"Which is why you shouldn't destroy it!"

"You're being silly-"

"Stop calling me that!"

Isabela sighed, secretly amused yet hiding it by pretending to remove some grime under her fingernails with her dagger. Next to her, there was a grunt as Varric shifted where he stood, judging by the glint in his eyes, he too was secretly amused.

Exchanging a glance, the two winked at one another.

The group was still in the cave.

Which was funny, since it'd been what felt like half an hour since they'd defeated the demon with the huge knockers and lovely ship-offers, leaving the book unguarded and ripe for some cleansing magic fires from Serah Scar-face.

The mage had been standing near the book at the start, though with his route blocked by Garrett and Merrill had was the operative word. The man was by now sitting on the ground, looking bored and grumbling to himself every time the elf said a word. Such a grouch, he'll get his way with the book anyway, or I don't know Garrett. The fact that Merrill is still putting up a fight about it is just funny...though I guess his funny bone broke along with his body, poor guy.

Another one less than pleased with the situation was Aveline. The guards-woman was standing near the exit to the cave, arms crossed over her chest and tapping her foot against the ground, her head constantly moving to glance at the exit, then back to Garrett, obviously trying to command the man to clobber the elf over the head or something like it so they could get their job done. She's probably champing at the bit to get back to work...strange woman...if she is one. Ohhh...I should ask Donnic to make sure, could be funny. Isabela shot the guards-woman a smile. She did save my butt though, so I should thank her more properly...hmmm...maybe I could teach Donnic a few tricks that'll make her whimper? Yeah, that'll work, got to use what you have, Isabela.

The rest of the gang was gathered in a corner of the cave, having found a fallen boulder to use as a seat. Though only Isabela and Varric were sitting on it, the dwarf to the pirate's left, his hands busy oiling up Bianca with so much care one would think it to be an actual dwarven woman. I should ask him where he got the name from one day, though I bet he'll give me a cryptic answer, the tease... The man's gaze was mostly fixed on the fine machinery inside the crossbow, it looked more complex than one of those mechanical clocks Isabela had seen, and not on the argument going back and forth... though judging by the way he was grinning and his ears twitching, he sure was listening. Listening and taking notes, no doubt, everyone in Lowtown is hearing his tales of 'Hawke'...I wonder if the dwarf even knows how much it's warping people's expectations of the man? Overheard some guy claim Garrett had the strength of ten men, and not even jokingly.

Maric was with them. He was lying down at Varric's feet, the dog huffing, eyes half-closed as he dozed, watching his master with a seemingly bored expression on his face. Wow, funny how expressive dogs can be...and cute-looking. Not that I'll forget how scary you can get too any time soon... As if hearing her thought, the dog cocked his head to the side and shot her a glance before snorting and going back to looking at his master. See, that's just creepy, how smart are you...? Again, the hound snorted, ignoring her yet still making Isabela shiver. Yep, definitively creepy...

Fenris was also sitting down on the ground, rather than the boulder, apparently finding the dirt worth it in exchange for softer cushioning and perhaps because that way he could lean his back against the cave-wall, looking awfully relaxed as he leant an arm on a raised knee while twisting his body enough to look at the exchange between Garrett and Merrill with a surprisingly intense look on his face. Huh, looks like he's posing for a painting...should do it in the nude, it would be more...mmm...artistic. Isabela bit her bottom lip, she hadn't forgotten the way Fenris' intense gaze could maker he shiver, nor how their periodic bouts of teasing glances could keep her pleasantly damp. I really should stop teasing myself with the odd glance and go for the proper meal...though there's no rush. "Fenris, you are going to burn a hole in Merrill's skull if you keep staring like that." She teased softly, making sure not to interrupt the argument between the elf and noble still reaching their ears.

"You have an entire library of books, and you want to burn this one!? Why not hide it among them!?"

"In my home? Out of the question, and stop raising your voice at me."

"I...sorry, but...no, wait, I'm not sorry, you're not listening!"

Hehehe...

