disclaimer=standard
Anything you recognise is Bioware's. Anything else probably belongs to them too.
/disclaimer
o_ooo000ooo_o
Cassandra groaned. "This is getting tedious."
Kathryn shrugged. "After several hours listening to glorious, nail-biting adventure, I can't imagine why you'd be bored by economic warfare."
"I am aware of the events leading up to the signing on the treaty. Teyrn Aedan's offer of three and a half thousand Imperials, increasing by twelve and a half thousand a year was accepted. The moment after the ink was on the vellum, he theatrically opened a chest of gold in front of the Empress and declared the debt paid. Many in the Empress' court found themselves out of favour, having assured her there was no possibility of him paying before the first annual increase."
Gaylen frowned. "But how? Where did you get the money? Surely you didn't steal that much from the treasury. And you couldn't have got that much from fencing so many stolen gems at once."
Cassandra frowned, first at the interruption, then at the point. "True. You didn't use the gold and silverite bars you cast out of the stolen jewellery; you said earlier that you purchased the debts of some nobles with them."
"I did," Kathryn agreed. "Oghren came through for me again. He brokered an agreement with my Orlesian counterpart. The Wardens were incandescent with fury when presented with evidence that Celene had promised the Grey Warden arling to an Orlesian noble, seeing it as an attack on the order as a whole. He used the gems he'd levered from the Imperial jewellery as collateral. In return for a fifth of the stones, he obtained a loan from the Wardens of Orlais."
"The Orlesian Wardens loaned Ferelden the coin to pay restitution?"
"No, the Orlesian Wardens loaned Oghren, and by extension, me, the coin to pay Ferelden's restitution," Kathryn clarified. "And the best bit was that by doing so, it germinated the idea for the Warden's current financial power."
"As if piles of dragonbone, gold stolen from the Crows, and half the jewellery in Val Royeaux wasn't enough for you," Cassandra said sourly.
"It's not so much having the gold," Kathryn declared with faux pomposity, "as the fact that my enemies do not."
Cassandra shook her head in disgust at the poorly-disguised avarice. "Where did you go after the treaty was signed?"
Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "Who said I left straight away?"
"The fact that Val Royeaux did not suffer any further disasters," the Nevarran Seeker spat acidly.
The elf grinned, and bowed her head in satisfied acknowledgement. "A compliment disguised as an insult. Well done. But no, I did not leave Orlais immediately. There were a couple of other people I needed to visit."
Leliana looked surprised. "Who? Who did you know in Val Royeaux?"
The smile on Kathryn's face gave the three listeners shivers. "Oh, they weren't in Val Royeaux…"
o_ooo000ooo_o
Tensions were high for a few days after Aedan discharged Ferelden's short-lived restitution debt. Celene received enough gold to rebuild her palace but lost face at being out-manoeuvred by some dog-lord barbarians.
Of course, several of her nobles lost a lot more. More than they feared too, though they didn't know it yet.
It behoved the Fereldan nobles to get out of town quickly. Aedan and Teagan both agreed that remaining any longer would be dangerous. Along with Pickering and William, the nobles boarded their ship and set off back to Ferelden.
Oghren flat refused to get on the ship with Aedan and his entourage. My friend had had enough of boats for a dozen lifetimes and decided to walk home, around the western edge of the Waking Sea. A few Orlesian Wardens were getting close to their Calling, and were planning their final trip.
He elected to escort them over- and under-land to Orzammar. They'd clear what they could of the Deep Roads this side of the Thaig. I later discovered that he witnessed Bhelen marry Rica, and that he'd gifted the Imperial Crown to the glowing bride as a gift from the Fereldan Wardens. It amused me no end.
As for me, with a bundle of contracts and a young apprentice, I set off overland along the Waking Sea, towards Val Chevin. We stopped there for a few nights; specifically to visit a particular Chantry-run facility.
o_ooo000ooo_o
Cassandra sighed, and rubbed her forehead. "The penitents. That's who you visited."
"Spot on," Kathryn replied with a nod.
"Who?" Gaylen asked.
Cassandra blew out a breath through her nose. "The two priests who gave up their positions in return for deciding Kathryn Surana's fate," she said flatly. "They were sent to a convent in eastern Orlais after they resigned."
Kathryn turned to Gaylen. "In the weeks I was in the Imperial Palace, Connor and I infiltrated and devoured the Divine's personal files. We discovered not only where each of the templars who…" she swallowed, and clutched her trembling left hand with her steadier right. She took a breath and continued, "I also found where Murian and Morag were sent."
Gaylen looked nervously at the elf. "Er, did you kill them?"
"Of course she did," the two Seekers responded in unison, as they both covered their eyes with one hand.
Kathryn tilted her head to one side, evaluating the pair's response. "Interesting," she murmured, before continuing her tale.
o_ooo000ooo_o
"Are you sure about this?" Connor asked me.
I nodded without turning to look at him. In front of us was the convent where my self-appointed fate-deciders dwelt. We had memorised the best ways in and out, and were now waiting for nightfall.
"It's just, Zevran insisted that every job be done as quickly as possible, without theatrics. That by drawing out the act for revenge purposes made it far more likely that you'd be caught. And far more likely that you'd fail."
No doubt. My plans for Murian and Morag were devised drawing more from Leliana's book of tactics than Zevran's. He would definitely disapprove if he knew what I was planning. "I'm sure he did. Remind me to tell you the story of how we met."
Connor looked down. "Um, he did."
That was surprising. I finally looked at the lad. "Did he?"
"Yes. He used it as an example of an assassination that was insufficiently planned due to poor intelligence on the target."
"Well that's true enough. Did he tell you that so you wouldn't draw out the punishments you meted out to the templars?"
There was a familiar flash of rage behind his eyes. "Yes. They were too strong for me to kill in a purely martial contest, and obviously I couldn't face them as a mage. I had to kill them with my brain; quickly and cleanly."
"Bryant told me that you petrified one and pushed his head under water while he bathed. I had to fight back the urge to applaud."
The childish, bashful look was at odds with the young man's impressive kill count.
"Look," I continued, before he could respond, "I have a plan. I have a backup plan. And if the worst should happen, I'll burn the place down."
