More complaints about the Qunari...great.
Garrett, having just intercepted a servant carrying his daily mail, muttered in annoyance at the book-thick wad of papers in his hand. Crossing the Main Hall, he found his face knotted in the by now permanent scowl, already trying to gauge how long it would take to get through them all.
Bloody pointless...
As a liaison between the Qunari and Kirkwall, it fell on Garrett to deal with all issues concerning the former, something Viscount Dumar had taken full advantage of when he realised Garrett wasn't about to skirt his responsibilities like so many others did. Given how Garrett was actually invested in the issue though, he gladly took on those duties to make sure they were done right.
The only part he didn't like about it was how it was all growing out of proportion. Petrice and her many followers seemed to have an endless supply of grievances to write up and send in, to make the problems seem like more than they were. By now, if a Qunari so much as showed his face outside their compound, it was to be reported, usually a 'disturbing the peace' or 'inciting unrest' report that Garrett sadly couldn't simply brush aside if he wanted to be taken seriously by all parties.
What's the point? It'll never end.
Not that Petrice seemed to be ready to take him seriously or back down to open a discussion, she wanted confrontation, and whatever Garrett did to relieve tensions, she always seemed to have a counter-stroke ready.
Endless stacks of paper...should put them to the fire...
Then there was his mother seemingly content to stay in her room all day, doing sewing and other tasks and studiously avoiding eye-contact with him and refusing to speak of Carver. Not to mention Isabela seemingly dropping off the map so Garrett had to divert Varric from finding the Qunari relic to finding the other seeker...
Bloody women.
Grumbling, Garrett didn't spot the servant until he was nearly on top of the man, making the noble nearly drop his papers as he staggered back. "Oh for..!"
"Apologies, Serah!" Fenn looked scared of the human, the blond elf hurrying to help Garrett, only to lower his arms as he realised the Fereldian was not about to fall or drop his papers. "I did not realise you hadn't spotted me, I should have coughed, my sincerest apologies."
"Just...probably my fault for being deep in thoughts." Garrett grunted, barely managing to suppress a more hostile, and unfair, choice of words. "What do you want?" Fenn flinched at the human's tone, but Garrett was in no mood for apologies. Damn people, they act as if they're walking on eggshells around me, it's bloody annoying...
"Well it seems lady Merrill has somehow gotten into our coat-room and I was wondering-" Fenn's words were turned into a grunt as Garrett pushed the stack of papers into his chest and brushed past the elf. Fenn, sounding puzzled, turned and called out after the noble. "...if we're supposed to see her out and..." Garrett marched towards the hallway, strides long. "...never mind, you'll handle it yourself, I see."
Then Garrett, not sure what he was doing, was through the door and in the coat-room.
He came to a halt.
Before him Merrill was indeed standing, offering an uncertain smile to the equally uncertain-looking guards Darren and Jeannie. She looked...thinner, more fragile somehow. Her hair was more tousled than usual, there was something ragged and worn about her, yet...beautiful.
The word came to Garrett with such suddenness, he couldn't do anything but blink.
Then she turned her head and spotted him. Her green eyes grew large, her uncertain look fading, replaced by something else. Something fearful, something hurt, something happy, something hopeful...something entirely new.
Garrett stood frozen, seemingly stuck in time...and only the slow movement of the guards as they subtly made an exit betrayed that the world had not gone to a standstill.
Silence.
The two staring at one another from across the room.
"I'm-"
"I'm-"
Garrett bit his tongue, watching Merrill swallow as the two had their words stumble over one another.
Silence.
Merrill staring at him, so many emotions filing her eyes it was a wonder they didn't spill out...
Beautiful.
Garrett forced himself to take a step forward, the words tumbling out. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"
"No, I'm sorry, I was so awful-" Merrill replied, she too taking a step forward.
"I should have considered-"
A step closer.
"I said all those mean things that I didn't mean and-"
Merrill stepped closer.
"Yes, but I could have-"
Another step closer.
"No, no, it was all me and-"
Merrill was close by now, close and...
Beautiful. "I was just as...as..." Garrett took half a step forward...and then found himself stopping, realising he couldn't move any further without stepping into Merrill's personal space. He wanted to, he feared to...torn between the strange emotions, he stood there, just in reach of the elf staring up at him with eyes like big mirrors of the inner turmoil he himself was experiencing. "...I'm sorry."
"Me...me too." Merrill meekly managed, the woman tilting her head down and staring at Garrett's chest, her breath shuddering as a rogue strand of her tousled hair fell down in front of her face. She swallowed. "It all got so...stupid...and silly...and...and..." She looked up at him, eyes painfully sincere. "...I never wanted to hurt you, or to...l-lose you..."
