above. He checked the paper Ahnnie had given him and nodded to himself when he realized this was it; this was the place marked in the lower level of the market. But where, exactly, was this mysterious 'red thing'?
"Bonsoir monsieur, and welcome to La Pâquerette! How many in your party?"
The Warden's dark head turned to regard the spindly little man before him, a cheery waiter with perfectly coiffed blonde hair. He realized then that he might have to accept some of the cafe's services if he wished to search for his object without suspicion. "Just me," he answered gruffly.
"Splendid! Follow me, s'il vout plais!"
Blackwall followed him to a lonely little table in the corner, searching the surroundings for a red object as he did so. He was disappointed to have seen none as he sat down on the dainty little chair. The waiter then plopped a menu before him, asking what he would like to have as a drink to start the meal. He also said something about the chef's special, but Blackwall cut in before he could go into detail.
"Just a glass of vin rouge," the Warden said. "I'm not hungry."
The waiter nodded bouyantly. "A gentleman of fine taste," he complimented. "Your Orlesian is excellent as well."
Blackwall granted him a small grin. "I did my fair share in the imperial army when I was younger," he explained.
"Ah! An imperial soldier! Then I salute you, monsieur." The waiter gave him a mock salute that was much too flamboyant to really be called a salute before taking back the menu and finally leaving Blackwall alone.
The imperial army, Blackwall thought. An interesting time, that. The waiter returned to set a glass of red wine on the table, which Blackwall held to his lips for a contemplative sip; fruity, with some floral notes. I wasn't at my best when I joined. But I did good. Up until...
"...says the Warden has taken up with the Inquisition."
"And one walks among us. How exciting!"
Blackwall looked up from his glass and saw two masked ladies fanning themselves at a table not too far from his. One sat stiff and dignified; the other was giggly and coquettish. Upon seeing him look in their direction, the coquettish one bat her eyelashes demurely and hid her giggles not-so-completely with her elaborate fan.
"And alarming," the stiffer one put in, disapproving of her companion's flirty antics.
So as not to appear a rude gentleman, Blackwall nodded in a courtly manner back at them. It would show that he had heard their exchange but thought no ill of the stiffer one's disdain. This caused the coquettish one much delight, as her excited chittering denoted. As she leaned back in her seat to whisper something in the stiffer woman's ear, her foot made a delicate movement beneath the table's low hanging cloth. A wispy red handkerchief then floated out, having been kicked by her dainty shoe.
Blackwall perked up at the sight of it. A red handkerchief! Could it be one of the 'red things' specified in the piece of paper? But he couldn't just walk up to their table and take it from them. It might even belong to either lady – it might mean nothing, beyond being red.
He found the perfect excuse to confirm his suspicions as he left his seat to pick up the handkerchief and hold it before the ladies. Prior to that, he noticed what felt like a crinkly piece of parchment beneath the fabric but pretended not to notice, if in case it really was the personal property of one of these two madmoiselles. "Pardon me, but is this yours?" he asked in as suave a manner as he could muster.
The stiffer woman grew even stiffer at the sight of his approach. "Non," she answered sharply, "it is not mine."
The coquettish one smiled, revealing a row of perfect teeth framed by freshly rouged lips. "Non, it is not mine either, but you are kind to inquire about it."
"I just didn't want you to lose something you might miss," he demurred.
"And that is very gallant of you," the coquette complimented.
"Ah, well – I try."
"Your efforts are appreciated," the stiffer one put in, sending another disapproving look her companion's way. He then realized that she might be the coquette's older relative; with their masks on, it was difficult to tell their age by their faces. Some of that suspicion turned out to be true when the coquette reluctantly gave him one last teasing look before ending their exchange.
Blackwall returned to his seat to finish up the wine. With a careful gesture, he unfurled the red handkerchief that he kept balled in his fist, laying it on his lap so that no one else could see, and picked apart the crumpled parchment within. On it was written in a simple script:
Thank you Friends for helping good lady Keris. Saw those who asked about the Herald enter third passage. Could not stay to see them exit.