He nodded, accepting my decision but I could see the disagreement in his expression. "All right, let's go."
We shimmered into our mouse forms and scurried under the locked gates and into the building grounds.
It took an hour or so to locate Murian. For someone supposedly out of favour with the Powers That Be within the Chantry, she certainly commanded enough respect to have a very luxurious room, especially when most of the other residents were sharing. I waited in the darkness until the rooms nearby were silent. Once I deemed it likely everyone nearby was asleep, I cast a few spells and prepared to terrify the woman. "Murian," I intoned in my deepest voice. My ruined vocal chords added a menacing rasp.
The ex-Grand Cleric of Ferelden blinked her eyes open, and then gulped in a lungful of air in shock. Her mouth opened, and her chins trembled up and down; the second and third wobbling a bit.
"Murian," I repeated, raising my arms up to the side. "I greet thee, my executioner."
With my body under the influence of an Arcane Warrior ability that placed it partially in the Fade, I was both glowing faintly and transparent. In the light of a single candle, I looked exactly like a ghostly spirit from one of the ghost stories devoured by the rich and poor alike.
The elderly woman shrieked in terror, and hurled herself out of the far side of the bed.
Well that was entertaining. I grinned and shimmered into my mouse form.
None of the people who rushed to see what was causing the commotion noticed a mouse hiding under a desk.
It was entertaining to hear the old bitch babble about seeing an evil spirit. That part of my plan worked perfectly. As did the people responding to her scream of fright. After being consoled and calmed, Murian agreed that she must have simply had a nightmare. She was offered a cup of brandy fortified with a small amount of tea. She gulped it down.
Nearly an hour later, everyone left her room. Murian climbed back into bed, pulling the covers tightly under her chins. She blew all but one candle out and settled back down to sleep.
I waited until her breathing was rhythmic and slow before emerging. I once again cast the necessary spells to mimic a ghost and said, "Murian! Confess your crimes! The Maker commands it!"
She did not get much sleep that night. Nor did anyone else within earshot of her room. After the third time I woke her, she insisted upon being guarded while she slept. I was rather hoping that I could actually have a conversation without her screaming for help. Her terror was foiling my plans. Rather than appear in front of someone else, I gritted my teeth and left her to focus my efforts on Morag.
The ex-Revered Mother of Amaranthine was not made of any sterner stuff than her co-conspirator. She also screamed for help at my appearance.
Having two women with the same visions gave the priests of the convent pause. One or the other could be dismissed as anything from a bad dream to eating some stinky cheese before bed. But two...
A few hours before dawn, Mother Agnes, the priest in charge of the convent, testily summoned both women to her chambers. She demanded an explanation for the inexplicably similar visions the pair were experiencing. Sleep deprivation shortened tempers considerably.
Interestingly, neither woman admitted to the Revered Mother their role in my abduction. Their answers were evasive and rehearsed to the point of polish, leading me to conclude that they were determined to stick to a specific story to the end of time.
We'd see just how their determination would stand up.
Connor and I left just before daybreak and went back to the rooms we'd secured at an inn. We slept during the day, the noise of the city muffled by magical barriers across the door and window.
The next night, we visited the convent again, this time armed with certain concoctions refined by the Crows. Just in case.
It seemed that my appearance had terrified both ex-priests so much that they were going to sleep in the same room together while guarded by three templars. I had hoped to only show myself to the two bitches. That would have made any claims about my survival a little hard to prove. But needs must, and I changed my plans accordingly.
I cast a large petrification glyph to lock all five in place. I took a deep breath and began.
"Greetings Murian, late of Denerim," I whispered in a husky voice. "And greetings Morag, late of Amaranthine."
No petrified body could move, but their eyes darted to and fro, seeking an escape.
"You must confess your crimes, my sisters in Andraste's love. I beg of thee, confess, lest your souls wither in the Black City for eternity."
Warning delivered, I wafted out of their sight and shimmered into a mouse before the petrification spell ended.
The tandem scream split the silence of the night.
This time, with three templar witnesses, the ex-priests could not deny knowing what the 'visiting spirit' wanted. Both Morag and Murian were visibly shaken at the thought of their souls not ending up at the Maker's side. I suppose when you convince yourself that you are acting in accordance with your God's wishes, discovering otherwise causes some distress.
Mother Agnes once more summoned them, and once more demanded answers. With the corroborating statements from their guards, she insisted on being told what was causing the visions.
No answers were forthcoming, however. Murian and Morag were determined to stick to their script. After several long demands had gone unfulfilled, Agnes suggested that the pair confess to the Revered Mother of Val Chevin in person the next morning, and suggested that they spend the rest of the night in the chapel in prayer.
Connor and I left, prepared to return the next day.
It was not necessary.
Both women had apparently decided to hang themselves in their bedchambers before the sun rose.
o_ooo000ooo_o
Cassandra snorted derisibly. "They 'decided', did they? They were not any way assisted?"
Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "Of course they didn't 'decide' to commit suicide. They were undoubtedly assisted into their bedsheet-nooses. But it wasn't me who helped them."
Leliana's expression was one of relief, while Cassandra looked suspicious. "If not you, then who? Connor Guerrin?"
Kathryn shrugged. "No, not Connor either. Honestly, I don't know who. I just assumed that the Bitch-in-Chief had an agent among the convent's staff who was ordered to make sure they never told their story if their resolve appeared to be wavering."
Gaylen looked shocked. "But the Divine would never…" he started.
Kathryn raised a hand and indicated Leliana with one thumb. "You think? This butterfly has a sting that gets used more often than you'd believe. And Dot is one of the more moderate Divines we've had."
Gaylen's gaze fell on Leliana, who managed to keep her expression neutral. "Sometimes extreme measures are necessary," she justified.
Kathryn shrugged. "I'm not arguing."
o_ooo000ooo_o
Val Chevin had nothing else of interest, once my executioners had been executed. Connor and I left via the north gate the next day. We travelled via Cumberland before heading inland towards Nevarra – the capital city of the identically named nation. From there we headed to the Free Marches; first Tantervale and then south to Kirkwall. It took us a couple of months to reach the City of Chains, partially because we helped out the Mages Collective at each city but mainly because Connor and I tracked down every merchant on the way that'd made a deal with Salmont.
