"Woah, is that really the crown of Nevarra's Queen Rhadhama'at, or just a replica, do you think?" Maric asked, as he peered in at a tall golden crown that looked, in Loghain's opinion, like a ninepin.
"You're awfully bloody interested in crowns for a man who barely wanted his own," Loghain said. "We're not here to play tourist so stay focused, all right?" He did a double-take. "Woah, is that really Garahel's sword?"
"Loghain. Focus," Maric said, grinning. "That weedy chap over there looks like a scholar."
"You're the talker - talk to him."
"What do I ask him?"
"Elven artifacts," Loghain said. "Ask if he knows of any, or knows any local legends about them."
Maric walked up to the suspected scholar. The man saw them coming and curled his lip. "Fereldanos," he said in a mutter, and then, "May I help you…gentlemen?"
Maric explained what they were looking for. The man looked from one to the other of them with the wide-eyed anxiety of a man looking at people suspected of being violently insane. "I know of no magic mirrors," he said, "but there are a number of little-explored ruins in the area, some of which have legends associated with them. Three of them are supposedly guarded by a mythic creature called a Varterral. They were supposed to have some connection to the ancient elves. Perhaps if you were to track down one of these beasts you might find what you seek?"
Loghain pulled Maric's fancy map of Antiva from his pocket and unfolded it. "If you could mark the location of these ruins down for me, that would be most appreciated," he said. Eager to be rid of his barbarian relic hunters, the scholar swiftly scrawled a number of Xs on the map with a dwarven fountain pen he took from a pocket of his robes. He circled three of them.
"Those are the ruins that are supposedly guarded by the Varterral," he said. "I have been to all of them, however, and saw no sign of any such creature, or any magic mirrors."
"Well, perhaps we'll have better luck," Maric said.
"Wait a minute, before you go talking about 'luck,'" Loghain said. "Just what sort of creature is this Varterral supposed to be?"
"The type that wouldn't mind chewing on a couple of thick-bodied Fereldans," the scholar said, with an unpleasant grin.
LINE BREAK HERE
Loghain and Maric went to a nearby tavern to speak over what they'd learned and set an itinerary while they cooled their throats.
"This country is confoundedly hot," Loghain said.
"You need a dose of sulfur and molasses," Maric said. "Fix you right up."
"Who are you, my mother?"
"Someone had to pick up where she left off," Maric said, and downed his ale. "So, what do you think?"
Loghain unfolded the map and spread it out on the bar before him. "You say the Tevinter Imperium used these mirrors to communicate long-distance," he said, "so I think we should start with these ruins here. They're Tevinter, so they seem like our best chance. After that, we check out these ruins that are connected to the Varterral legend, just in case. If there's no luck there then I suppose we make a sweep of the other ruins in the area just to be certain, but honestly, how a bloody mirror could survive ages and ages in a wrecked building undiscovered and unbroken is beyond me."
Maric reached over and tweaked his nose. "It's a magic mirror, Loghain," he said, with a smile. "But you have a fair point. Perhaps its hidden in some way, maybe even masked with some sort of magic spell. How are we going to find it if that's the case?"
"Maybe we ought to ask for assistance at the local Circle," Loghain said, with a scowl. "It would probably mean telling the Knight-Commander who you are."
"Templars don't get about much more than mages do, so most likely it would be safe enough to do so."
A local, big and burly by the average standards of Antiva, poked Maric in the back. "Fereldanos. You're not welcome in our bar."
Loghain folded up the map. "Let's just go," he said to Maric. Maric held up a forestalling hand.
"Now wait just a moment. There's no cause for unpleasantness here. We're simply thirsty travelers; surely you'd not begrudge us a drop of this fine ale?"
The Antivan was clearly not much for talking. He took a swing at Maric that grazed his jaw. Maric staggered back, then stepped up and took a swing at his attacker. Suddenly the entire tavern, it seemed, was on its feet, and no one seemed to feel any sympathy for the foreigners. Loghain rolled his eyes, swallowed down his ale at a gulp, and clocked the nearest Antivan over the head with the heavy tankard. The fight was on.
LINE BREAK HERE
Maric stood at the cell doors, his face pressed to the cool iron bars. He had a purple bruise high on one cheek and his hair was awry. "This…isn't good," he said.
Loghain sat on the floor of the cell behind him, hands dangling between his knees. He looked up at his friend, and now both eyes were black and swollen nearly shut. "I don't know, Maric," he said, "you think so?"
"They can't really hang us, can they?" Maric asked. "I mean, it was self-defense."
"We're Fereldans; they'll do as they please with us," Loghain said. "And in all fairness, we did kill twelve men between us."
"You killed more of them than I did," Maric said, as he turned to lean back against the cell door. "Besides, what else could we do? They came at us with weapons out, we had to draw swords."
"Yes, well, as I said before, we're Fereldans. Perhaps you haven't noticed, Maric, since in your world everyone is the very best of friends and we all get along swimmingly, but there's a lot of prejudice against Fereldans. Then, too, it's hard to credit a plea of self-defense when you beat the stuffing out of your attackers and render most of them incapable of testifying. The ones we left breathing will almost surely say we started the whole brawl."
Loghain sighed and put his face in his hands. "I can't believe I let you talk me into surrendering my weapons when the guard showed up. We should have just fought our way out."
"Those guards were just men doing their jobs," Maric said. "I don't want some child to hear his father won't be coming home because he was killed in the line of duty."
Loghain snorted. "Our children are soon to be hearing something along those lines, Maric, in case you've forgotten what the magistrate said."
"Our children are grown," Maric said, and squatted down.
"My child is grown. Your child is still playing with tin soldiers, although now he's got his hands on a real live army, which scares the bloody hell out of me. And I think you need to know that part of the reason I was late in answering your peremptory summons was that I was forced to put up quite the battle to get Cailan installed as provisional King. Most of the Landsmeet wanted Bryce Cousland to stand in your stead."
"Thank you for trusting Cailan enough to go to battle for him," Maric said.
"I don't trust Cailan, I trust Anora. That boy got all of the silly-ass in you, and none of the leader."
Maric studied his interlaced fingers for a long moment, then looked up at his friend. "How do we get out of here?" he asked.
"I expect we'll have to tell the magistrate who we are. Talk about your diplomatic incidents. This isn't going to do a thing to improve the image of the Ferelden Barbarian for the rest of Thedas. You'll be known ever after as the Brawling King."
"What about you? Won't you be the Brawling Teyrn?" Maric asked.
"I'm already known by that and worse. What I'm truly worried about is finding someone who'll believe we really are who we say we are, preferably before they put our necks in nooses."
"Yeah. That…might be tough."
Maric was silent for a moment, and then said, "I know the situation is pretty grim, with imminent threat of death and all, but you've got to admit, you and me, fighting back to back…it was just like old times, wasn't it?"
Loghain scowled, then, reluctantly, smiled. "That was a damned good fight."