So, there was something to this little intrigue after all. Blackwall balled the handkerchief and parchment into his fist again, shoving it quickly into a pocket before resuming his casual sipping of the red wine. When he finished, he left money on the table and bid the exuberant waiter adieu.
The terraces of the upper market offered a sweeping view of the Bazaar below, and at a certain angle, of the docks and the sea in the distance. The air was cooler here, and the night breeze, gentle. Is this what visiting Europe would have felt like? Ahnnie wondered, noting how similar Val Royeaux seemed to the antiquated corners of famous European cities – at least, what she saw of them through pictures. Yet there was something of its own charm here, something distinctly Thedosian that was not to be found elsewhere on Earth. Perhaps an art critic could describe it better.
For now, she was having trouble finding her 'red thing'. She looked behind potted plants, between cracks in the walls, beneath benches and tables, but found nothing red...nothing red that stood out, anyway. A lot of the upholstery was a rich burgundy red, and a nearby shop displayed red dresses in its window, but she hardly thought they were the 'red things' indicated on the message. She looked at them anyway to see if they held any hidden clues, but found none that made sense to her.
She was only able to do this by maneuvering in ways so as not to be seen by people, for there were people here, and they were of the masked variety. If she remembered correctly, only those of noble birth and their servants could wear masks. Blatantly stooping down to check under benches or rifling through the trimmed leaves of a potted bush would not have gone unnoticed nor unpunished. She had already been drawing some attention with her masklessness – what would happen if they recognized her as the 'Herald of Andraste'?
So she did much of her searching whilst posturing, pretending to be taken in with a certain wall to run her fingers past its cracks, or impressed with the velvety softness of a particular bench, or appreciative of the scents of some flowers growing from the potted bushes. All this, while doing her best to distance herself from the Orlesians around her.
It took her quite a while as a result, and she quickly grew frustrated with the lack of success. By the time she reached the end of the upper market opposite from where she ascended, she had already noticed Blackwall waiting at the tower for some thirty minutes.
That's it, she thought, I give up. It's nothing but a sham. I've searched high and low, I'm sure I didn't miss anything, but nope, nothing. This was stupid.
Ahnnie huffed as she stormed her way towards the staircase. Never had she felt so humiliated – so used! She felt especially regretful for dragging Blackwall into the mess. He must've found nothing and was wise enough to stop searching as soon as he knew, she thought. What a waste of both their time. Oh, well – at least Cassandra didn't get involved. That would have been even more embarrassing.
But when she reached the landing, she noticed something from the corner of her eye by the nearest potted plant. It looked like a dark ball wedged between the pot and the wall. She backed up a few steps to make sure she wasn't seeing things, and sure enough, there was the dark little ball wedged in that spot. Its color was difficult to discern in the shadows between the wall and pot, but she ensured no one was around before bending down to retrieve it. It was the only out-of-place thing so far; she might as well check it out.
A sock? she thought as she felt the wooliness of the ball. She pulled until it came free, and went to the railing to observe it by lamplight. "It's red!" she exclaimed to herself. And as she unfurled it, it was indeed a sock. But...that's it? Just a sock? She frowned, wondering who on earth would go through the effort of shooting a message to her while she was alone, at a precise time in the dark...just for her to find a sock.
Ahnnie held up the sock, examining its every fiber for some sort of clue. Then she reluctantly dug into it, trying not to think of the sweaty foot it once graced. To her surprise, her fingers touched paper. When she withdrew her hand, she found a piece of paper torn from the corner of what used to be an ornate document. Her eyes instantly jumped upon the words written on it – from two different hands, she noticed – but to her dismay, she found that they were in another language.
The runes were more or less the same than Common, but when she tried reading the first line, she received a nonsensical string of sounds: ay noo devon bayeer bien...
Is it Orlesian? she wondered, and wished she'd learnt the language before coming here.
Before she could give up, she came to the second set of writing and realized it was in Common, albeit mispelled: Herold go at time. Praise Adrast.