Most were hesitant to sell their agreement to buy food from the Orlesian, logically concluding that any default on her part would result in them assuming ownership of prime Orlesian real estate. They all sold however, when I presented them with evidence that they were only one of many who'd been promised the land. They'd be fighting each other in front of Orlesian magistrates.
At best, they'd get part-ownership; often with people and organisations in direct competition with them. At worst, nothing.
They all sold their agreements to me.
o_ooo000ooo_o
Gaylen frowned, and raised his hand. "Er, why did you buy all the promises? Wouldn't that put you in exactly the same position as the merchants?"
Kathryn smirked. "No. Salmont and her co-conspirators still hoped to invade Ferelden at some point. But she still needed to fill all the orders that I then owned. I contacted her agent once I got back to Amaranthine and offered to sell her and her cronies enough foodstuffs to meet their obligations."
Gaylen looked confused. "Why?"
The grin on the elf was malicious. "Because I charged her half again what she agreed to sell it for."
Gaylen blinked, then gasped as he realised what that meant. "You sold her food - food that she then sold back to you – at a loss?"
A nod. "Yup. Alistair enacted a new tax on Orlesian merchants – ostensibly to raise the funds to repay the reparations, but truthfully to make it prohibitively expensive for them to do business on Ferelden soil. Salmont's group accepted my proposal because I offered to send the food directly to their creditors, thus evading the punitive tax. In essence, she paid me to sell food to myself. I didn't even need to have the food. I just needed signed proof that it was received." Kathryn chuckled to herself. "Some of the very merchants who I had purchased the promises from came to Highever and Amaranthine to buy stock to cover what they had expected to receive from her. I made profit on profit on profit."
Cassandra shook her head. "Such an arrangement would be unsustainable."
"It was. Salmont and her cronies borrowed heavily from their usurers, hoping that they could survive financially long enough to revisit the issue of invasion. But Ferelden grew in strength faster than Orlais did. The cost of waging war on us rose too quickly over too short a time."
o_ooo000ooo_o
Connor was invaluable on the trip. He spoke Orlesian fluently, and Navarran well enough to conduct our negotiations. With plenty of food and outdoor exercise, he was turning into a strapping young man, albeit one with haunted eyes and a violent temper.
Our travels could have been boring, since we both had the ability to sneak past any bandits. However, Connor's need for quieting the demons haunting his sleep meant we actively sought out the dregs of society, making the highways of Orlais, Nevarra and the Marches safer for honest travellers.
As I'd once mentioned to Godwin, we killed them and took all their stuff.
After a few weeks of personal instruction from me, his battlemagic flourished. I also taught him the Arcane Warrior fundamentals. It was helpful for him to carry a sword in the cities we visited. A staff over your shoulder was a bit of a hint as to your profession.
The approach to Kirkwall took us around the Sundermount. The closer we got to the Waking Sea, the more fertile the land was.
I spotted something entirely unexpected. I crouched to examine it.
"What is that?" Connor asked.
"Halla droppings."
He looked confused. "What's a halla?"
I rose to my feet and looked around. "It's a sort of domesticated deer. The Dalish use them. They hitch their aravels," at his expression I clarified, "that is, their land-ships – to the beasts when they move from place to place."
Connor glanced around. "I haven't seen any Dalish."
I shrugged. "If they are hiding, you won't. Mind you, if that was the case, they wouldn't be so incautious as to leave droppings behind."
"You are correct, flat-ear."
I looked up to see a tattooed face at the other end of an arrow. The archer was on top of a small rise off to the side of the road. "Atash Valenm, hunter," I said without inflection or fear.
His bow minutely straightened as my words caused the pressure on the bowstring to lessen. Not enough to relax, but enough to know I wouldn't sprout a feathered shaft without warning. "What cause do you have to travel so close to our camp?" he demanded.
I shrugged my shoulders. "No cause beyond that our path takes us to Kirkwall. I had no idea there were any clansmen in the area."
Three more Dalish hunters materialized out of the landscape. It was the only way to describe how they emerged from their camouflage. One stepped forward. "Follow me. I shall escort you."
I narrowed my eyes. "I need no escort. This is a Tevinter highway. My map says it leads to Kirkwall. I can hardly get lost."
"It is not for your benefit," the first Dalish retorted, once again drawing back fully on his bowstring.
Connor tensed, so I placed a hand on his forearm. "That makes no sense," I replied.
"Your understanding is not our concern, flat-ear."
I stared at the bowman, assuming he was their nominal leader. "Do not call me that again. I don't tolerate disrespect from anyone; human or elf. I am a Grey Warden. You will not insult me again."
"You are truly a Warden?" one of the archer's comrades asked.
I glared at her. "I am."
She gestured to the archer, and the bow was lowered. "Please, allow me to escort you to our Keeper."
I didn't really want to be distracted by requests to rescue lost kittens, but the fact that a Dalish clan was living so close to a major trading city piqued my curiosity. There was something else at work here. I nodded by assent.
We were led to the most established Dalish camp I'd ever seen. There were aravels that had stayed in place so long that grass had grown and peaked through the spokes on their wheels. These Dalish had clearly been here in this one spot for a year or more.
The Keeper of the clan was an elderly woman with faded tattoos. The hunter bowed to her. "Keeper, this fl-, er, this elf claims to be a Grey Warden. She sounds Fereldan."
"Does she?" the Keeper replied serenely. "I bid you welcome, Warden. I am Marethari, Keeper of this clan."
I nodded a neutral greeting. "Kathryn Surana, Commander of the Grey of Ferelden."
The hunter paled. My name carried weight even here it seemed.
Marethari however, was nonplussed. "Are you indeed?" she asked rhetorically, with no surprise evident in her tone. "Your story has reached even us from across the Waking Sea. I am pleased to see that your disappearance was not of the permanent kind."
I gave a soft snort of amusement. "Not as much as I." With a wave of one hand to encompass the camp, I asked, "Why are you tempting fate by making a long-term camp so close to a human city?"
The Keeper sighed. "It is not a reason you need concern yourself with, Warden. Several of my clan have voiced similar concerns to me."