Fenris, turning his head and arched an eyebrow at Isabela. "I assume that you think this would be a bad thing?" Isabela's smile curdled at that, if there was one thing she didn't like about Fenris, it was his opinion of Merrill. His extreme views on mages in general was annoying, sure, but his hostility towards Isabela's friend wasn't as tolerable. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see this argument...but I cannot understand her reasoning in this."

"I think...and this is just my analysis..." Varric replied, not taking his eyes off Bianca as he tenderly worked at something deep within it. "...that she's saying that books are good."

"Wow, you're so smart." Isabela shot Varric a sardonic smirk, earning her a chuckle from him. "And come now, Fenris, you've got to admit, it takes an impressive level of perseverance to argue with Garrett about the same thing thrice in a row without being disheartened at the third time."

"Stupidity, more like it." Fenris grunted, then shrugged the words aside as he noticed Isabela's narrowing eyes. Smart boy. "Though I wish Hawke could hurry this up, why doesn't he just tell the abomination to burn the book and be done with it? The blood-mage shouldn't be able to stop him in time."

Varric sniffed and shrugged, his tone largely neutral, yet with a hint of a lecture in it. "Perhaps he respects her too much to do that...?"

Behind Fenris, Garrett was rubbing his temples, then looked down at the pouting elf visibly straining her back to reach something close to his height. "I do listen, but what you're asking is putting everyone at danger, the book could be used by Meredith to start a campaign of questioning that would leave us both, as well as practically everyone here, a head shorter."

"Then copy the text on papers and then burn it!" Merrill protested. "B-but don't just...you can't just destroy even more knowledge..." Maker, she's good at looking close to tears...kudos to Garrett for not crumbling under that look. "I thought you valued it...?"

"I do, but I also value my life and that of others, this is not worth risking death over, especially since it's not information that we would use...right?"

"H-hey, I wouldn't...just because I want to preserve knowledge, as my clan has done for generations, doesn't mean I'd actually study it or use it! But once you burn that book, the knowledge is lost forever...doesn't...doesn't that hurt to think about?"

"Not particularly, no. This is tainted knowledge, nothing that can be used for good." Garrett shook his head and sighed. "Besides, do you think I keep my library around to just store knowledge? No, it has to have a purpose, be useful for something...even if it's only to open up at an unlikely need. To keep knowledge that you shouldn't, that you mustn't use...there's no point to it, in fact, it's dangerous."

"I saved you with blood magic!"

"And was cast out for using it from your clan and wants to deal with a demon that now has tried to enter this world and kill us, not once, but three times...so pardon me for not seeing blood magic as an overall good thing."

As Merrill moved to counter Garrett's words, Isabela turned her attention back to Fenris, enjoying the sight of him having rolled over to face her, his posture still a painter's dream. Yep, definitively calls for a naked portrait... "Enough of that, let's think about how to spend our coin instead...Garrett sure have gotten generous since becoming filthy rich..."

"I resent that, there's nothing filthy about being rich." Varric grunted, eyes still on Bianca. "In fact, you are squeaky clean from all those fancy baths, and smell of roses and lilies and other flowers you humans and elves love so much...it's quite disturbing, the levels you go through to fancy yourself up, actually." He cocked his head to the side, eyes still on his work. "Not saying you can't be disgusting when rich, but filthy? Nah."

Chuckling, Isabela glanced over at Aveline, finding the guards-woman gone. Ha! Couldn't stand being away from work any longer! Maker, she's priceless... Then she looked back to Fenris, smirking. "I'm thinking...drinks and strip poker?"

To his credit, Fenris didn't look the least surprised by the offer. Such a controlled man...delicious. "As long as the dwarf doesn't play..."

Varric snorted, throwing the pair an amused glance before turning his attention back to Bianca. "Like I would. Without a dwarven girl, it's kind of pointless for me...no offence, Isabela."

"...and I don't see how this is spending much money. Wine isn't expensive and strip poker is the definition of a cheap game."