Heart beating anxiously, she rushed down the stairs and headed straight for Blackwall. The bearded Warden was following her approach with his eyes, and he unfolded his arms when she came close.
"Did you find anything?" he asked her, noticing the sock in her hands.
Ahnnie held it out before him, then the torn paper. "I found these balled up beside a potted plant, and the paper was stuffed into the sock." When he took the paper, she rushed to inform him, "The writing at the top is in a different language, though."
Blackwall squinted at it, then read aloud, "...and we are to obey well. We meet at ten bells to discuss how best to serve the new way."
Ahnnie blinked. "How did you...?"
"I know some Orlesian," he explained, and flipped the paper to look at the other side. When he found nothing, he handed it back to her. "It's cut off from a sentence, but I think its meaning is clear."
"Someone's meeting somewhere at ten?" Ahnnie guessed.
"Most likely. I found this by the cafe–" he held out his handkerchief, with its crumpled parchment "–and it seems to talk about a path to take. Now there's only the 'red thing' at the docks. After we find that, we'll try piecing the mystery together."
Blackwall found something, after all! Ahnnie felt relieved; so this wasn't completely useless. Thank god!
Emboldened by their discoveries, they headed for the docks, going down the same path they took to reach the Summer Bazaar earlier in the day. As the Bazaar faded from view, so did the gentlefolk along with it; less and less people were found hanging around these secluded areas, and the ones they did see looked like the rougher sort. Once they arrived at the docks, swearing could be openly heard, but of the people who swore, they were difficult to make out in the darkness. Only a few lights glowed against the gloom.
Ahnnie stepped closer to Blackwall. "We shouldn't stay here too long," she observed.
Blackwall grunted, but his attention was on the map of the folded paper. At any rate, he didn't look like someone who was easily spooked by places such as these. It took him a while to make it out in the darkness, but eventually he was able to see where the red mark on the paper equated to the docks around them. He turned back to look at their point of entry, then back again to get a lay of the land, and slowly stalked along the harbor to where he believed their last object lay. His careful gait reminded Ahnnie of their hunting trip in the woods; and in a way, they were hunting for something. Just a different sort of thing, and for a different sort of purpose.
Finally, he stopped by a pile of crates and nets. Ahnnie almost ran into him; her eyes had been fixated on a couple of burly silhouettes in the distance. She quickly apologized and asked him what was the matter.
"See if you can find anything in there," he instructed, pointing to the pile.
They both bent down and groped amongst the nets, peeking into crates and the spaces between them; Ahnnie fought the urge to shout 'Aha!' when she felt a soft piece of cloth. She drew it out and put it under the scant light to see its color. Red! Perfect! And it was tied around a rusty little key. She quickly relayed this to Blackwall and they withdrew as soon as they could from the docks. Just as well, for the silhouettes Ahnnie had seen walked by their previous spot not too long afterward.
When they were back within the Bazaar, Blackwall untied the cloth from the key. He shook it out to see if there were any hidden papers, but there were none. Then he examined it beneath a lamp post, and read these hastily scrawled words:
Key lifted from drunk swearing about Herald. Don't know what door. I'm out, my debt is paid.
The Warden nodded in satisfaction. "This is it," he declared. "We've found everything."
Ahnnie withdrew her torn paper and Blackwall, the crumpled parchment, and they set to discussing the three clues in hushed tones.
"So this one talks about a time, yours talks about a path, and this last one is a key to someplace," Ahnnie said, summing it up. "Are we missing anything? Do you think Lady Keris and the 'new way' tie into this somehow?"
Blackwall frowned. "I don't think they do, at least not immediately."
"Where do you think this 'third passage' is, then?"
"Hold a moment..." Blackwall looked up, then around the Bazaar. "Ah! That arch over there – Etienne III – looks like our passage. The others are marked with names, but no numbers. If not, then my hands are tied. Maker knows how many paths and passages this city has."
Ahnnie looked, and found what Blackwall observed to be true. "All right, then! What do we do next?"
Just as she said so, the clock began to strike. One...two...three...