Now it was Garrett's turn to swallow, his arm feeling numb and clumsy as it rose, seemingly on its own accord. "I never wanted that either, I..." His fingertips brushed Merrill's cheek, both of them shivering at the contact even as his fingers caught the rogue strand of hair, pushing it back behind her pointed ear as he watched the elf momentarily close her eyes. "...I've missed you."
His hand, just barely touching the back of her head...lingered.
Merrill, refusing to even glance at the hand, leant into it, making more of his palm touch her face as she took a hesitant step forward, the elf seemingly breathless as she gasped. "I...I've mi-missed you too..."
"Th-that's good to..." Garrett swallowed, inching closer. Why's my heart hammering...? "S-so...we...we're o-okay then...?"
"Y-yes...v-very..." Merrill replied, her lower lip trembling, eyes wide and breath hitching as she slowly closed. "I'm...I'm glad for th-that..."
"Y-yes, me too..." Garrett's hand had somehow lost itself in Merrill's hair, a scent of sap and grass filling his senses. "V-very glad..."
"Good, it's good to be..." Merrill swallowed, his breath brushing Garrett's face, her head tilting up to look at him as he had somehow gotten so close he could feel the warmth emanating from her. Maker, what are we doing? "...glad..."
It felt like Garrett was holding his breath, like he was moving through water, as he slowly leant forward, down, towards her.
Maker, I should... Garrett's vision filled with Merrill's eyes, then closed as he felt her breath brush against his lips, so close he could almost-
"Serah!" Garrett jumped back, blinking in confusion, waking up from the strange haze that had befallen him. Before him, Merrill was blinking as well, looking as befuddled as him. Then it seemed to dawn on her what had nearly happened, and a look of embarrassment, horror and confusion crossed her face, face flushing red...and Garrett could only guess that his own mimicked hers. What just...? "Serah! I...oh, I'm sorry, did I interrupt?"
Garrett turned his head, looking into the doorway where a slightly flushed Bodahn stood, looking terribly nosy yet at the same time sorry for his poor timing. "Of course not, Bodahn..." The assurance was spoken through gritted teeth, the frustration so thick in Garrett's voice even he heard it. Huh? I didn't want to...continue what we were doing, did I? That would have been foolish and...and...no, of course I'm not frustrated, I'm...damn that dwarf. "What is it?"
"Well it's just..." Bodahn looked to Merrill's reddened face, then Garrett's, and whatever flashed behind the dwarf's otherwise innocent eyes made Garrett want to punch him. "...supper is served, and since that means lady Hawke comes out from her room, I thought you'd wish to attend."
"I do, I do..." Garrett grunted, still annoyed and now with a heart thumping with a strange...yearning. "I'll be right with you."
"Very good, Serah." Bodahn bowed, threw Merrill a final glance, something akin to a smile tugging underneath his beard...and then made his escape before Garrett could shoot him a glower.
And so, Garrett and Merrill were alone.
"I..." Maker, what should I say? What should I do?! This is...confusing. "...know that...well..." Garrett winced, having no idea what he was trying to say, nor did he feel capable of turning and looking at the woman. Get a grip. A sharp intake of breath, and Garrett turned, the words tumbling out of him. "Would you like to join us for supper?"
Merrill, her hands clutched in front of her chest, stared at him, a storm of conflicting emotions and wants in her eyes. Yet in the end, she smiled, hesitantly, shyly, and nodded. "I'd...love to."
"Good." Before he could think of what he was doing, Garrett offered his hand. Maker, I should put it back down! No, then she'll think I'm being weird and...damn it!
Merrill stared at the offered hand for but a moment.
Then she took a step forward and slipped hers into his, a shy smile on her lips.
And Garrett's stomach rolled, alive with butterflies.
8
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"Step back, bitch!" The warning echoed in the nearly empty warehouse, the call a boom from a broad chest that bounced against what few barrels there were in the dusty old room.
Isabela smirked at the insult, her saunter casual and slow as she eyed the giant of a man standing a good thirty feet away. Dressed in Coterie leathers, as were the rest of the gang, the over seven feet tall bald man cut a striking figure, everything about him speaking of brute strength and power. Those behind him, three men and a woman, didn't look half as intimidating, but their eyes were hard and weapons near as they too eyed the new arrival with looks that told Isabela they were ready to put her body in the harbour in a few seconds if the pirate kept bothering them.