I looked at her closely, but discerned no guile. Time to find out why I'd been brought here. "Very well. I shall take your leave then."
Marethari held up a hand. "Abide a short while, Warden. You are welcome here."
I raised an eyebrow, glancing at the nervous hunter. "A statement at odds with my recent experience."
"No doubt," she said with regret. "Some of my decisions have caused friction between the inhabitants of Kirkwall and my clan. We have taken in a young boy with a rare talent, much to their Circle's displeasure. Merrill, my First, has left us to dwell among the elves of Kirkwall's Alienage. A human woman named Haw-"
"You let your apprentice dwell in a city full of templars?" I blurted, interrupting her tale of woe.
Marethari drew herself up; she had more than half a foot on me. "I let her make her own choices, Warden. She could not remain here. Fear not for her safety; she is well protected."
"Right," I said, letting my tone conflict with my verbal agreement. "Thank you for your hospitality. We'll be going now."
The Keeper sighed. "A moment, I beg of you. We have no contact with the Grey Wardens of the Free Marches."
The familiar sensation of imposition crept over me. "Let me guess, you have a problem that only I can help with."
She frowned at that. "Eradicating darkspawn is your duty, Warden."
My eyebrows shot up. "There's darkspawn nearby?"
"Yes. My hunters have reported sightings along the Wounded Coast for the last year. We avoid them for the most part, though some travellers have succumbed to them."
I nodded gravely. This was different. "I will do what I can. If necessary, I will insist the Wardens of the Free Marches patrol the area."
The elderly mage bowed slightly. "I thank you."
The trip down to Kirkwall was sobering. Both Connor and I could feel the veil's strength wane as we approached. It felt awkward and disconcerting, as though eyes were upon us from just over our shoulder.
"This is going to be hard," Connor said.
"I know," I agreed. "You'll be tempted here, and I have no way to send us to the Fade to convince the demons to leave you be."
To his credit, he didn't whine. He grit his teeth, pushed his shoulders back, and picked up the pace.
I smiled at his back before breaking into a jog to catch up. "There are supposedly a lot of Ferelden refugees in Kirkwall. Someone dressed like you with a mabari at his heels shouldn't be bothered at the gates. You might need to bribe the guard to let you in though."
He looked down at the dried bloodstains on his leather armour. The past few months on the road had been more than moderately filled with violence. "I can play a mercenary well enough I guess."
"You look the part," I told him.
The guards at the gate thought so too. Despite his still-youthful features, Connor's eyes showed that the lad had seen his share and more of death. Beyond a brief warning to keep his hound collared and under control, we were let in without notice.
I resumed my form in an alley not far into the city. Connor looked wary as I re-joined him.
"I didn't think you wanted to wander around this city with your staff over your shoulder."
I nodded my head towards a man with an oily beard and several bodyguards walking past. He wore robes and carried a staff that glittered and wafted frost. "Somehow, I think I was being overcautious. The templars here are either incompetent of happy to take bribes. We can deal with either."
He smiled without humour. "I look forward to that."
I grimaced. It wouldn't do for him to start a war against an entire city full of magic-damping warriors; at least until he could resist a Holy Smite. I'd taught him the theory, but I had no way to give him practical experience. It cost Anders and Velanna quite a few bruised bums before they succeeded in practice.
We wandered for a while, talking to people and getting a feel for the city. It was different from Ferelden cities. Kirkwall had a similar flavour to Val Royeaux, though the names of the areas were very prosaic. The area of town where the affluent dwelled was called Hightown. The slums, Lowtown. No one had stayed up all night coming up with those names.
We tracked down a noble who'd done business with Salmont. The Comte de Launcet was more Orlesian that the most Orlesian noble I'd observed in Celene's court. He was a poser with more money than sense. Still, he had enough sense to sell his deal to me.
The only other local who had relevant dealings with Salmont was a dwarf clan called Tethras. After my first few enquiries as to their office location were rebuffed, we were directed to a tavern in the slums.
The Hanged Man. What a name. At least the sign out the front was wooden and not more realistic.
The common-room was unremarkable. The tavern was full of people drinking their dinner; mercenaries, guards, workmen. I ordered a bottle of wine from the bartender and asked him where I could find someone from the Tethras family. He indicated some stairs towards the back with a jerk of his head.
Connor and I made our way through the crowd and up the designated stairs. Around a blind corner we found a dwarf who'd appeared to have set up shop. Uniquely for a child of the stone, he was close to clean-shaven, with only short stubble. Mind you, hiding that jaw under facial hair would be a crime. I found myself wanting to run my fingers down its length. It would take a sledgehammer and several hours' effort to break it.
"Welcome! Varric Tethras at your service," he said, oozing confidence and ease. There was no hint that our appearance was a surprise.
"You were expecting us," I stated.
He spread his hands jovially. "Word reached me that a human lad and an elf woman were asking where to find me. It's nothing more sinister than that. Might I know your names?"
I nodded. "Call me Kat." I deliberately didn't introduce Connor.
"Well then welcome, my feline friend. What can House Tethras do for you?"
"I was under the impression that Bartrand was the head of house Tethras."
Varric's eyes tightened. "I am afraid that my dear, beloved brother is not available for business meetings at present."
I sat down. "Is that a euphemism for him being dead? Or just that you've had a difference of opinion and that he's left town rather than sort things out?"
He glanced between Connor and me, probably wondering why only the elf was taking part in the conversation. "Now why would you think that?"
I let a smile grow on my face. "I've spent enough time around dwarves to know how you traditionally settle such matters."
He gave a sigh. "Stereotypes are a burden we must live with, I suppose."
No answer forthcoming there then. I nodded to Connor and the lad pulled out a sheaf of contracts. "You – that is, someone in the Tethras clan – negotiated with the Marquise of Salmont in Orlais to purchase grain and barley at a set price for the next twenty-five years, with an option to extend for a further fifteen."
"Really? That doesn't sound like something I'd agree to."
I pushed the contract across the table. Varric glanced down at it.
"Interesting. How did you get this?"
"Note the pledge of security should the contract not be fulfilled," I said, ignoring the question.
