Yesterday, her meeting with Aveline hadn't gone much better than the rest of her day. Aveline had been distracted and acted like Kattrin had just seen her when in truth she hadn't really seen Aveline in months. Aveline said that she had stepped on some toes and needed help with smugglers on the Wounded Coast. Kattrin had struck a deal that if Aveline helped her with the Warden in Darktown then she would be happy to help on the Wounded Coast. Aveline just seemed relieved to have something to do.
Stepping into Lirene's Ferelden Imports was like stepping off the boat last year. She didn't need her extra sense to feel the desperation radiating off the people crammed into the small space. People lined up to the counter, a few were bleeding from cuts or sores and most were underfed, their frames showing more bones than meat. A woman behind the counter with short, dark hair and a stern face shouted, "Will everyone please just step back!" That must be Lirene.
Walking up to the counter, Kattrin stood beside a panicked girl who was saying, "My mother's in labor! The baby's come early. Can anyone help her?"
Lirene signaled to a boy behind her. "Go with her and help the girl's mother get to the healer."
The boy signaled to another, older boy to join him. He then grabbed the girls' hand and led her out, asking where her mother was while the older boy followed.
Lirene looked at Kattrin. "If you're seeking aid, leave your name with my girl. We serve everyone here—no one came here from Fereldan without trouble. But I can't give priority to anyone who's already found work and lodging."
Kattrin tried to put on her most friendly face and said mildly, "I'm looking for someone. I hear you know where I can find a Ferelden Grey Warden."
"Only Fereldan Grey Warden I've heard of is sitting on the throne. We're out of the Blight's path now. Why would you need a Warden?" Lirene arched a brow, looking puzzled.
"The healer was one of them once, wasn't he? A Warden?" said the woman who was next in line.
"Well, he's not now. And busy enough without answering fool questions about it."
"Why so defensive? Who are you protecting?" Kattrin asked.
"You see what our people face in Kirkwall. They have no jobs, no homes. Most can barely buy bread. This healer, he serves them without thought for coin. He's closed their wounds, delivered their children."
"And yet he needs to hide," added Aveline, concern on her face.
"He's a good man. I won't lose him to the blighted Templars."
"Lose him to the Templars? You mean he's a mage?" Kattrin was surprised. But surprise was quickly replaced by unease as her feeling of Fate grew stronger.
"Would I stick my neck out for some purveyor of hensbane and leeches?"
"Oh, perish the thought. Another delicate mage flower." Carver's tone was dripping sarcasm.
"He doesn't want to be locked in the Gallows just for using the gifts the Maker gave him."
"I mean him no harm. Your healer will be in no danger from me," Kattrin said, trying to sound reassuring.
"Right. Perfectly safe if he cooperates," added Carver.
Kattrin wanted to hit her brother, but Lirene continued speaking. Maybe she hadn't heard Carver's acidic comments.
"I suppose it isn't my secret to keep. Anders has certainly been free enough with his services. Refugees in Darktown know—to find the healer, look for the lit lantern. If you have need enough, Anders will be within."
As they left Lirene's Fereldan Imports, a group of ragtag men were scattered among the market stalls, looking menacing. She groaned. Today was definitely not going better than yesterday.
"Hey!" The leader of the group pointed a Kattrin. "We heard you in there. Asking questions about the healer. We know what happens to mages in this town. And it ain't gonna happen to him."
She didn't like being caught out in the open market, where anyone would see her casting spells. To have her hands tied against using magic made her feel helpless. Thankfully, Carver stepped between Kattrin and the men. She breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't draw his sword. "You want him safe? Don't pick fights with Fereldans while the Templars are after us all!"
The man appeared surprised. "Fereldan? But… You, your clothes… I figured you for a Kirkwaller. Sorry." He then bowed to them and said, "Maker bless the rule of our King Alistair."
The tension slowly leaked from her party and she noticed that even though Carver hadn't drawn his sword, Aveline had. And Varric had Bianca out and loaded. Kattrin fought to keep her disappointment off her face. Truly, she was touched that they would so readily defend her, but she didn't need them stirring more trouble. Still a little on edge, they headed down the steps from Lowtown to Darktown. The Undercity.
The smell was nauseating. There was the immediate smell of human and elf waste followed by the acrid smell of too many unwashed bodies. Beneath that was the musty smell of rats and other vermin. And underneath it all was the smell of decay. It left Kattrin reeling.
The reality of Darktown was heart rending. People huddled in make-shift tents and alcoves or huddled over small and smoky fires. Filthy children huddled in groups, most likely orphans. The few elves she saw glared at her and the other humans. In less lighted areas, eyes and weapons glinted. They moved cautiously through the dimly lit bowels of Kirkwall. The slow pace allowed them to stay vigilant to any sign of attack as well as avoid putrid piles of waste. Varric was muttering under his breath about loving nothing about the Undercity.
Turning left around a corner, they spotted a lit lantern over a pair of closed doors. They turned in that direction, going down a flight of steps only to go up another flight of steps to the landing in front of the doors.