"Hey now, that's no way to greet a lady that's lost and trying to find her way..." Isabela replied, the words making the entire group before her narrow their eyes. Fine, be like that. Rolling her eyes, Isabela decided that trying to play with them was of no use. Dull, these Coterie people... "Which one of you is Harold?" One of the men at the back, a man of middling height and a trimmed brown beard, narrowed his eyes further. "You? Okay, then I'll make this quick...give me the relic, or point me to where it is."
The man scoffed, and those surrounding him, despite the giant trying to stare Isabela down, chuckled. "What relic?"
Still sauntering closer, uncaring of the growing tension in the giant at the front of the group. "Don't play coy with me, I'm an impatient girl and I know you bought it, and probably sold it, given the gold on that barrel behind you..." The four behind the giant growled as one, putting themselves closer together to block Isabela's view of the gold. Normally, it would have been of interest to the pirate, but right now, her focus was fixed on the face of the man before her. "Tell me to whom you sold it. I'm not playing around here, I need the Tome of Koslun."
Something in her tone made the Coterie man named Harold hesitate, yet as predicted, he then shook his head. "You don't threaten the Coterie, girl. So why don't you walk away while you still have the legs for it?"
"Girl?" Isabela echoed, feigning shock before she looked down at her body. "Do I look like a girl to you...?" When she looked up, her eyes flashed in equal parts threat and teasing. "Now you hurt my feelings and have to tell me who you sold it to, it's the only polite thing to do."
Surprisingly, only two of the Coterie gang had glanced at her body at her teasing, the rest now looked even more hostile, hands having half-drawn their swords and axes. Harold was grimacing, shaking his head. "You're a loon, a complete loon."
Isabela dropped the act, her sweet tone turning venomous, the innocent look on her face turning hard. "I've been trying to find that thing for three years now, and I will have it, so you better cough up an answer, now." Ahead, the giant took a step closer, broadsword drawn and raised over his shoulder as he loomed over the Rivaini pirate...who glared up at him. "And you, get out of my way."
A roar, and the Coterie thug attacked. A giant more used to intimidation and posturing than actual fighting, his blow was the hacking slash one would expect of a butcher's apprentice. Too much weight with it, too much of a wind-up, too much arm.
Isabela rolled under the slash with ease, the weight behind it making the giant stumble even before she'd drawn one of her long daggers from her boot and cut his Achilles tendon. The cry of agony from the giant was muffled, more of a whimper, as he dropped his blade and reached back to try and grip the injury, as if that would somehow make it better. "Now..." Isabela rose to her feet with ease, the bloodied dagger stabbing back and finding the side of the thug's neck. "...about that tome..." A gurgle, and the giant fell flat, arterial blood spurting. At least I remembered to cut the right side this time so it didn't spray all over me. Isabela smiled at the remaining Coterie thugs as they stared back, though this time the smile had no teasing in it, no coyness, only the predatory smile of a wolf scenting its prey. "...maybe you should just tell me who you sold it to?"
"Coterie! To me!" Harold drew his sword, the three others following suit with their own weapons. Woman with axe, man with axe and dagger, another man with sword and shield...and little Harold and his sword...tsk, all of them have such big and scary weapons...ha, I crack myself up. "You stay back!" The four, standing in a line facing Isabela, slowly spread out, weapons at the ready.
"Bark, bark bark..." Isabela replied, dropping low for just a moment to draw a second dagger from her boot, smile fixed on Harold as she kept sauntering forward. "...you know what they say about toothless dogs, right?" The four exchanged puzzled looks, not used to such brazen calm facing them. Unsure, off balance, good, I like them like that... "Give me a name and I'll leave, boy."
Crying out in rage, the four raised their weapons and charged.
Bollocks.
Rushing to meet them, Isabela moved for the right in the last instance, jumping high with legs spinning in a vicious kick. Her left foot knocked aside the axe of the targeted man before her right caught his nose with a loud crunch and sent him flying towards one of the walls.
Isabela landed on all fours and looked up, spotting Harold, the man having quickly turned to face the swift pirate, swinging his blade down at her skull.
Isabela rolled to the left, letting the blade hammer the ground, the blow making sand dragged in by thousands of dock-workers since time immemorial explode into a cough-inducing cloud, even as her left hand dug into the ground mid-roll, catching up as much of it as possibly. When the man with the sword and the woman rushed to Harold's aid, weapons raised, Isabela's retort was to fling her arm out, throwing the sand at their faces.
The woman caught the worst of it and cried out, eyes squeezing shut even as the man staggered back to avoid the majority of the dirt. Isabela was on the woman in a heartbeat, the dagger in her right hand punching in and out of the Coterie woman's ribcage in three quick jabs before the target could even cry out in pain. The man, roaring in rage, half-blinded, clumsily swung at Isabela with his sword, only to have the pirate shove the woman into the path of the sword, ending her dying breaths prematurely as the large blade cleaved her arm off at the shoulder.