"Great Maker," Blackwall swore, "that's the ten bells ringing."
"What?" Ahnnie asked, bewildered. "Are you sure?"
Four...five...six...
"Last I heard was nine. It's got to be it; there's no mistake."
"Then..."
Seven...eight...nine...
Blackwall nodded at the arch bearing Etienne III over it in gilded letters as the last, and tenth, bell rung. "Let's take a quick look. What could it hurt?"
The wrought iron gate swung cleanly on its hinges as Ahnnie pushed it open. With a nod to Blackwall, they quietly slipped through, and Ahnnie was thankful that the gate was both unlocked and freshly oiled.
The passage leading from the arch of Etienne III had not been very long. It wasn't exactly a single passage, for it took them through a regular city street, but Blackwall figured that they only had to keep straight to find their place. If not, they would simply go back and forget about the whole business. Since they ended up finding it, though, they realized the path had led them into the secluded courtyard of a big manor house. Except for a few crates scattered here and there, it was completely empty. Directly ahead of them was a blue door set into the wall.
Ahnnie held up the key. "Think this is it?" she asked Blackwall, nodding at the door.
"We won't know until we try," he reminded her, and they both stepped cautiously up to the door.
Ahnnie inserted the key into the hole, twisting it gently for fear of making a noise. The courtyard seemed empty, but that emptiness worked in turn to unnerve her; what if the manor's occupants should be alerted to their presence? No, even worse – what if somebody lay in wait on the other side?
With a click, the door was unlocked. Holding in her breath, Ahnnie twisted the knob and pushed it open, hairs rising on the back of her neck as it gave a thin, whining creak. She waited until Blackwall was beside her before daring to take the first step...
Fwoom! A ball of fire the size of her fist suddenly rushed at her. She yelped and jumped back in the nick of time to avoid it, suffering only from lightly singed hair ends.
Blackwall's hand went to the hilt of his sword as he steadied the girl with his other hand. "You all right?" he asked.
Ahnnie looked down at the curling crisps of her singed hair. "I-I'm fine," she stammered, and pushed herself upright. She, too, made a grab for her short sword. There must be a mage; I've got to be care–
"Herald of Andraste!" a heavily accented voice called out. Ahnnie looked up to find it coming from a nobly dressed Orlesian sauntering into her line of view, his golden mask gleaming from the light of the manor's windows. "How much effort did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!"
Ahnnie looked around the courtyard; there didn't seem to be other people. So that fireball came from him? He doesn't look like a mage. Then again, he could have been using an enchanted object. But even more baffling was his strange claim about them expending so much effort; beyond the effort used to find the objects and decipher their clues, that is. "What? We don't even know who you are!" she protested.
"You don't fool me!" he spat. "I'm too important for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!"
"No really, we–"
She was interrupted by a scream that sounded from around the corner, and both she, Blackwall, and even the noble turned their heads toward its source. There they found a blue liveried corpse being pushed to the ground as a young elven archer notched a new arrow to her bow and aimed it at the masked noble.
"Just say, 'what!'," the elven archer shouted.
Incensed, the Orlesian noble roared, "What is the–"
An arrow flew right into his face, silencing him with a piercing shot through the eye hole. It gave out a thick spurt of blood before the now deceased noble fell onto his back.
Ahnnie stared at the noble, her mouth agape. Then she stared at the archer, who was regarding his corpse with a look of disgust.
"Eeugh!" the archer gagged. "Squishy one, but you heard me, right? 'Just say, "what."' Rich tits always try for more than they deserve."
"R-rich ti..." Ahnnie dumbly echoed, wondering whether to be appalled by the archer's colorful vocabulary or the bloody man on the ground.
Blackwall furrowed his brows. "Who are you, and what's going on here?" he demanded.
But if the elven archer heard, she didn't show it. "Blah, blah, blah! Obey me! Arrow in my face!" she taunted, her tone childish and mischievous. She went over to the corpse, plucked the bloody arrow from the noble's eye, and stuck it back into her quiver. She next sauntered over to Ahnnie, looking her up and down as though to appraise a piece of merchandise.