"Land in Orlais," he said, again without surprise. I got the impression there was little going on around him that this dwarf did not know.
Connor showed him another contract; with different signatories but the same secured land.
"Ah, I see."
Connor wordlessly withdrew another contract.
Varric leaned back in his chair, ignoring the rest of the documentation. I found that odd; all the other merchants I'd visited examined the agreements in minute detail, looking for some way to turn them to their advantage. "I heard you visited a Comte in Hightown today. Did you show him something similar?"
I shrugged. "That's not really relevant. Are you going to examine these agreements?"
He tapped the Tethras contract with one knuckle. "This was not negotiated with Bartrand or me. Our ready gold was bound up in a rather large expedition at the time."
"So, someone else in your family then," I mused. I wondered if this was going to cost me more than I wanted to pay. "Do you have a large family?"
He laughed, smooth and genuine. "I have family like a dog has flees."
"Would you mind directing me to the flee-like family member who is responsible for this agreement then?"
"Possibly," he said, examining the fingernails on one hand. "What are you doing with this information?"
"I want to buy the rights."
"That sounds unprofitable," he pointed out.
I shrugged. "Only if your goal is money."
He frowned, as if unable to understand the concept. "You'll forgive me if I take some time to think about your offer. When someone is keen to make a deal that seems bad for them it's best to know all the details. People have a habit of leaving out all sorts of pertinent information."
Damn. I didn't want to stay in Kirkwall any longer than necessary. Still, I gave him a genuine smile. "By all means."
He gestured towards the common-room of the tavern. "I need to speak to some of my associates. Feel free to tell Ivan downstairs that you are my guests."
I nodded and began to rise, but stopped when a thought occurred. "You received word we were looking for you before we got here. It sounds like you probably know more about what's going on in the city than most."
He chuckled. "I know more about what's going on than anyone else in this city."
I eased myself back down into the seat. "So, if I happened to be looking for someone, you would be just the dwarf to help me find him."
He spread his hands. "That depends entirely on whether your desire to find this person is greater than their desire not to be found."
I considered his answer. Did he want a bribe? "I do not intend to harm him. I just want to check to see if he is safe."
That didn't seem to change things. Varric's expression stayed the same. "Does this man have a name?"
I smiled wistfully. "Undoubtedly, but he never told me what it was."
The dwarf chuckled. "That's probably going to make finding him a little more expensive."
"Possibly," I agreed. "But he goes by Anders."
Varric coughed. If he'd been drinking at the time it would have ended up all over me. "You're looking for Blondie?"
I blinked, before bursting into laughter. "Blondie? Does he know you call him that?"
The dwarf's demeanour suddenly changed. His welcoming manner turned cold. "There are a lot of people looking for him. Not many have his continued well-being in mind."
That quashed my amusement. "He's in danger?"
"That man attracts danger almost as much as Hawke," he groused.
I'd heard that name before, but there were more pressing matters right now. I leaned forward. "Who is threatening him?"
Varric rubbed his chin, making a sound like sandpaper over rock. "Who isn't? Besides the Fereldan refugees, he doesn't have many friends."
"But you're one of them," I guessed. "A successful businessman who is happy to set up permanent shop in a Lowtown tavern when he could easily afford a Hightown mansion, who is a – if not the – information broker to go to in this city… That's a powerful friend to have."
"Then you'll understand that I'll keep his location a secret then. Between the templars and the Grey Wardens, he's got a lot of powerful enemies looking… for… him…" Varric trailed off, staring at me with impressively wide eyes.
Connor leaned down. "I think he's figured out who you are," he said in my ear.
I leaned towards him, still looking at our host. "Spotted that, did you?" I said with a grin.
Varric swallowed, causing his prominent Adam's apple to bob up and down. "You know, I'm not caught by surprise very often. I heard you disappeared, and the word is that you're dead."
I put my hands behind my head and gave him a satisfied smile. "I did. I'm not."
"Well, your interest in Blondie makes more sense," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking down at the table. "And now I get what you're doing."
"What do you mean?" Connor asked, tensing. "Doing what?"
"What you're trying to do with the contracts. You're going to ruin Salmont."
"Of course," I said, coldly.
He swallowed again. "Are you going to force Blondie back to Ferelden?"
I shook my head. "No. Like I said, I just want to talk to him. To make sure he's safe. I want him to come back of course; I'll welcome him with open arms. But he needs to decide to return himself."
Varric stared at me for a long time before he nodded and got to his feet. "Come on then. I'll take you to him." He pulled on a thick leather jacket and picked up an odd looking object, like a crossbow that had been half-disassembled and then reattached.
The sudden change caught me by surprise. I rose to my feet, wondering if Varric was going to lead me into a trap. "How do you know Anders?" I asked, falling in beside the dwarf. It was nice to talk to someone my height for a change.
"I met him while Hawke and I were trying to finance that expedition I mentioned."
I thought back and made the connection. I knew I'd head that name before. "You were the ones who went into the Deep Roads! Hawke's sister, er Beth or Bessie-"
Varric looked at me cautiously. "Bethany."
"Right! Bethany! She was corrupted by the taint down there. A Warden called Stroud was nearby and took her in."
If his expression was anything to go by, Varric was impressed. "How do you know all that?"
I shrugged. "I overheard Stroud talking to another Warden in Val Royeaux before my funeral."
"Before your… ha! Hawke will be annoyed to have missed meeting you."
"You mentioned this Hawke; you said she was a friend and business associate. Tell me about her."
He grinned as if talking about Hawke was his favourite pastime. "She's a refugee from Ferelden. Her family came over during the Blight. She bought the old Amell estate in Hightown when we got back from the Deep Roads." He looked around as we left the tavern. "She's out of town at the moment though. She and some friends are off in Orlais."
"Doing what?"
"An Orlesian Duke purchased a ring from the loot we brought out of the Deep Roads. He invited Hawke to his estate for a hunt of some kind. She invited me and Blondie, but I had business in town and Blondie, well, you'll see." He paused, sizing me up. "A word of warning; Hawke is as deadly a warrior as I've ever seen. If you mean to harm Blondie, you'd best be out of the city before she gets back from Orlais."
I raised an eyebrow. "They're close?"
