"Ladies and gentlemen of the council, if I may?"

Garrett rose, he knew what he was going to say, the strength of his arguments...and that they would fall on deaf ears. Usually, that would make arguing pointless, but Garrett wasn't doing it to change the opinions of the assembled nobles, no, he did it for the attention it might garner.

A quick glance to his left revealed that while the Viscount Dumar was watching him like the others, it was with tired and dull eyes, the man worn down by the latest council, as he usually was by the time it was close to being finished. Not surprising, given how everyone keeps reducing his power while demanding he use it efficiently. Garrett, however, was still young, and knew himself to be of sterner stuff than that of the Viscount, he didn't intend to become demoralised. When the going gets tough... The saying was one Carver had liked when they'd worked on the fields, and the thought of it made Garrett struggle not to grimace as he looked about himself to make sure everyone was paying attention.

The chamber they were in was a floor above the throne room, the left side opening in a broad and tall window giving a breath-taking view of the city and main harbour below, the light filtering through it enough to illuminate everyone in the room, be it be it the seated nobles or the servants standing still as statues along the other walls. These walls were covered in wooden panels and tapestries, making for the illusion that one was in a house and not a fort, as the rough stone behind was nowhere to be seen. The same could be said of the ceiling, covered in white lime and painted by some Orlesian artist once, as well as the floor, covered as it was with a thick black carpet from corner to corner, the bloodied heraldry of the city in its centre, mostly concealed by the table standing atop it.

The table was a ridiculous thing of stone, large enough to take up the majority of the room and with reliefs of various scenes from the Chant of light cut into its edges. Round, Garrett had heard it was supposedly for making all at the table to be equal in the council...a silly notion to him, seeing as everyone knew the power and authority with which each man and woman spoke with, no table would change that.

The Viscount was seated closest to the window, on Garrett's left, and the Fereldian offered the man a brief bow of respect, something most still did at council before speaking, yet too many no longer bothered with. Hard to respect him, perhaps, but the office...without a Viscount, there's no unifying force in Kirkwall, factionalism is bad enough as it is already. The man looked the part of a Viscount, physically at least, his crown of black steel fit well on his head and his equally black clothes gave his still intact physique a noble air...yet the tired eyes, the dull look on his face...it took away all power the man once might have projected, if he ever had.

Considering the templars had been the ones who put him in power, Garrett guessed not.

Behind the man, a woman that made Garrett bristle sat on a smaller chair. It was a different Chantry sister every time, this time a little brown-haired dormouse of a woman, yet who it was never mattered to him. A Chantry scribe, not one of our own, recording our every word, our every decision, and sending a copy to the Templar headquarters of all things, not even hiding the fact she's working for the Templars, rather than the Chantry itself. It was bad enough to read through stacks of documents about all that the Templars had forced upon Kirkwall's government in terms of laws and taxes, some wasn't even written down, just demanded, but to have them watch every move of the government... It wasn't only insulting, but undermined whatever authority the Viscount held by making sure he was being watched like a child.

Looking away from the woman shifting in fright under his frown, Garrett turned his gaze to the nobles of the city, those with the real secular power in Kirkwall, however fractured they might have made it.

Some chairs were empty, since many a noble viewed his time better spent elsewhere, or didn't care. Others were occupied by minor nobles that legally shouldn't be allowed in the council for anything but major decisions, but who were sponsored by other nobles, either to simply represent them or to add their votes to any decision so that their sponsor could make his or her vote that much more powerful.

Across the table, one such noble sat, surrounded by six minor nobles that gave him a third of the votes at the table, and that was him letting his guard down. Charles Reinhart was a twig of a man, middling height, a long and wrinkly neck tipped by a bald and even wrinklier skull making him look like a tortoise out of its shell. His grey eyes glittered with intellect and amusement though, concealing the fact that the man was one of the greediest man in Kirkwall...and also the wealthiest. The man owned many a property in Kirkwall, earning a wealth in rent from storing whatever other nobles transported to the city. Besides that, he earned almost as much from all his properties in the surrounding countryside, all mines but the Bone Pit were his, mainly digging up silver and gold. All the surrounding farmlands were his as well, meaning he technically held his foot on the Viscount's throat, seeing as how the cheap grain from those farms was feeding nearly the entire population of Kirkwall. Yet the man would never press his foot down, the coppers trickling from a near million people too good to pass up. His interest lay in securing his wealth, not in politics.