"So..." Isabela leant forward, resting her elbows on her thighs as she dipped herself as low as her flexibility allowed, eyebrow cocked at Fenris. "...you're saying you don't want to play?" Next to her, Varric slowed down his working, his eyes on the sudden development, Isabela practically feeling his smirk.

Fenris was the one she was looking at though, following his every move with interest. Surprisingly, he retained eye-contact, both eyebrows raised as he retained a calm look on his face. His reply didn't come right away, and when it did, it was with the same brooding tone he usually used. "I'm saying that money should be on the line if we intend to actually use it...a certain amount for each piece of clothing lost?"

"Oh? Now that is interesting..." Isabela smirked and leant a little closer, practically purring. "...but when one of us loses, will they get a chance to win the money back...?"

This time, Fenris looked down, not quickly either, a long stare with a hint of a smirk in the corner of his lip. "Oh I'm sure we can find some way for you to recover your losses..." When he finally looked back to Isabela's face, the smirk was definitely there.

"Oh? You think I'll be the one losing?" Isabela chuckled as she straightened once more, feeling as smug as a cat with milk. "Oh this'll be fun..."

Fenris simply chuckled back, eyes still on hers, making Isabela lick her lips. Garrett better hurry up now...

"Right, that was...interesting." Varric replied, making Maric whine in reply, the dog's gaze otherwise glued to his master. Varric too was looking at the man and the elf he was arguing with, making Isabela suddenly realise that the volume of their argument had slowly increased without her and Fenris really noticing. "Oh dear...this might turn nasty one way or another...Maric, shield your eyes." The dog shot Varric a withering look in reply.

Snickering at the dog's reaction, Isabela turned her attention to the elf and human.

To her surprise, even Garrett looked angry by now. He was looming over the elf, his neck stiff as he looked down at her, clearly struggling not to glare, though the way his nostrils flared was revealing his evaporating temper, as were the hard brown eyes boring their gaze into the far smaller elf. His hands were slightly closed and resting on his hips, but more telling was the way he was sucking in part of his bottom lip, as if the only way to keep his temper in check was to bite into it.

Merrill's fists were so tightly clenched at her sides, one would think she would draw blood from her palms. Her neck was arched back to glare up at Garrett, the woman standing on her toes to try and match his height. Her big green eyes were narrower than Isabela had ever seen them, making the green in them practically glow in the poor light of the cave, her lips curled in an angry grimace.

Well...this is interesting... Cocking her head to the side, Isabela watched the confrontation with interest. I see what Varric meant...nasty one way or another indeed.

Whatever arguments they had brought forth had clearly devolved into nothing but comedy for those watching.

"I'm telling you, no!"

"You don't tell me what to do!"

"Yes I do! I'm in charge!"

"Well maybe I don't want you to be in charge!"

"I asked you all as volunteers!"

"And then ignored my opinion!"

"I didn't! But your opinion isn't law!"

"Oh!? But yours is!?"

"Yes! I'm the one paying you to be in charge!"

"Take your gold back! I'll take the book!"

"That's not how it works!"

"Well then I'll never take a job from you ever again!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Done with their little tantrum, Garrett and Merrill stood glaring at one another. One a giant, towering over the other, the other defiantly bent back to glare up at the man, like a taut bow facing a tower. Isabela wasn't sure what would happen if they collided, something which would be all to easy, their bodies nearly touching as they glared at one another. So either they'll start fighting or...? She shot Varric a smirk, one the dwarf echoed.

At their feet, Fenris snorted. "Maker, will they be done soon? I want to leave this wretched place."

"We should speed this up, yes." Varric agreed, then turned to Isabela with a smirk. "Should I do it, or you?"

Isabela didn't even try to conceal her grin. "Allow me..." She turned, raising her voice as she hooted to the two figures glaring at one another. "By Andraste! Just kiss her already!"

At first, neither figure moved. Then Merrill's eyes grew large as the area behind her ears and around her neck turned red. Garrett blinked, blinked again, then pulled back with a sudden jerk and turned towards Isabela, still blinking as he cleared his throat before speaking. "That's...we're having a debate here, Isabela, stop trying to make it sordid."