He chuckled. "She wants to be closer. She keeps dropping hints but he keeps pushing her away."
I wondered if we were talking about the same Anders. He wasn't one to turn down a willing female's attention. Maybe Hawke looked like an ogre. "Where are we going?"
"Darktown."
"Where's that?"
Varric snorted. "Under Lowtown."
Connor and I shared a glance. "The town planners here in Kirkwall are not the most creative people in Thedas, are they?"
"No."
Lowtown was a slum, but Darktown was a sewer. Literally. The refuse of society dwelled amid the refuse of humanity, huddled together for mutual protection and warmth. We were eyed with suspicion and envy the entire way.
"It isn't the most picturesque part of Kirkwall, I admit," Varric said as we squelched through fetid mud.
"Definitely the most fragrant though," I retorted.
"That's true. Anders runs his clinic up ahead."
We climbed some rickety stairs to a pair of doors with a lit lantern illuminating them. I began steeling myself to enter.
"Uh oh," Varric said, drawing my attention.
I turned to see a pair of templars kicking some poor souls out of their way. They descended the rickety stairs into a deep dip before starting up the equally rickety stairs to our level.
"Connor, finish them quickly," I ordered.
He didn't respond. He just made his way over to the top of the stairs.
"Er, you're not going to help? He's just a boy," Varric objected.
"He doesn't need my help."
Judging by the fitted breastplates, the templar pair was made up of a male and a female. As they reached our level the male jabbed his gauntleted finger at Connor. "You, boy, where is the mage who abides near here?"
Connor responded by kicking him in the groin.
He went down with an aborted grunt. The female gaped for a second, and then screamed a war-cry in response to the unprovoked attack. She began to draw her sword from the scabbard on her shoulder.
Connor didn't bother drawing his own weapon. He simply gave a short, charging rush and rammed his shoulder into her chestplate. The smaller woman stumbled back and fell off the ledge, to the left of the stairs. She landed twelve feet below with a crash and began shrieking in agony. Several broken bones, if I had to hazard a guess.
Varric made some appreciative noises.
Connor drew his sword as the male tried to roll away. He ended the templar's life with an efficient stab, twist and pull. Arterial blood spurted over the ground, though Connor had positioned himself so that not a drop touched him. Very efficient.
I watched in pride as my apprentice descended the stairs. Pained curses and threats turned into a single clash of weapons and a truncated feminine scream.
Varric looked on as Connor ascended the stairs to rejoin us. The lad's expressionless face appeared to give the dwarf shivers. "And I thought the Coterie were emotionless bastards," he said, shaking his head. "You Wardens are cold."
"He's not a Warden," I said, storing the name 'Coterie' away for future questions. "Good work," I told Connor.
"It's still a problem though," Varric muttered. "I haven't heard even a hint that the templars know Blondie was down here."
"What do we do with the bodies?" Connor asked, ever focused on the problem at hand.
Varric shrugged. "That's simple enough. Hey! You! There's a silver each in it for you if you get rid of these."
Half a dozen emaciated figures rushed from the shadows and began dragging the ex-templars away. Varric flicked a coin to each of the urchins. "Problem solved."
"Effective," I agreed.
"I could probably have convinced them that there was no mage here, you know," Varric offered.
"Bully for you," I dismissed. "This way they won't have a chance to come back when you're not here." I went back to the two doors without waiting for a reply. I pushed one open and looked inside.
Anders had changed. His face was careworn and weathered. His hair had grown longer but looked to be thinner. He'd lost weight too. He still had that feather fixation though. Why he was so insistent on covering up those tight, muscular shoulders, I'd never work out.
It was clear that his skill at healing was undiminished. I watched with pride as he healed a child then accepted no payment from the boy's mother. He then fixed a man's dislocated shoulder, washing away the bruise with glowing azure hands.
I watched him work diligently for a while. Connor and Varric waited patiently as I silently observed.
How would he react to me? What could I say? There were dozens of people waiting in the cramped clinic for him to assist them. If I took him away, what would become of them? What would become of those who needed him tomorrow?
I backed away and closed the door.
"Problem?" Varric asked.
"Does he do that every day?"
"Run the clinic? Yeah. He's here most of the time. If he's not here, he's probably out with Hawke, looking for trouble. Are you going to talk to him or not?"
I slowly shook my head, hating the realisation I'd made. "No. He's doing more good here than he would back in Ferelden."
Even though I was distracted, I still noticed the dwarf relax.
I squared my shoulders, an effect that probably would have been more impressive had they been somewhat broader. "There is something I can do to help protect him, however."
I gave Connor and Varric some very specific instructions regarding what conditions needed to be met before they were to attempt my rescue. The dwarf assured me that Connor would be well looked after during my absence. Something about taking him to see a blooming rose. Sounded dull to me, but Connor's pre-Circle education had included horticulture at his mother's insistence, so he might enjoy it.
Varric had a surprising amount of knowledge about the layout of the Gallows, where the Kirkwall Circle was located. The entrance to the Circle was semi-public; the dwarf had been there a handful of times with his friend Hawke and some others. Including the Dalish apprentice Merrill.
The fact that he'd visited there with a mage in tow caused me no small amount of confusion. It seemed that the Kirkwall templars were not only incompetent, but blind as well.
Still, I couldn't trust that they'd continue their stunning lack of competence just for me. I planned to infiltrate unseen, rather than walk in the front doors. Mice are great for that.
I purchased a cheap set of third- or fourth-hand leathers, including a battered helmet and gauntlets. To complete the rough-mercenary look, I strapped a sword to my back. I kept Spellfury on my other shoulder though. If confronted, I planned to claim I was trying to sell my big stick to anyone interested. I had a travelling robe in my sack at my hip, along with a handful of potions and bombs. My Grey Warden medallion and a signed note from the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden giving me permission to travel through the Free Marches completed the ensemble.
The trip to the Gallows went smoothly. I strolled unbothered through the large courtyard in front of the Circle. There were perhaps a dozen templars milling around the area. One in particular drew my attention.
Cullen, with brand new Knight-Captain epaulets, strode past. He looked good; tall and fit. His eyes were older though. Not surprising really.