Ahnnie backed up a step, slightly unnerved.
"So," the archer began, tossing back a stray strand of her bobbed blonde hair, "you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you're..." She made a disappointed face. "You're kind of plain, really. All that talk, and then you're just...a person. I mean, it's all good, innit?" she asked, perking up again. "The important thing is, you glow. You're the Herald–thingy."
Ahnnie gasped. "So you're the one who shot me that message!"
The archer chuckled. "Yeah. Frightened you, didn't I? 'Yaaah'," she mock-screamed in a high falsetto note, imitated the way Ahnnie had jumped, and then chuckled again. "Hilarious."
Ahnnie cringed at the reenactment. She's...certainly something...
"Mind telling us what's going on?" Blackwall asked again, glowering pointedly at the eccentric elf.
She shrugged. "No idea. I don't know this idiot from manners." She nodded at the noble, then went on, "My people just said the Inquisition should look at him."
"Your people? Elves?" Blackwall asked.
"Ha! No. People people."
"Who?" Ahnnie asked.
But the elf must have mistook her meaning, for she introduced herself whilst pointing at some nearby crates, "Name's Sera, this is cover. Get round it."
The Warden and the Herald exchanged confused glances with one another, wondering yet again what the elf meant.
"For the reinforcements," Sera clarified. "Don't worry, someone tipped me their equipment shed." Her eyebrows went up as her grin widened. "They've got no breeches!"
It wasn't until Sera pulled Ahnnie down behind a crate that she realized the elf was talking about oncoming guards. Blackwall knelt down with them as well, but only after hearing the pitter-patter of harried footsteps coming from the farther end of the courtyard.
"Shh," Sera hushed them with an index to her plump lips, though neither of them had made a sound. They waited in silence, listening to the footsteps grow louder. As soon as the first few guards could be heard exclaiming angrily at the sight of the dead noble, Sera notched an arrow to her bow and leapt up from her hiding spot. Ahnnie heard a twang and then the arrow itself whistling through the air before connecting with its target, which went down in a heavy thump.
Blackwall rolled out of hiding a moment later to intercept a guard, and then Ahnnie followed suit with her short sword unsheathed. But the moment she laid eyes on the two guards rushing at them, her eyes widened in disbelief and a hearty laugh escaped her lips.
No breeches! The guards were wearing no breeches!
"Told you, didn't I?" Sera called out to her.
Ahnnie pursed her lips to stifle the laughter, but it came out anyway in bursting intervals. She knew she should be afraid, should be focused on keeping her short sword in front of her to do some damage to the incensed guardsmen, but every time she saw their bare legs pumping angrily in that funny run of theirs, clothed by nothing more than boxer briefs, she couldn't help but laugh again.
Blackwall slapped a guard's blade away and knocked him out with the pommel of his sword. "More coming!" he alerted them, and charged to meet another breechless guard.
Sera took care of two of them pretty quickly. "C'mon, Herald," she goaded Ahnnie. "Don't be a rich tit! Give us a hand!"
Ahnnie wiped the tears from her eyes. "O-okay," she wheezed, and cleared her throat before rushing out to aid Blackwall. The guard who had been a part of the first two jumped in her way, having tried to cut down Sera beforehand but was unable to out of fear for her arrows. Seeing an easy target in Ahnnie, he decided to divert his efforts there.
"Laugh again, you little tart!" the guard spat. "Come, I dare you!"
Ahnnie exchanged ringing blows with his sword, her face strained now with the effort of keeping in time with his every movement. Her swordplay had not much improved since the last lesson with Cassandra, but she had a fair grasp of how to move thanks to the practice fights between her and some recruits that the Seeker arranged, in which both sides held nothing back and fought honestly. Spying a little opening in the guard's stance, Ahnnie remembered a trick Cassandra taught her and used it to her advantage, locking the guard's blade into the corner between her blade and hilt, before twisting it away, leaving him defenseless.