Then Harold was on her again, a horizontal slash coming at her with surprising speed, making the pirate pull in her stomach and jump back to avoid getting gutted.
The man with the sword and buckler, pulling his blade free from the now dead woman, growled a curse as he moved to join Harold, the man Isabela had kicked at the start now also beginning to rise from his momentary slumber. Fucking hell...
Isabela dodged and weaved, swaying backwards as the two men stabbed and slashed after her, looking for an opening.
The man with the buckler gave it, his thrust too far, too eager...and Isabela rolled under it, landing at his right flank and thrusting-
Pain!
Isabela gasped, the buckler having with surprising deftness shot down to smash into her left shoulder, numbing the limb and sending her dagger flying as Isabela dropped onto her back from the force of the impact. Her foe grinned and begun to turn...and Isabela slammed her right dagger into the back of his knee, making him cry out and tumble onto his back, bloodied leg pouring blood next to Isabela's head.
Harold, growled, gripping his blade with both hands and raising it high as he came at Isabela. Oh for...
Isabela did the only thing she could, with her dagger lost in the knee of her foe, she used it to raise his leg over her face, her free hand moving up to grab it by the ankle just as Harold's uncaring swing came down.
The cry of agony of the man having his leg severed was muffled to Isabela's ears as his blood sprayed over her face and chest, a loose limb now in her left hand and the dagger in her right free from what was now a bloodied stump.
Harold's blade, covered in gore, barely pulled back at all as the man lunged with a thrust at the still lying woman...and Isabela grunted as she bashed the thrust aside with the leg still in her left hand before releasing the disgusting limb and rolling onto her feet. Okay, so maybe I was a little rash in picking a fight here... In a low crouch, Isabela looked up at the panting Harold as she drew a smaller secondary dagger from her boot with her still tingling left hand.
Behind her, there was a scuffling sound even as Harold's eyes lit up in delight.
Shit!
Isabela spun, her eyes wide as her vision was filled with the face of a man with a now broken nose swinging his axe at her with his right hand as the left pulled back his dagger for a following thrust.
Isabela's right blade swung in a hasty parry, the woman's teeth clenching in a hiss of pain as the axe still managed to just cut into the skin of her right shoulder, the haft of the axe slamming into her chest hard enough to make her collar bone shoot up spikes of icy pain into her neck. A second later her left blade shot out, more on instinct and practice than her actually seeing the threat...and struck the man's wrist before he could manage to slam his dagger into her gut.
The man, gasping, staggered against Isabela...who with a groan shoved him back, her parrying right blade turning into a thrusting riposte that caught the man's right eye and turned it into a gory mess.
A sigh, and the man fell onto his back, pulling the dagger still stuck in his wrist with him.
Shiiiit...
Isabela shook her head, cobwebs filling it from the close encounter with death, then spun around, only vaguely recalling the last threat.
Harold stood frozen though, staring at her, then at the bodies littering the floor, the sword in his hand shaking. Isabela, out of breath, bruised, exhausted...raised her dagger and faked a smirk. "Now...the name, please?" The man looked up at her, eyes wide...and took a step back. "Come on, don't make this difficult, the name!" Isabela's face contorted into one of fury.
Harold cried out, turned...and stumbled on one of the dead men.
"NO!" Isabela ran forward, all colour draining from her face as she watched Harold's back facing her, the tip of a dagger sticking out of it, his blood covering it. "Shit! Shit! Shit! You fucking idiot!" Tossing aside her dagger, Isabela crouched down next to the man and rolled him onto his side, watching him stare in mute horror at the dagger of one of his fallen companions stuck in his chest, the blood already pooling around him from the massive wound. "How stupid can you...I would have let you go!" Isabela grabbed the man's shoulder, shaking him, the dimness already in them frightening her. "No! Don't go! Tell me! Where's the Tome of Koslun! Who has it!? I must know!"
The man opened his mouth to answer, but only blood poured out, his lips becoming still a moment later as the eyes continued to dim, unheeding of Isabela's shakes.
"Tell me!"
There was no answer.
Isabela, hand moving up to pull her blood-soaked hair back, felt her hands shaking in panic as her trace literally died in front of her. Shit, shit, sh-
Then, a new voice spoke, demanding and foreboding. "Yes, where is the Tome?"
Shiiiiiit!
Feeling the day turn from bad to terrifying, Isabela slowly turned, eyes wide.
The Qunari pushing their way through another passage were six in number and all muscle as their kin were wont to be. Isabela stared at them for but a moment, then looked over to the doorway from whence she'd come- "Bas, halt." The order was rapt and demanded obedience. "Do not think about it." Looking back, Isabela found two of the Qunari holding javelins at the ready, raised and poised for a deadly throw.