Further down the right, a dwarf sat, her fine dress stained at the neckline by a sliver of drool as she quietly snoozed. Next to her, a man dressed in a hood despite being indoors tried to look dashing and interested at the same time...and failed at both, his eyelids drooping as he struggled to stay awake, elbow resting on the table. Like several at the table, they were nobles of little consequence, minor nobles either taking the seat of their sponsor, or men and women just at the point that they were allowed to enter the council. They were full of their own importance yet rapidly coming to understand the pointlessness that the council had devolved into. The old archives spoke of great debates, now the council members can barely rouse to speak. I suppose I should not judge, most would rightly consider me a jumped up peasant, and a foreigner at that, but at least in Ferelden, those in charge do their duty. Hell, if Loghain could do it before his fall from grace, so could I.

To the right another noble of note sat though. Guillaume de Launcet, an Orlesian Comte turned Kirkwall lord. Unlike Reinhart, making his money off of real-estate, or most other nobles, making their money from trade, the man came from a long line of Orlesian nobles...but of a dying house, ensuring that the man was immensely rich from inheritances. Still, while his wealth came from an unimpressive source, the man cut a powerful figure. Broad of shoulders and slim of waist, his sand-coloured beard and hair were finely cropped and combed to the point that not a hair was out of place, the fine impression enhanced by a excessively decorated doublet and single golden chain with a locket hanging from his neck. His eyes were brown, glittering with cheerfulness from within deep sockets...and had been looking at Garrett many a time now...not that Garrett blamed the man, he'd given the man looks as well, curious. The man my mother might have married, had it not been for my father...how different mother's life would have panned out... Of course, the man, who didn't look nearly as affected by time as Leandra, despite being of similar age, had a wife by now, even a son...though Garrett had heard the boy was a simpleton. At least he doesn't seem to harbour hard feelings, he almost seem friendly.

Having looked about the room, Garrett cleared his throat and spoke out, making the dwarven lady mutter something in her sleep. "To try and demand or ask the Qunari of something like this is pointless, we should all know that by now. They act according to their own rules and will not heed or even understand our argument that this latest band of Tal-Vashoth harrying the land-trade is theirs to deal with. They do not consider Tal-Vashoth Qunari business, they will kill them if they find them, yes, but to imply that the Tal-Vashoth are somehow their responsibility or criminals of their people is not something the Arishok will acknowledge." Garrett saw one of the nobles that had just reached the wealth to partake in the council bristle, ready to counter-argument...and Garrett shot the man a hard look, making him close his mouth and slump in his chair, looking annoyed. "I realise that this is a foreign concept to us, and goes against our own values and even logic...yet that's where we are, and trying to impose our own view on the Qunari will not work. I'm sure Kirkwallers, with more experience of the Qunari than me, a mere Fereldian, understands this even better."

Considering the arguments laid so far, it doesn't seem that way. The noble that had been about to argue turned a slighter shade of red at Garrett's words, but remained silent. Guillaume de Launcet was leaning back in his chair, eyeing Garrett with interest while Charles Reinhart was leaning forward on his elbows, fingers steepled in front of him as with a poker-face he watched Garrett. Dumar still looked tired rather than listening though, the Viscount visibly suppressing a yawn.

"Now besides that, many arguments have been laid forward for the Guard to handle this, and while this is correct from a legal standpoint, the practical application of that stands in question, as I've mentioned before. The Guard does not have scouts, they do not have trackers, they are ill-equipped to even find the Tal-Vashoth, never mind bring them to battle. More importantly, however, is the fact that there are precious few guardsmen as it is, if a detachment is sent, there really is no replacement with which to keep order in the city. And as we all know from the most recent anti-Qunari riot..." No doubt created by that Petrice sister, if she thinks I've forgotten about her, she's sadly mistaken. "...was barely suppressed by severely outnumbered guardsmen. I cannot think anyone here would wish to even think of the consequences of an unchecked riot near the docks and the warehouses there, warehouses brimming with our property."