Perfect, Ahnnie thought, glad to have the chance to end this fight – until she realized that meant killing him. Except for his legs, there was no other opening in his armor except for a sizable slit that revealed his neck. So she paused, her short sword raised, not knowing what to do.
"What're you waitin' for? Finish him!" Sera cried.
I can't! Ahnnie wanted to cry back, but no word made its way to her tongue. The guard, sensing his good luck, made a dive for his fallen sword. As he came up armed again, Ahnnie realized the danger she put herself through and swung her sword at him in a panic. She screamed in horror when the end of her blade sliced clean through his windpipe, blood gushing forth to splatter on her boots – either she had misjudged her aim, or the guard had moved his head up at the wrong time.
Blackwall dashed the blunt end of his blade against his guard's helmet, knocking the man out in a clash of vibrating metal. Another guard fell upon him, but he pushed the man away with some quick blows before rushing to Ahnnie as fast as he could. "What's wrong?" he asked when he realized she wasn't in danger. "Are you hurt?"
Ahnnie shook her head. Strangely, despite her initial horror, she felt...she felt nothing. With a dazed look at Blackwall, she asked, "Are there any more?"
"Just one–"
As if on cue, Sera shot him.
"Never mind. No more left. But not all of them are dead. We'll want to get out of here before they wake up." He grabbed hold of her arm and gestured for Sera to retreat. "Come on. Let's go."
The three of them slipped out of the blue door and then beyond the wrought iron gate into the shadows of the alleyway. When they were at a safe enough distance, ensconced behind the wall of a nearby building, they stopped to catch their breaths. Ahnnie in particular was doubled over, hands on her knees, staring in lamentation at her boots. They're a mess! I have to wipe them before I get back to the inn.
Sera was the first to break the silence. "Friends really came through with that tip. No breeches!" She laughed; a queer, rapidfire sound of mirth. "So, Herald of Andraste. You're a strange one. I'd like to join."
Ahnnie looked up. "What?"
"Y'know. Fight the baddies, restore 'order'...whatever it is you're doing."
"You haven't answered our questions yet," Blackwall pointed out. "Who exactly are you, and what've we been doing?"
Sera looked a little flustered. "All right, so there's a name...no, wait, two. It's...well, it's like this. I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That's me. Well, I'm one," she said, ticking down a finger, "so is a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall...there were three in Starkhaven, brothers or something." She gave up soon after and lowered her hands back to her sides. "It's just a name, yeah? It lets little people, 'friends', be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I'm Sera. 'The Friends of Red Jenny' are sort of out there. I used them to help you. Plus arrows." She grinned.
"I'm Ahnnie," Ahnnie introduced herself, "and this is Blackwall." The Warden gave her a frown, as if he hadn't approved of letting his name be known, but she ignored it. "So...you're offering spies? Is that what Friends of Red Jenny is?"
Sera sighed, and put up her hands as if to frame a picture. "Okay, here's how it is. You 'important' people are up here, shoving your cods around. 'Blah, blah, I'll crush you. I'll crush you!" Then she puckered her lips and made little kissy sounds. "Oh, crush you..."
Ahnnie made a face. "Okay..."
"Ahem. Then you've got cloaks and spy-kings. Like that tit. Remember? Arrow-in-the-face? Or he was one of the little knives? All serious with his...little knife." She shook her head. "All those secrets, and what gave him up? Some houseboy who don't know shite, but knows a bad person when he sees one. So no, I'm not Knifey Shivdark, all hidden. But if you don't listen down here too, you risk your breeches. Like those guards. I stole their..." Her voice threatened to give way to giggling again, but she shook it away with a stern expression. "Look, do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you?"
Ahnnie exchanged glances with Blackwall again. She was still very much confused even after the listening to Sera's lengthy explanation, but apparently the 'Friends of Red Jenny' were a Robin Hood-esque group that shared a tight network between a select few. Or so Sera said. Whatever the case, Ahnnie knew she couldn't trust the elf blindly. They'd just met, and in the strangest of circumstances.