"Uh-huh?" Isabela and Varric exchanged a glance, both rolling their eyes. Maker, it's like a couple of teenagers developing their first love...considering their backgrounds, maybe that's not too far from the truth?

"Exactly." Again, Garrett cleared his throat while Merrill, now busy staring at her feet, had turned pale, her hands behind her back as she furiously bit into her lower lip, looking aghast for some reason. "I...we...Merrill simply had issues with my commands, issues she's...we're discussing..."

"Right."

"Nothing more."

"Okay."

Snickering under a raised fist, Varric exchanged a look with Isabela. "Totally."

Before them, Garrett grimaced, looking flustered and unsure. "Well...good...okay then."

Whimpering, Maric finally took Varric's advice and put a paw over his nose, concealing his eyes with a pained whine.

8

8

8

"Formation! Hold formation!"

Garrett, hunched behind his shield, snapped off a string of curses that made the man to his right flinch back in surprise, big eyes looking to the noble standing in the ranks of the Guardsmen, unsure, as many were, what he was doing among the rank and file.

Garrett himself wasn't even sure.

Maybe it had been instinct, Garrett led from the front, and even though he wasn't technically in charge, he was a leader. Maybe it was him feeling compelled to help Aveline after her assistance with the now thoroughly destroyed books on blood magic, Merrill's opinion be damned. Maybe it was his frustration with the Qunari situation and a need to physically do something to make it better. Maybe it was Bastile's training making his first reaction when facing an angry mob be to face them with drawn sword rather than linger back. Maybe it was a feeling of duty, given his job as Qunari-liason. Maybe it was the anger coursing through him as he saw a black shape flee back into one of the many dark alleys of Lowtown.

Petrice...

The Chantry priestess was not one Garrett had forgotten, and by the smirk she'd shot him just before running off, neither had she forgotten about him. Her goal was still the same, driven by a fanatical view on the Chantry's teachings, or perhaps simple blood-lust – though not enough to participate in the blood-letting herself – she had become the focal of the anti-Qunari cults springing up across Kirkwall. Maybe she's just drunk on the power the mob is giving her? Ever since the Grand Cleric fell ill, she's been very busy rallying supporters...

Garrett grit his teeth in frustration. He'd worked so hard...two months he'd spent talking with the Arishok to get a delegation of Qunari to come to the Viscount's keep. It had been largely symbolic, which was why the Arishok had been so reluctant, but Garrett had correctly found that the Qunari leaving their compound to come and talk to Dumar about something as trivial as sanitation outside their gate had proven a major boon in swaying people's opinions about the Qunari. After all, they had come to the Viscount as diplomats did, they'd been perfectly polite in their own statuesque way...all who'd seen them had breathed a little easier, seeing that one could reason with the beasts living within their city.

Of course, Garrett had not taken the extremists into account, a fatal oversight that he was now silently berating himself over even as he gripped his sword all the harder.

His two months of hard work, the trust of the Arishok and the chance for a good relationship with the Qunari now lay bleeding in the Lowtown market. The delegation, on their way back to the compound, ambushed and lynched by a mob springing out from the crowd, concealed weapons drawn and driven into naked flesh before the massive Kossith could even draw their weapons.

Then, to add insult to injury, among the chaos they'd caused as those uninvolved fled the scene, the mob had begun to dismember the corpses of the delegation, revelling in their deed and chanting praises to the Maker.

The Qunari couldn't have been dealt a bigger insult in the extremists eyes, even though the Qunari would only see the killings, rather than the mutilation, as the insult.

Fortunately, Garrett and Aveline had been nearby with a detachment of guards. Garrett had foolishly thought it best to make a show of the Qunari being able to walk in the city unguarded, as part of the citizen body, and had only kept back with Aveline so as to be ready for a crisis. They hadn't expected the crisis to happen so fast though, it had been over in less than ten seconds!