With the sting of those massive missiles still all too familiar, Isabela found her shoulders slump in defeat. Too tired, fuck, and those guys are no Coterie fools. "What do you want?"
"You mentioned the tome of Koslun, you fought the other Bas over it, you are seeking it as we are." The Qunari that spoke looked like all the others, but he was the only one with a drawn sword, the others content to glare down at the puny human crouching before them. "But you are not Viddathari, not of the Qun." The Qunari leader cocked his head to the side. "So why do you seek it?"
"It's worth a lot of money." Isabela replied. It wasn't a lie, yet it wasn't the truth either, the truth would have her dead in seconds, or worse.
The Qunari scowled in disapproval, the idea of cash still foreign and disgusting to his kin, despite their long exposure to the rest of the world. Yet it was not he who spoke, but one of the ones holding a javelin. "Sten, I believe this is the thief. The one who took the tome of Koslun."
Isabela's eyes widened in horror even as the Qunari leader cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing. "You might be-"
"Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous."As one, everyone looked to the new voice, this one coming from the doorway Isabela had used a little while ago. "What, do all Rivaini look alike to you people now? I do believe that's racism."
Varric!?
The dwarf, calmly walking into the room, held his arms wide, Bianca safely strapped to his back as he smiled at the Qunari like they were old friends. "I didn't think that was the Qunari way."
"Humans are hard to tell apart for Kossith, this is not racism, but fact." The Sten replied, unfazed by the new arrival. "But the description of the thief was thorough, and the Karasaad is correct, she matches it well." The Qunari looked back to Isabela, open disgust in his eyes. "We'll take her to the Arishok." A cold tremor ran down Isabela's spine. Death from Castillon is almost preferable, if the stories I've heard are true...
Varric was faster though, something in his casual tone halting the Qunari about to advance on the bloodied woman. "That would be a bad idea."
The Sten cocked his head to the side, eyeing the dwarf with an arched eyebrow. "And why is this?"
"Because this woman is under the protection of Hawke." Varric calmly replied, all smiles. "And Hawke is the Arishok's only ally in this city, and one worthy of respect according even to him. To take her would be to not trust Hawke's word..."
The Sten took a step back, forehead wrinkling into a deep frown. "Hawke is Basalit-an, but..." The Qunari looked back to Isabela, something in his eyes flashing, then back to the seemingly calm Varric. Maker knows how he manages to look like it though, I know him, and I sense the tension beneath... "This will be reported to the Arishok, but Basalit-an must be respected..." A shake of his head and the Sten shot Isabela another glance. "...for now."
"Sten?" Another of the Qunari spoke up, a hint of disapproval in his voice, but it was respectful none the less. "What now?"
"We continue our search." The Sten replied, gaze still darting between Varric and Isabela, his tone making clear who he was truly speaking to. "And we will find it."
With that the Qunari turned and marched back through the doorway they'd come from, none looking back, their heavy steps sure and calm.
When they'd left, Varric closed his eyes, fingers moving as he counted to ten.
Uhhh...?
"You're crazy." Varric opened his eyes and looked to Isabela. There was sympathy in his eyes, anger too, but mostly sympathy. "I don't know why you're doing this, or how you thought going at this alone was a good idea, but it stops now." He cocked his head to the side. "You're trying to get the tome for yourself, aren't you...? Why?" Isabela couldn't meet his gaze, lowering hers and sighing in defeat as she felt the blood in her hair stick to her scalp and neck. "Come on, we can't help you if...you're going to get yourself killed."
"Don't tell Hawke?" Isabela hated how thin her voice sounded, and awkwardly forced herself to shoot Varric a pleading look. "If he finds out...he'll give it to the Qunari, he'll...I don't..."
"I know, he'll do what he deems right, and that's probably not in your interests." Varric nodded, sympathy still there as he sighed. "But...I kind of have to, Rivaini. I do have to...I know as well as Garrett what a danger we're sitting on and I can't in good conscience not tell him."
"He'll, he'll..."
"I'll help you, speak on your behalf." Varric offered it, as always, without hesitation. Bloody good friend, unlike...Maker... Isabela looked away, shamed. "We'll work this out, okay?"
Isabela looked up, finding Varric smiling down at her, hand reaching down offering to help her up.
"Sure." Isabela, disgusted with herself, feigned a smile and took the hand, hoisting herself to her feet. "It'll all work out..."
Maker, I really am going to die...
8
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Thanks to Abydos Jackson, for the sand in my shoes.