There were a few mutters of agreement at that, a few more hushed and worried than others. I never knew the nobles feared those in Lowtown so much...no doubt the Coterie makes them think everyone there are like the gang. Reinhart was nodding, a good sign, but one that wouldn't change the man's position on the matter, Garrett knew. Dumar was eyeing him with a little more interest though, and that was what mattered.

"Of course, by extension, as so many have pointed out, this is the Viscount's job." There was mutters of agreement all across the table, only Reinhart and Dumar himself being silent, the later looking very tired all of a sudden. "He could hire trackers and scouts for the detachment of guards...that we cannot send." Garrett paused for effect. "Yet he could also, as many have pointed out, hire mercenaries, no? Yet..." Garrett frowned, an action coming naturally whenever he thought of Kirkwall's economy. "...with what money? The taxes trickling into the Viscount's office is not enough to pay the guardsmen currently hired, never mind the maintenance of the city...how would he be able to hire a mercenary company?" Garrett shook his head. "Loans? From whom? Us? When would we expect repayment? In a hundred years? More? Where's the point in that? Never mind the way we then further weaken the strength of the Guard in the future." He paused for but a moment. "From foreign bankers and nations? Hurting not only the city's but our appearance as well when they find themselves not being repaid? Kirkwall is a city based on trade. Trade requires an amiable relationship with those we do business with...ergo, we will lose out on profit if we hurt our reputation in such a way."

Reinhart was leaning back in his chair, looking somewhat amused, yet in a way that didn't welcome Garrett's arguments. Most other nobles didn't seem sure of where he was going with his arguments, save Guillaume who was grinning, teeth flashing as he listened on. Dumar was now leaning on one armrest, his attention fixed on Garrett, curious, surprised and pleased. A good sign. Garrett wasn't all that interested in Dumar as a person or even what the man could do, but with him came legitimacy...if Garrett could, with his growing income and influence, act in Dumar's name, he could do so knowing none could question the legality of his actions...at least in public. And only as long as I'm seen acting within the law...wonder how Varric is doing with our little plan...

"Yet as long as these Tal-Vashoth prey on our trading, they will hurt us all." Garrett took a deep breath, knowing the plunge he was taking would likely be meeting a cold wall. "I move that we all contribute a small-"

"Tax?" Charles Reinhart interrupted, his face blank, yet eyes glimmering with intellect. "That was what you were about to say, no?" Garrett inclined his head, moving to speak...yet Reinhart was quicker. "I've already paid my tax, if the Viscount needs more, it must come up at the proper debate...next year." A debate which you'll shut down, we all know... Garrett offered a polite smile, one Reinhart answered in kind, nothing but friendly as he countered Garrett's position. "If we start to forego procedure and tax our nobles whenever the city needs an extra income, it'll set up a dangerous...precedence for doing so in the future. All respect to our honoured Dumar, he acts with nothing but honour to his nobles..." Reinhart shot the Viscount a brief nod, not even noticing the way the old man grimaced at the words. "...but the Viscount office is eternal, and giving it more powers than it should have could be exploited by a lesser man."

"I'm aware of these...troubling issues." Garrett replied, choosing his words carefully as he tried to gauge the sincerity of Reinhart's smile. "But laws weigh lightly against reality, and the reality is that the Viscount does not have the means to deal with this issue, we do. Each one of us is losing money from the disruption to trade these Tal-Vashoth are creating. Together, the cost for removing them would be minimal...while the cost for letting them be would be greater. Hell, any one of us could single-handedly afford to deal with this nuisance. Surely a joint effort, with the blessing of the Viscount, is not out of the question then?"