So now they stood there, Garrett front and centre of a thin line of forty-five guards, standing three ranks deep at the base of a stair as Aveline stood at the back to look over their heads, green eyes blazing with fury. "Hold formation, damn you!"

It was hard though. Rather than fleeing like the rats they were, the ambushers were still standing strong before the guardsmen, their numbers likely near two hundred, if Garrett were to guess, enough to steady their nerves before the wall of steel before them. At the moment they were picking up severed Kossith heads, fruit from the nearby stands of the market, bottles, chairs and whatever else they could get their hands on...and hurling it all at the guards with a fury as their chanting became louder and louder.

"The Maker wills it! The Maker wills it!TheMaker wills it!"

Garrett felt exposed. He wasn't in his plate armour, but only in his leathers, not having expected an all out battle to occur in the middle of the city...and as such he was a brown spot among all the plate-armoured guardsmen, and one recognised as a noble, making him a prime target for the missiles hurtling towards the shield-wall.

Grumbling another curse, Garrett ducked as a bottle shattered against his shield, the froth from the ale within staining his heraldry. One of the last Kossith heads flew over Garrett and slammed into the shield of the man behind him, making the man scream in disgust even as the heavy lump of flesh bounced against Garrett's back before dropping down on the ground. Growling, Garrett gripped his longsword yet tighter. "I'll kill whoever threw that..."

Next to him, one of the guards nervously snickered.

"The Maker wills it! The Maker wills it!TheMaker wills it!"

"Citizens of Kirkwall! Lay down your arms! Surrender or die! And I mean now!" Somehow Aveline managed to make herself heard about the chanting of the mob before them, even over the sound of them slamming improvised shields and weapons together to cause even more of a racket as the whole group worked themselves into a frenzy.

Aveline's anger was one that could wither trees on command, but the mob before them was too far gone, worked up in a rage that couldn't be contained, they surged forth.

"THE MAKER WILLS IT!"

Bloody fanatics.

The longsword Garrett was carrying wasn't ideal for the close ordered rank combat he was now in, but since he wasn't about to draw his dagger instead, he levelled it behind his shield and prepared to thrust it out like a spear.

In a cacophony of crashes, the mob slammed into the guardsmen.

A skeleton of a man cried out what was half a prayer, half a curse, as he gripped at Garrett's shield with his left hand and tried to sweep a small hatchet over it at the noble's exposed head. Garrett was far stronger than his foe though and raised his shield, catching the hatchet's head with the rim of his shield and pulling it upwards as he blindly thrust out under the now raised shield.

A spray of something warm struck Garrett's hand and the fanatic disappeared, lost in the chaos of battle as he fell and got trampled by his own allies. To Garrett's right, the guardsman hesitated as an unarmed woman grabbed his shield and began to pull with all her might, nearly dragging him out of the formation and into the frenzied sea of madmen ahead.

Garrett's sword, already extended, lashed out as quick as a whip, the impact just strong enough to get halfway through the woman's unarmoured right arm before he had to pull the blade back, making her shriek and stumble back, desperately trying to staunch the wound. The man Garrett had saved barely having time to send a grateful nod as another female fanatic tried to pounce on him, only to find a blade in her face this time.

To the left, a fanatic was hammering on a guardsman's shield with all the speed and strength he could muster...and the moment he slowed from fatigue, an arming sword lunged out from behind the shield and gutted the man.

It was impossible to tell what was going on further than that though. But given how their right flank was protected by a house and their left a solid wagon, Garrett knew the mob could only come at the guardsmen from the front...and what little he saw, it was turning to a one-sided massacre.

Ahead, a fanatic, watching Garrett, pulled his sword back in a low guard behind his shield, and surged forth with mouth frothing and a hand desperately clutching a dagger as he launched himself at Garrett's waist. Garrett's shield shot out low, slamming into the man's face and stopping his tackle dead in its tracks even as Garrett's sword suddenly darted high, coming down over Garrett's head like a scorpion's sting.