At last, she gave her answer. "Well, Sera..."
Blackwall and Ahnnie walked beneath the lamplight on their way back to L'auberge de Licorne, their weapons newly cleaned and Ahnnie's boots freshly wiped thanks to the red handkerchief Blackwall still kept in his pocket. They had been mostly quiet, not speaking more than a few words to ask how the other was doing. They were both tired from the unexpected fight and the ship journey – was that just this morning? It felt like a decade ago! – and Ahnnie was trying to discern why she felt so normal.
Hadn't she just killed another person? Or at least, seriously injured him? But she had no doubt that he was dead by now. She'd sliced through his neck, and he'd lost so much blood...it'd be a miracle if he still lived.
And yet, somehow, she wasn't frantic over it. Not like she had been with the archer in the Crossroads.
"Not used to killing?" Blackwall asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Ahnnie perked her head up. "Not really...I think. How'd you know I was thinking of that?"
"You've got that look in your eye. I've seen it in recruits before." The Warden crossed his arms. "Was that guard your first?"
She shook her head. "No. My first was an archer in the Hinterlands. I, uh...hurt him pretty badly." She was reluctant to let him know of the more violent truth behind that story. "I'm just confused right now," she explained. "Either it's because of how extreme the first one was, or if it's because the guard had a helmet on to cover his face, but...I didn't feel much of anything with the, uh, second one. And I'm wondering if that's wrong."
Blackwall sighed. "That's nothing strange. But think of it this way: if you didn't killed him, he would've killed you. Both the archer and the guard; they wouldn't have stopped to spare your life. You had no choice."
Ahnnie frowned. "But...but you didn't kill all the guards you fought. You knocked most of them out. I..."
"You're not strong enough to make a blow that hard with your sword," he explained. "Not yet, anyway. And yes, I admit, I'd prefer not to kill unless it's necessary. But remember that word: necessary. Sometimes it just is. Not wrong, or right...just necessary."
She mustered up a small smile. "I guess you have a point...it's just that I used to think of it as something completely wrong. I never thought about killing in self-defense, though. It was only in terms of murdering. Society where I come from is heavily regulated and really looks down on that sort of thing." She knew for certain that what she'd done here in Thedas would have landed her in jail back in America.
"It'll ruin you, but only if you let it," Blackwall then said.
Ahnnie would have responded, except that they had arrived at the inn by that time. They were just in time, for the innkeeper's wife had been ready to lock the doors. When Ahnnie returned to the room she shared with Josephine and Cassandra, though, it was to find the Seeker in a displeased mood.
"Where have you been?" Cassandra reproached her, arms crossed against her chest. Josephine was already asleep in one of the twin beds, dark hair splayed against her pillow.
Ahnnie blushed. "Oh, I was out with Blackwall, because..." She proceeded to tell Cassandra of the night's events, from the arrow-borne message to the little scavenger hunt, and then the scene at the secluded courtyard leading up to Sera's acquaintance and request to join the Inquisition.
"And you just accepted?" Cassandra asked flatly. "Without knowing who she was? She could have been lying to you."
"Well..." Ahnnie shrugged. "She was being persistent, and if what she said was true, she could give us some insight on what's going on at the bottom of the social hierarchy." At least, that's what Ahnnie believed she meant by the ones 'down here'. "And maybe Leliana knows more about the Friends of Red Jenny, so that's why I thought it wouldn't be a problem. Besides, Sera can't do anything to me here or on the way back to Haven; we have our soldiers, right?"
Cassandra narrowed her eyes at the girl before shaking her head. "You have brought up good points, and if this 'Sera' is as determined as she seems, then she can meet with Leliana and make better her offers there. Next time, however, I would advise you not to be so careless. It is late now; go to sleep."
Ahnnie nodded and went to her side of the bed to get undressed. She slipped herself into a simple nightshirt and crawled into bed just at the moment Cassandra blew out the candle. With a yawn, the girl gave into her fatigue and fell asleep.
Val Royeaux – what a city! And what would come next?