"Semantics." Reinhart chuckled. "A joint effort with the Viscount's blessing and leadership is the same as us paying him a tax directly, my dear Hawke, and I'm sure you're aware of this." True... Garrett inclined his head, forcing a smile as he sensed Reinhart about to take the bait. The man was nothing if not predictable when it came to money, he disliked spending it but loved saving himself money...especially if someone else footed the bill. At least that's the impression I've gotten from all these Council meetings...Maker knows why the Reinharts' have two parties a year for all the nobles...either he's different socially or his wife is amazingly persuasive. "However, as you pointed out, each one of us could afford it on our own..." Ah, you said it, a good start. "...so if you feel compelled to deal with this issue on your own, then as a noble of Kirkwall, I believe you are entitled to do so."

"Thank you, Reinhart, you are quite right." Garrett held Reinhart's gaze, forcing himself not to try and glance at Dumar as he spoke. Pick your words carefully now, Garrett... "I might, in a fit of patriotism, indeed do this. Though I'd prefer to do so with the Viscount's permission, than to undertake a private war, I respect the sovereignty of the Viscount in such matters, after all. But if my fellow nobles feel incapable of rendering aid at the moment, no dishonour should fall on them, I was merely opening for an opportunity to participate."

"Good, we are in agreement then." Reinhart smiled, the flashing of his eyes telling Garrett that the man was pleased with the chance of losing a nuisance by someone else paying for their removal. The other nobles also looked pleased, even Guillaume de Launcet was smiling encouragingly, despite the fact that he had nothing at stake in the matter. Funny, in Ferelden, I'm sure the nobles there would have been more sensitive around the issue of possible dishonour...ah well, I shouldn't look a gift-horse in the mouth, I've circumvented insulting the nobles while at the same time reached out to the Viscount, that's what matters. "Now, if that's all...?" Reinhart turned his head, looking to Dumar...and Garrett did the same.

Garrett found the Viscount looking at him, nearly staring...before slowly blinking and shaking his head. "What? Oh, yes." The man assumed a neutral look on his face and grabbed a gavel lying discarded on the table in front of him. "I, Dumar the first..." Given he had no child, his one son having died by falling off his horse ten years ago, he was also likely the last...which suited Garrett just fine. "...hereby call this Council to an end, may all who leave walk in the Maker's shadow." As one, the nobles rose to leave, the door swiftly opened by an attentive servant. "Except for you, Hawke. Please stay."

Ah...good. Stopping, Garrett ignored Reinhart's wry look as well as Guillaume's curious one, instead he kept his eyes on the floor, and a hand on the table as he waited, giving the other nobles time to leave along with the servants.

When the door finally shut with a polite click, Garrett looked up, somewhat surprised to find him and Dumar alone, not even a solitary servant or the Chantry scribe left with them. Good, makes things easier, won't have to worry about any spies... Garrett glanced at the walls, a niggling suspicion in the back of his mind, given his own knowledge of hidden tunnels throughout Kirkwall. ...maybe.

The Viscount was standing behind his throne, back turned to it as with hands clasped in front of him, he faced the window, looking down at the city bellow. Slowly, Garrett moved to stand next to him, carefully watching the man's face, trying to gauge his mind.

It was a curious game Garrett was playing, one he wasn't sure was actually necessary. But he knew the dangers that lurked in Lowtown, it was a latent fireball, ready to explode. He knew of the Templars' tightening grip, threatening to slowly choke the life out of the city and anyone affiliated with magic. He knew of the Qunari, a looming threat none seemed to take seriously. He knew of the crippled Viscount and inactive nobility, leaving the city rudderless and a prey to all other factions within the city. And he knew he was part of that city.

Knowing that, he had decided to act proactively. With enough power and influence in the city, he could stop any incoming disasters before they ever happened. Keeping what was left of his family, as well as others he cared about, safe...securing the Hawke name and his own as a name of power was also a nice bonus, giving him the control he so desired. I'll use my control of the city damn better than most in this place though, that's for sure...and I might need that control. In the back of his head, Flemeth's words on Sundermount echoed. "But I also listen, to the current, to the change in the wind...to the growing storm."

Growing storm...

Blinking, Garrett realised neither he nor Dumar had spoken for quite some time.

He cleared his throat, eyes that had been drawn to the view outside while he'd been thinking slowly moving to look at the Viscount, waiting.