To the left of the clinic there was solitary door. This caught Carver's attention. As he approached the door he became agitated, and motioned her over to show her the small Amell crest on the wall next to the door.
"Well, this looks like the place. If the cellars go this far, maybe we were important," he said, turning to her.
She looked at him. "We'll go in, but let's deal with the Warden first. Disturbing a Grey Warden might be unpleasant and hazardous to our health. I would like to get it over and done with."
She looked then at Varric and said, "I'm worried he won't help us."
Varric smiled. "Don't worry yet, Hawke. Bianca will let us know if there's trouble."
She shook her head, walking toward the clinic. She wasn't quite used to the dwarf talking about his crossbow as a she, or as a person. Before she reached the door, she felt someone drawing from the Fade. The Warden, the mage, was inside and working with a large amount of mana, but she sensed more. Fade spirits. He must be a spirit healer, then.
As she opened the door, she saw him. His face was drawn with concentration and from this far she could see the sweat running down his face and darkening his blond hair. He had strange robes held together with gold rings and blue-green pauldrons with ragged white feathers. His hands worked the blue glow of healing over a boy while the boy's worried parents watched. It was hard not to tap into the Fade herself to lend a hand.
Just then the pull of the Fade got stronger and she watched the mage close his eyes and grit his teeth. He was faltering. She took two quick steps into the room, drawing from the Fade as she went, but then the boy sat up, gasping, and his mother rushed to hold him, crying. She let go of mana she was pulling, letting it slip back into the Fade. The mage stumbled but the boy's father steadied him. The mage leaned heavily on a nearby pillar, his back to her. The father was thanking him and giving the mage a final pat on the back before he and his family walked past Kattrin and her group, and out the door.
She had started walking towards the mage again when she suddenly stopped, just a few feet away from him, sensing danger and another Fade spirit.
The mage grabbed the staff leaning against the same pillar and quickly spun to face them. His palm was out as he assumed a defensive stance, his staff glowing with the mana he held.
"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you threaten it?" His voice wasn't normal, containing a strange reverberation. The presence of the Fade spirit was stronger.
Warily, she said, "I mean you no harm. I'm just here to talk." She pushed down the urge to draw mana from the Fade. He would sense it, and it might provoke him to attack.
Varric pitched in, saying, "We're interested in getting into the Deep Roads. Rumor has it you were a Warden. Do you know a way?"
He shifted out of his stance and put away his staff, but he still watched them warily. "Did the Wardens send you to bring me back? I'm not going. Those bastards made me get rid of my cat! Poor Ser Pounce-a-Lot. He hated the Deep Roads." His voice lacked the reverberation from earlier and she no longer sensed any Fade spirits. She found herself looking at him more closely. He had a melodic voice, soothing and a bit sultry. He had short, blond hair half tied back, kind, light brown eyes, straight eyebrows, a bold but narrow and straight nose, wide cheeks, a tapered chin, dark blonde stubble, and full lips.
Giving herself a mental shake, she processed what he had just said. Wait. What?
Before she could stop herself, she asked, "Ser Pounce-a-Lot? You had a cat named Ser Pounce-a-Lot? In the Deep Roads?"
The mage, Anders, became defensive. "He was a gift. A noble beast." His tone changed and he smiled a little, "Almost got ripped in half by a genlock once. He swatted the bugger on the nose. Drew blood, too." Then he grew defensive again. "The blighted Wardens said he 'made me too soft.' I had to give him to a friend in Amaranthine."
"What are you doing here? So, you came to Kirkwall just to escape the Wardens?"
His eyes narrowed. "You say that like it's a small thing. Yes, I'm here because there's no Warden outpost, no darkspawn, and a whole host of refugees to blend in with." He paused. "And some reasons of my own."
"Can people leave the Wardens? I've always heard that joining the Wardens is for life."
"That's only partly true. The 'hopelessly tainted by the darkspawn' and 'plagued by nightmares of the Archdemon' parts don't go away. But it turns out if you hide well, you don't have to wear the uniform or go to the parties." His eyes danced with merriment and he gave that small smile again.
His levity somehow brought her back on track to gain his help for the expedition. "I want your help," she said. "I'm part of an expedition into the Deep Roads. Any information you have could save people's lives."
"I will die a happy man if I never think of the blighted Deep Roads again," he said bitterly. "You can't imagine what I've come through to get here. I'm not interested…" He paused, crossing his arms. "Although… A favor for a favor. Does that sound like a fair deal? You help me, I'll help you?"
She was reminded of the deal that she had made with Aveline yesterday. But she felt Fate's pull, or push, again. She imagined herself standing on a precipice, preparing herself to jump. She pushed the thought away before answering him.
"Yes. Help my expedition reach the Deep Roads and I'll do whatever you need."
"You don't ask for my terms? What if I were asking for the Knight-Commander's head on a spike?" He seemed serious.
Concerned, she asked, "Is that what you ask?"