He didn't recognise me; my still-short hair was covered by the helmet and the ill-fitting leathers made me look like a teenage boy. Well, that probably wasn't all the armour's fault. Nature had not seen fit to bless me with much in the way of curves.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as my old friend entered the Circle through a heavy portcullis. I debated adjusting my plans to include tracking him down and clearing the air between us, but figured that was probably pushing things a bit.
I found a nook to hide in, and transformed into a mouse. My armour dropped around me; only the sack with mouse fur on the rim joining me in my new form.
Scurrying along the edge of the wall, I made my way under the portcullis and into the Circle.
I was in, several hours ahead of schedule. I'd need to find a place to wait out the daylight hours. In a Circle, that only meant one place.
The templar numbers were greater here. It took a good quarter of an hour to find the library.
I found a niche behind the shelves and shifted back. I shrugged into the robe. It didn't have any enchantments, but it was sort of protective camouflage.
I squared my shoulders and began moving with purpose around the shelves, examining the tomes there.
Few people bothered a mage studying bookshelves.
Both Zevran and Leliana had taught me that the most difficult step in infiltrating a building or organisation was getting past the front door. Adopting the manner and dress of someone permitted – or even better, someone expected – to be inside made you all but invisible. Leliana had many stories of gaining access to properties by dressing as a maid. Zevran had often posed as a stableboy or manservant.
A mage studying a weighty tome in a library was not cause for interest.
I thought to select a large volume at random and find a nice nook to sit in, but a set of identical tomes drew my attention.
Having more than one copy of a book was not uncommon, but a half-dozen? I pulled one off the shelf and examined the title.
Force Magic.
Well that sounded interesting. A branch of magic not taught in Ferelden? I decided then and there that I would steal the book.
I took it and sat down.
I began to read.
Several hours later, having finished the text, I leaned back and smiled. The spells laid out within were unknown to me, but the theory resonated to my soul. I'd always had an affinity for the elements of nature, but this… this was magic in its rawest form.
What other books could I steal…?
I'd liberated a dozen or so other books and was part way through re-reading Force Magic when a gong sounded through the library. "Curfew in half an hour," a templar at the entrance announced.
The other mages quickly packed up their books and returned them to the shelves. I duplicated their actions, at least up to replacing the books on the shelves. Force Magic slipped into my sack, joining its bibliographic brothers.
I returned to my little alcove, stripped and shifted back into a mouse. I'd have preferred to stay in the library until midnight, but breaking a curfew would just attract attention. Still, I had books to read and a destination in mind.
The Knight-Commander's study sat opposite the First Enchanter's. They were barely a minute's walk from the Circle's entrance. An odd layout, I thought, having your leader so accessible to anyone who could get in through the front door.
Well, it suited me. Escaping would be easier if things went sour.
I scrabbled under the door and sniffed around for a bit before turning back into an elf. The empty room was full of interesting knick-knacks that gave me insight into the character of this Meredith.
After snooping through her files and pocketing a few shiny baubles, I sat down in her chair and put my boots on her desk. I pulled out Force Magic and settled down to wait.
It was nearly midnight when the door's lock shifted. The Knight-Commander had long, milk-white hair that framed her cold, ice-blue eyes. She was a tall, physically imposing woman, who carried a two-handed sword across her back.
She jerked in surprise on noticing me.
"By the Black City, who are you?" she demanded.
I remained seated and gave her a mocking salute with one hand. "Kathryn Surana, Commander of the Grey, Arlessa of Amaranthine, at your service."
Her expression morphed from surprise into disbelief. "Surana is dead."
I nodded happily, closing my book and tossing it onto the desk. "Yes, I'm quite pleased at how pervasive that rumour has become. Please, come in. I won't take up much of your time. Honestly, I'm only here because I need to talk to you about one of my Wardens who has settled in this city."
"Get out of my chair!"
I sighed. "Fine. Are you at all capable of having a civilized conversation?" I asked as I went to rise.
She didn't answer. She raised her arms and began a short chant. I took a deep breath and then exhaled, focusing my mind.
The Holy Smite crashed down around me. I pushed the mystical force away.
"My turn." I twisted my hands and cast a petrification spell at the templar. She dropped her arms and took a half step back before she stiffened under the spell, her expression of shock temporarily etched onto her face.
"Smiting someone for not jumping to obey? Such discourtesy." I rose and walked around behind her. I closed and barred the study door. "I have a policy in dealing with people I meet for the first time; like for like. So, let's see. Are you tall enough to hit the desk there if you fell forward?"
I placed a finger on her back and gently pushed. She rocked forward slowly before falling in once stiff sweep. Her face hit the edge of her desk with a resounding thump, leaving her looking like a ramp. Blood started pooling under her nose.
"Ooo," I winced. "That sounded like it hurt." I walked up her legs, then her spine, wobbling slightly. I knelt down on her broad back and grabbed a handful of her snowy hair. I drew my knife out and held it against the side of her neck. Then I waited.
The spell ran its course. Meredith suddenly flexed as the petrification wore off, and we fell to the floor. I nearly ended her life by accident as her body hit the floor.
She gulped in laboured breaths, her fear and pain evident. "Your life is forfeit, Warden!" she said indistinctly through a broken, bloody nose.
"That might bother me if you had anyone nearby with the power to enact such a sentence," I retorted.
She spat blood onto her rug, but didn't attempt to shove me off. "I have ninety templars at my beck and call!" she threatened.
I leaned down and placed my lips close to her ear. "Can you keep a secret? I slaughtered more than ten times that number at Ostagar a year ago."
She gave a gasp. "That was you?"
"Of course it was me. Who else could it have been? If you try to kill me, I'll tear this building down around your ears and sink it into the Waking Sea before you even get close to succeeding."
The great Knight-Commander began trembling under me. "What do you want, Warden?" she tried, her voice betraying her.
"I told you already." I pressed the edge of my knife hard against the skin on her neck. "One of my Wardens has settled in Kirkwall. You will leave him alone."
"I refuse!" she declared.
"Fair enough. Maybe I'll have better luck convincing your successor."
"What?" she said.