The fanatic's knife grazed a buckle on Garrett's leather armour, then he froze, three feet of steel slicing into his flesh just above his collar bone and finding a lung and a heart...a moment later he was on the ground, the blade sliding out of his flesh with a loud sucking sound.

The next in line was carrying a small buckler in his left hand, the right holding a thin thrusting sword of surprising length, he even wore a worn set of leather armour. Where's the plate armour when you need it? The man eyed Garrett more calmly than one would expect of a fanatic, the grin coloured by blood-lust, but not frenzy, it was a man wanting to fight, the cause for it not important. Bet Petrice has no problem getting you guys on board with her program. Watching the man eyeing him for an opening like a hungry dog, Garrett moved his shield slightly to the left...

Instantly, the fool lunged, his right foot shooting out far ahead as his sword thrust out with its impressive range at Garrett's right hip.

Garrett's shield moved fast, as did his feet as he twisted his stance to the left as much as the cramped formation allowed while moving his shield to the right, his enemy's blade missing by virtue of both the shield pushing it further to the right side and Garrett stepping to the left. Garrett's own sword thrust in under his left arm, through the space where his shield had been a moment before. It caught the lunging man in his right side, punching through leather and flesh with equal ease as the man was unable to pull back in time.

The man gasped, looked up at Garrett in shock, then fell forward, hands clutching as the wound as great quantities of blood begun to pump out of it. Kidney, you're dead.

None took the man's place.

Looking up, Garrett found the mob having pulled back, glaring and shouting at the guardsmen...though mostly gasping for air.

Being taller than most natives Garrett had a better view than most of the guardsmen's ranks, though it was still limited as he stood amongst them. At the back, by the stairs, three guardsmen were clutching injuries, tended to by a fourth. As for the dead, Garrett could only see one, blond tresses sticking out from a buckled helmet still containing the severed head, the body wedged between three dead fanatics at the front.

Mostly, the front rank was intact though, the majority of the dead being from the mob, severed limbs and bleeding bodies piled over one another. A good quarter of their numbers...wow. The guardsmen were gasping for air as much as the mob, though more quiet, they seemed the more confident ones now, the mob's early frenzy having been thoroughly beaten out of them...in fact, Garrett could already see a few at the back making a discreet run for it. Many of them were pale now, staring at the dead between the groups with fear, whatever fervour they had worked up waning as they watched the man Garrett had wounded struggling to crawl back to their line...only to falter and fall dead.

They're ready to rout.

Looking about, Garrett caught sight of Aveline. She was standing on the wagon on the left, two dead fanatics at her feet, an axe she didn't even seem to notice stuck in her bloodstained shield as she grimly looked down at the crowd. Surprisingly, she seemed intent on staying that way, content to let the mob make up their mind of what to do, and then act accordingly. Well I'm not, time to show what happens when you stand up to order in my city...we make a statement today, and we'll see how many are willing to follow Petrice again...

"Charge!" Garrett cried out the order, raising his sword high to catch the attention of the panting guardsmen...and then rushed forth.

The guardsmen and mob alike hesitated, the former slow to follow, the later standing frozen in terror.

All save two fanatics, a big man holding a stool like it was a shield and raising a mace high as he moved to attack Garrett head on, the other a woman carrying a spear that moved to meet his charge more cautiously.

Like a thunderbolt of fur shooting out from behind the formation of guardsmen, Maric rushed through the now open ranks of the guards, past Garrett...and bowled the man over, sending stool and mace alike flying as the dog with a snarl buried his teeth into the screaming man's throat.

The woman, momentarily frozen at the horrifying sight, only acted at the last instant when Garrett came charging, the thrust of her barbed spear surprisingly swift. It slid over Garrett's raised shield though, then, when she tried to pull the weapon back and back away herself, the barb got caught in the rim of Garrett's shield, making her scream in horror as Garrett swiftly crossed the distance.