Non-committedly, he replied, "You decide," before continuing. "I have a Warden map of the depths in the area. But there's a price." He turned, starting to pace away from her. "I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend. A mage. A prisoner in the wretched Gallows." He turned toward her again, looking so worried and concerned that it pulled at her heart. "The Templars learned of my plans to free him. Help me bring him safely past them, and you shall have your maps."
She knew that she would regret asking this, and she hated herself for doing so, but she had to know. "Help him escape the Circle? You want to make your friend an apostate?"
He sneered at her. "That's such a weighted term. Yes, Andraste said that magic should serve man, not rule him. But I've yet to find a mage who wanted to rule anything. It goes against no will of the Maker for mages to live free as other men."
She breathed a sigh of relief before continuing. "Mages need their freedom. Forcing mages into servitude isn't the way to prevent the rise of another Imperium."
He smiled at her, genuinely and happily surprised. "That's not usually the response I get. Perhaps we will work together better than I expected."
"Who is this mage? Tell me about your friend."
"His name is Karl Thekla. He was sent here from Fereldan when Kirkwall's Circle required new talent. His last letter said that the Knight-Commander was turning the Circle into a prison. Mages are locked in their cells, refused appearances at court, made Tranquil for the slightest crimes. I told him that I would come."
She felt a shiver go down her spine. The Right of Tranquility always did that to her. It made her sweat with cold dread. She wiped her now damp palms on the pants she wore under her chainmail skirting.
She swallowed before continuing. "The Circle, a prison? Are these accusations true?"
"Ask any mage in Kirkwall. Over a dozen were made Tranquil just this year. The more people you ask, the worse the rumors become."
This time she physically shivered before wiping the sweat off her palms. She and her family had been on the run for so long she didn't think there was even a remote chance of being thrown into the Circle. Being made Tranquil would be the most likely outcome if the Templars ever caught up to her.
She could feel him watching her. He must have noticed her reaction, but if he did then he gave no sign. She hadn't given him any indication that she was a mage, unless he felt her briefly pulling mana to assist him. But growing up hiding the magic of herself, her sister, and her father ingrained in her a self-preservation so strong that she couldn't even show another mage what she was. Not until she was certain of her safety.
"What is your plan? How do you plan to break him out of the Gallows?"
"I'm hoping it won't come to that. I sent Karl a message to meet me in the Chantry tonight. Maker willing, he's there, alone. But if there are Templars with him, I swear, I'll free him from them. Whatever the cost."
She felt Fate's pull yet again. Of course he would have planned this for tonight because Fate had already placed her here. She believed in the Maker well enough but never considered herself to be religious. But right here and now, she believed in the Maker's plan. She was just a stray leaf being pulled through turbulent waters. "How did the Templars find out? What do the Templars know of your plans?"
"I don't know. I had been exchanging notes with Karl through a maidservant in the Gallows. Then the letters stopped coming." His worry and concern pulled on her heart again.
She had always been soft hearted, wanting to help everyone. Her father said she took after him in that respect but had cautioned that she needed to learn she couldn't help everyone. But, with both her father and Bethany gone, she was the only mage in her family that she risked with her decision. Her need to help this man, this mage, outweighed all her previous wishes to help others. And she suddenly felt like she could trust him. "I help all my fellow mages. I would help any mage in such circumstances, map or no."
She felt Carver's eyes bore into her back. Well, it was too late. The mage was out of the bag.
"Better make this good. We're risking a lot if we anger the Templars," Carver spat at her.
"I welcome your aid," Anders breathed in relief. "I've already sent word for Karl to meet me in the Chantry tonight. Join us there, and we will ensure that no matter who is there with him, we will all walk away free."
Before she could say anything else, two boys came through the door, walking as quickly as they dared with a litter between them, carrying a woman in the throes of labor. Following them was the girl from Lirene's Fereldan Imports.
Anders seemed to have already dismissed them. He sent the younger boy for hot water and the older boy for clean rags and cloths as he was summoning spirits from the Fade to aid his healing. But as she and her group turned to leave, he called, "Until tonight."
They exited the clinic and turned towards the door leading to the Amell estate. Kattrin estimated that they had enough time to dispose of the slavers in her mother's ancestral home and search for Grandfather's will before they met Anders at the Chantry. She waited in front of the door for Carver to produce the key. She could tell that he was mad at her; whether for sticking her neck out for a fellow mage or the possibility of angering the Templars that they worked so hard to avoid each and every day, she wasn't sure. He stood there, hands balled up at his sides, staring at the wall while his breathing caused his nostrils to flare. Aveline pulled her sword out of her scabbard and started to examine the blade for nicks. Varric hummed a tune under his breath. It wasn't anything she had heard before.
After what seemed like forever, Carver produced the key from his coin pouch. The lock was old and a little rusted and it sounded like a dying animal as Carver turned the key. She was silently hoping that the slavers hadn't heard it when Varric said, "Okay, bad guys, I hope the noise gave you enough warning 'cause we're coming in!"