I pulled her head back and slammed her abused face into the floor, causing a muted scream of pain. "You appear to be labouring under the misapprehension that you have a choice if you wish to see the sun tomorrow. You do not. You will either agree to leave Anders be, or I'll kill you now and conduct these negotiations with whoever replaces you."
"You would not dare!"
"Check my Curriculum Vitae. I think you'll find I would."
She swallowed, but did not respond.
There was a thumping on her door. "Knight-Commander? Are you all right?"
"Help!" she screamed.
I drew my dagger back and slammed the hilt behind her ear. She slumped.
The door started jumping it its frame as some burly chaps slammed their shoulders into it. "Orsino!" one voice called. "Blast this door open!"
I shimmered into a mouse and scurried into one corner, leaving my robe behind.
The heavy bar across the door shattered in a shower of splinters as a massive magical force hit the door from the outside. Even as a mouse, my eyes widened at the display of power.
Three templars rushed in, followed by an elf in mage robes, a ball of fire in each hand. One templar dropped to his knees and checked the Knight-Commander, while the others scanned the room, searching for the assailant.
Meredith groaned, slowly regaining consciousness.
"Knight-Commander? Are you all right? What happened?" One templar stooped and picked up my robe, holding it up for examination.
She suddenly gasped and struggled in the arms of the templar, panicking in confusion. He let her go. She struggled into a seated position and glanced around the room. Her befuddlement gave way to anger. She spotted the robe in the templar's fist. "Where is she? Did you capture her?" she demanded indistinctly through her bent beak.
"Capture who?" the elf mage asked.
"The Warden Surana!" Meredith shouted, climbing unsteadily to her feet.
The templars and mage shared glanced. "Warden Surana died months ago," one templar said.
"No! She was here!" Meredith raged, sounding like a madwoman. "That is her robe!"
The mage raised his hands and cast a healing spell on her. Despite her nose straightening, she shrieked, "No! Get him away from me!"
The elf looked shocked. "I was only heal-"
"Get out!"
"You heard the Knight-Commander, Orsino," a templar said, almost apologetically. "Out." He passed my robe to Orsino.
Orsino accepted the garment. He nodded, held a hand up in a placating manner, and left.
Meredith turned and placed both her hands on her desk, breathing heavily. Even from my position I could see her trembling. "Find her," she said softly.
"Knight-Commander," a templar began.
Meredith spun and leaned close. "FIND HER!" Meredith screamed into his face. The blood stains around her mouth gave her a more-than-mildly demonic air.
The three templars almost fell over themselves to obey. They rushed to the door and started barking orders to the gathering crowd outside.
After several loud moments, Cullen entered the room, breathing heavily. "Knight-Commander, you were attacked?"
She rounded on him. "Yes! By Warden Surana!"
Cullen paled. "But we received word that she-"
"I know," she interrupted. "The news was wrong. She was here in this very room." She covered her mouth with a trembling hand.
"K-kathryn is alive?"
That focused Meredith's attention. "You know her, don't you, Knight-Captain?"
Cullen nodded. "Yes. I was stationed at the Ferelden Circle during her apprenticeship."
Meredith narrowed her eyes. "Then I want you to lead the search for her. She infiltrated this Circle. I will not permit this insult. Find her Cullen. Find her and bring her to me. In chains."
He nodded, and gave her a crisp salute. "At once."
"Go!" she shouted at him.
Cullen turned to leave. "Phillip, Matthew, guard the Knight-Commander. The rest of you-"
"No!" Meredith spat. "I am fine. I will not underestimate her, and neither shall you. Everyone is to join the hunt. She is not to escape!"
Cullen looked to be on the verge of objecting, but noted her expression. "As you wish, Knight-Commander." He formed the templars search parties. After several noisy minutes, things grew quiet.
Throughout it all, Meredith, leaned against her desk, her gaze on the floor. Finally, once everyone besides the two guards on the other side of her door had left, she pushed off her desk and gently eased the door closed.
She placed her palms on the door, leaning against it. She stayed like that for a short time, before she took a deep, wavering breath, and then let out a soft sob. Her shoulders began shaking.
Well, that worked better than I expected. Clearly this was a woman with issues about magic. I wondered if it came from some event in her past. Not that it mattered.
She walked over to a cabinet and opened it, revealing several bottles filled with wine and spirits. While her back was turned, I shimmered back into an elf.
She felt the magic. She spun, but I was already casting. I dropped a petrification spell on her again. Once more, she stiffened.
"Tsk, tsk," I clucked lightly as I walked into her field of vision. "Demanding my capture? You think too highly of your templars." I gestured to my nude form and continued, "I walked past them naked and they didn't even notice. Invisibility and teleportation spells are good for that."
I reached out and gently ran the back of my fingers down the side of her neck, as intimately as a lover's caress. "You can't stop me, Meredith. None of you can. I can come and go without notice. I can kill you in your sleep, or leave you slumber as I please. I can face every templar you have and walk away as I tore this building down around their burning corpses. You appear to finally understand this, so I am giving you your one and only warning." I stopped my caress and instead roughly grabbed her throat. "Leave. Anders. Alone. I don't care if he casts lightning bolts in front of every templar in the city. I don't care if he spits in the Grand Cleric's dinner. I don't care if he summons every demon in the Fade to a tea party in the Chantry. If you touch him, I'll find you. And I'll stake you out in the Black City itself for demons to feast upon you and your soul for all eternity."
I drew back my fist as the spell ended and socked her across the jaw with every ounce of strength I possessed.
She went down.
I wasted no more time there. I collected my things, transformed, and left.
o_ooo000ooo_o
AN: Thanks to all my reviewers - dragon matt blue, pintsizedpsycho, Demonicnargles, 1moleman, Robbie the Phoenix, , seekeroflight90, Meatzman2, hilt51, SgtGinger, MB18932, Preier, The Flying Frog, NPC200, jaffa3, MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardian, Mike3207, Hydroplatypus, Conjuering King, raw666, Z LOT847, The Durdens Wrath, Aeonir, Whynot, Glenn Coco, InhConfessor, EmbertoInferno, Lamon, MrSir17, bandgsecurtiyaw, The DCG, 5 Coloured Walker, Lupi-wolf and kano547.
Things are better on the health front for me, so I hope to increase my output.