The old man before him sighed, closing his eyes as he raised his head, letting the warmth of the sun touch his face...and only then did he speak. "You are different."

"Serah?"

"I've ruled this city for what...thirteen years?" The Viscount frowned. "Odd, feels like longer..." A shake of his head. "...doesn't matter. The point is that in all that time, I've never had someone speak up in support of higher taxes, for giving me more power." A little smile. "It's both welcoming and...curious, I must say." Finally, he opened his eyes and turned his head, scrutinising Garrett, both curious and suspicious.

Garrett smiled, showing no hint of his plans. "In Ferelden, the lord obeys the king. Besides, I hold this...divided rule in scant regard, the nobles stand apart from you and each other, when together, we'd be far stronger than the sum of our power." Best not mention Dumar's failure to keep the nobles in check...or that me aiding him is a step to becoming the power behind the throne...a throne I might just take later on... "As such, if I can start something by serving the crown, I'll do so. It's what I'm sworn to do, as a noble of Kirkwall, is it not?"

A snort of amusement escaped Dumar, the man looking back to the city below, mouth a bitter line. "Oh yes, the oaths of fealty and obedience...had almost forgotten about those empty words." Reaching up, the man pulled off his crown, holding it out in front of him, watching it with narrowed eyes. "I suppose I'm not used to someone taking those seriously." He looked back up to Garrett, an incredulous look on his face. "You really intend to...support me?"

And use your station, yes. Garrett nodded. "Yes."

Dumar stared at him, then blinked before turning his head away, his words shaky. "I...see...I'm...well...thank you." Taking a deep breath, he then more steadily continued. "If that's the case, I have a job for you." The man turned his head, looking to Garrett, looking calm and in command...if it had not been for the slight wetness in the corner of his eyes.

Made somewhat sympathetic by the glitter in Dumar's eyes, though not enough to lose his cool, Garrett found himself speaking the words he'd already planned with more feeling than he otherwise might as he inclined his head in a bow. "I'm at your disposal, my lord."

"Good." Dumar stepped away from the window and over to the table, gently placing his iron crown on the table as he scrutinised the surface of the stone, mulling his next words over "The Arishok sent word...three years and this is the first time he contacts me...and I have no idea what he wants."

Garrett, suddenly on edge, inched closer, eyebrows furrowed in a frown. "The message doesn't say?"

"No..." Dumar turned, leaning his hands on the table behind him as he looked to Garrett. "...it only asks for you..." The Viscount hesitated. "...you two...know each other?"

"We've had dealings before, back when I was but a mercenary in Lowtown." Garrett replied, barely noticing Dumar's raised eyebrows as he turned his head, looking out over the city beneath, seemingly aglow under the sun...a beautiful sight if one didn't know how filthy it really was. "Not that I thought he'd remember me...although..."

The Saarebas' last words lingered on Garrett's tongue all of a sudden. "You have no choice...basvaarad."

"...yes, perhaps he has his reasons for wishing to speak with me, specifically." Looking back to Dumar, Garrett found himself facing eyebrows arched in question. "As I said at the Council, the Qunari have alien values to us...it's hard to explain."

"Very well, I'm just glad someone finally got their attention enough to actually be able to talk to them." Dumar's face broke into a small smile as he took a step closer, patting Garrett's forearm. "And that to one of my men as well, this is both a strange and a good day..." Still smiling, Dumar pulled back, put his crown back on and straightened his back. "Lord Hawke. I hereby charge you with the duty as Kirkwall's liaison with the Qunari...go and find out what the Arishok wants, and then report back to me."

Garrett bowed deeply, not about to reveal his delight at not only receiving Dumar's trust, but also his first bit of legitimate power to wield in the city. I'll bring this city to order, one faction at a time...Qunari are as good a place as any to start with. "I'm honoured, my lord. I'll go immediately."

With that, Garrett spun and marched for the door, feeling the Viscount's eyes on him...and smiled.

Qunari liaison...this is a good start.

8

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8

Thanks to Abydos Jackson for being so diplomatic.