With a crunch, Garrett's sword thrust into the woman's open mouth before coming out of the back of her skull in a shower of gore. Pulling the blade out as the woman fell on her knees, Garrett brought the blade up and down over his head in a furious backhand swing, separating the already dead woman's head from her shoulders and sending it tumbling at the still frozen mob at her back.

With a scream, the mob dissolved.

But the guardsmen, though tired, had by now caught up, and the mob was slowed by fatigue, terror and their own grisly work on the Qunari...

Swords hacked, slashed and stabbed, sending men and women alike to meet the Maker they had cried out for just moments ago, though in various states of dismemberment as the swords of the guardsmen cut through unarmoured flesh and bone with ease.

Only those furthest at the back of the mob managed to get away, barely half of them, the rest joining their already slain comrades on the ground, their blood soaking into Lowtown's dirt.

Panting, Garrett watched the guards slowly come to a stop, knowing they couldn't pursue the now sprinting fanatics while in their heavy armour, though considering the way they were clapping each other's shoulders and cheering, they were more than satisfied with what they've accomplished. Good, they could use the morale boost after all these protests...and the fanatics needed a bloodied nose for sure, if nothing else for their own good. Still taking deep breaths, the exertion of combat lingering, Garrett let his blade dig into the dirt so he could rest his left hand on it, his right moving down to scratch Maric as the dog sat down next to him with a blood-covered muzzle. "Good work, as always." The dog gave a low woof in acknowledgement, licking his chops.

"Squad one and two, secure the scene! Squad three, look for survivors! Squad four, tend to the wounded!" Aveline's sharp orders were obeyed after a mere moment of the guards having gathered their wits enough to return to the world outside of the blood and gore of combat. "And nice work!" That brought a loud, though tired, cheer from the groups of guardsmen moving to their Captain's orders. Garrett though, found himself turning to face a woman not looking as pleased as her words would have suggested. "We were supposed to catch the criminals, make them lay down their weapons so they could finger the leader." Her voice was low, calm and not the least bit hostile, yet there was an undercurrent in her eyes that made Garrett wary.

He forced himself not to shrug, sensing a clear dismissal wouldn't go over well. "We already know who the instigator is, and that they won't testify that it's her, it didn't work for the last thirty we brought in for questioning, and it won't for these." He sighed, shaking his head. "Besides, Kirkwall law can't touch members of the Chantry, you know that."

"So that means we start killing criminals however we wish? We're the side that's supposed to act rational, who acts within the laws, not throwing them aside whenever it fits us." Aveline stepped closer, voice yet lower, a hiss. "We're working within the law now, right?"

You are, I work to achieve its goal. "Of course, but if these fanatics had fled, they would have attacked us again later, you know that, and with more rallied to their cause. This way we might have gotten some breathing room..."

"That is not your call to make." Aveline snapped, then leant even closer, eyes narrowing as she hissed at him. "Especially not with my guards!" She barred her teeth, now clearly angry. "You've personally increased the budget of the guard by a third by your donations, I know that, I'm grateful for that...but that does not make the guard yours. You do not command it." A shake of her head. "Got it?"

I suppose I was a bit overzealous, she's right, I'm not the Viscount after all...and I need her on my side. Garrett held her gaze as he nodded, as serious as he could be. "Understood, it won't happen again."

"Good." Aveline leant back, visibly relieved. Huh? She thought I'd try to force my command on her? I wouldn't...well...no, no I wouldn't. Garrett shook aside the doubt as the woman gave him a pat on the shoulder and moved towards the group picking through the mutilated bodies of the fanatics for some unlikely survivor. "Also, heads up, Dumar inbound."

Turning towards the stairs from which Aveline so recently had commanded the skirmish from, Garrett arched an eyebrow at the pale-faced Dumar moving down the stairs, his grimace of horror plain for all to see as he skirted around the wounded guardsmen being tended to there...and then stopping at the last step, unwilling to step down on the bloodied and muddied ground just beneath. Not exactly an inspiring sight. To their credit, the twenty guards at his back weren't showing a hint of disdain at their charge, though the guardsmen themselves seemed content to roll their eyes whenever the Viscount wasn't looking.

Better save him, before he loses more respect. "Viscount, an honour to see you here." Garrett approached, coming to a stop just at the bottom of the stairs and briefly kneeling in the mud before rising, catching the Viscount's gaze and holding it. "I'm surprised you've come, I was ready to come back to the keep and give you a full report."

"Y-yes...well I felt c-compelled to see for myself..." Dumar swallowed, his gaze slipping from Garrett's to look down at the massacre before him. "...Ma-Maker...so much...so much..." He swallowed, pale as a ghost under his black suit. "A-and the Qunari?" He turned to Garrett, lower lip trembling as he struggled to control himself. "All dead?"

"Yes, Serah." Garrett nodded, grim at the thought of all the work that was ahead of him. He was sure he could deal with the Arishok, but for Petrice and her growing mob, for the tension that grew...he had no sure answer. I need to curtail her freedom, somehow.

"M-maybe we..." Dumar licked his lips, looking down to find a Kossith's head near Garrett's feet...and visibly struggled not to retch before looking back to Garrett. "...sh-shouldn't-"

"Serah." Garrett interrupted before the man could continue and make a fool of himself. "The Arishok should be informed immediately, he'll no doubt learn of this swiftly, as will the entire city. If we can inform him ahead of rumours, we will at least have been honest with him, the alternative is...frightening."

"I...yes..." Dumar looked down at the carnage, then up at the many houses surrounding them. The windows there were all darkened and shuttered, yet no doubt hundreds of people were staring out there, frightened and curious both. "...you're right." A deep breath, and Dumar looked back to Garrett. "Do so, my liaison, we must act decisively if we're to repair this damage."

"As you command, my lord." Garrett bowed, not about to point out he was the one calling the shots. "Now, perhaps it's best you return to the keep..." Before you appear yet weaker to people by throwing up on these very steps. "...for your own safety, the city is too unruly at the moment."

"I...yes, you're right..." Dumar cast a final glance at the carnage around Garrett, then abruptly turned to march up the stairs again, refusing to look back.

Oh, right. Garrett, grimacing in irritation with himself, moved to catch up, holding his head low as he inched close to the Viscount, ignoring the way the man flinched at the smell of death clinging to Garrett washed over him. "My lord, the leader of the group seemed once more to be that Chantry priestess by the name of Petrice. Surely the Grand Cleric should be informed so she can take the appropriate steps?" Steps we'll suggest...?

Dumar shook his head though, making Garrett grit his teeth in frustration. "You know I can't do that, no personnel of the Chantry may be touched by us. And the Grand Cleric is dying, last thing I want to do to the poor woman is to bother her now..." If you don't, Petrice might become the next one! "Besides, Meredith takes offence when it looks like we meddle in the affairs of the church..." Like she meddles in those of state? "...and I have enough trouble from her as it is, without the clerical wing of the Chantry breathing down my neck as well. No, we contain the situation, nothing more, and that is final."

Of all the things to be decisive in...

Garrett knew why Dumar held such a position. The man was old and tired, too tired...the weight of Kirkwall's wounded management weighing him down, and each issue just adding on the burden until he now simply tried to avoid any conflict. The status quo was his byword, and it was doomed to fail as his own philosophy made him unable to act against those acting against him, be it directly or indirectly. Inaction ruled the man who was supposed to rule Kirkwall, and though it was his own choice due to how much action appeared ready to punish him, the end result was that his own choice was hurting him more and more. He was slowly bleeding dry rather than him risking a grave wound for a chance at survival.

Garrett said none of this. Dumar likely knew it subconsciously, and if not, he would not listen to such words.

And in the end, did Garrett want to save the man? He wasn't so sure, the Viscount was useful so far, but how much more useful would the crown be on Garrett's own head?

So Garrett merely stopped to bow, watching the old man leave with narrowed eyes.

"As you say, my lord."

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Thanks to Abydos Jackson, for EVERYTHING.