34: What the Eyes Can't See (Part IV)
"The public have an insatiable curiosity to know everything, except what is worth knowing."
― Oscar Wilde
The jail's door swung open and Bull marched in imposingly. Krem and the others appeared to revive, shifting on the bunks, the ground, wherever else they had managed a place to alight on in the small cell since being herded in by the Skyhold guard after the previous night's brawl.
Bull crossed his arms and took inventory of his company with his good eye. They peered back at him, the silence expectant between them.
"I'm gone one night," Bull finally said in a tone of censure, pointing accusingly at them. "One night that I leave you all to it… and what do you all do? You start the brawl that put all other brawls in Skyhold to shame!" he bellowed.
Grim stared down at the ground, as if ashamed, and grunted contritely.
Krem's eyes narrowed defiantly.
"What? Just like that? You're not even going to ask what happened before—"
"I can't believe I missed it!" Bull interrupted, a slightly crazed grin across his face. "Five broken chairs, two smashed windows, one shattered lute—whoever did that: genius!— and four assholes from that shitty mercenary company in the infirmary, three others sitting in the lower jails." He nodded, impressed. "Well done, Chargers! You've done me proud. You are the talk of the fortress!"
Krem grinned smugly. His shoulders ached from where a chair had flown down squarely over his back, but it had been worth it.
"So here is the deal: Commander Cullen said I had to talk some sense into you delinquents, so let's all pretend we had a heart to heart, a 'Come to Andraste' moment, and we can all hurry out of here and still make it to breakfast at the mess hall," Bull explained cheerfully, rubbing his hands.
They slowly rose, among mild cheers, shaking the stiffness from their limbs.
"Oh, and I almost forgot," he added, rubbing his chin. "One last detail, lads: the Chargers have been banned from the Tavern for the next month."
A collective groan of protest erupted from the cell.
Bull raised both palms at them.
"You can still have your drinks— just not at the tavern," he explained. "It was the compromise offered and I took it. No big loss— the place is wrecked anyway and you are all going off on a mission soon. By the time you return, it'll be nice and new again."
"I don't like the food at the mess hall," Stitches grumbled.
"What's that?" Bull raised an eyebrow. "You are welcome to cook for us all, if you'd prefer."
"I said I didn't like it. Doesn't mean I won't eat it," Stitches said grudgingly.
The jailor arrived shortly after with a jangling set of keys and unlocked the iron door, watching the Chargers file out morosely, one by one.
"Krem!" Bull called commandingly as his lieutenant emerged from the cell.
"Chief," he replied, falling back and letting the others step out before him.
As the last of the other Chargers disappeared beyond the prison door and the jailor turned on his heels tiredly, Bull leaned towards him.
"Listen: Commander Cullen spoke to some witnesses. Said quite a few people testified another guy started it all. He said given the nature of the exchange, you could press charges if you wanted."
Krem grinned.
"No shit!" he marveled, pleased.
"Pretty nice, huh?"
Krem peered at the polished stone floor with spreading satisfaction.
"Nah," he finally decided. "I don't want to press any charges."
Bull smirked.
"I figured you wouldn't. Why press charges when you can smash faces instead?…" he teased.
"Exactly," Krem smiled broadly, making his way to the exit. "Faster… and far more satisfying."
"Almira!" Her father startled her from her trancelike state. "It's all burned!" he gesticulated frustratedly at the scorched eggs in the pan.
She swiftly shifted the pan away from the fire and evaluated the damage.
"I wanted a simple fried egg," her father mourned.
She scraped at the carbonized remains of the eggs, an expression of worry furrowing her brow.
"Are you unwell?" her father wondered after she said nothing.
She continued her feeble attempts to dislodge the burnt breakfast fare.
"Did anything happen, venan?" he contemplated her with unusual tenderness.
"Nothing," she replied unconvincingly.
"Why don't you take a break?" he suggested, wiping his hands over his work apron, his pencil firmly planted behind his ear. "Go for a little walk and come back around late morning to relieve me."
Her hands pulled nervously at the hem of her tunic, unsure.
In the nearby distance, the faint clatter of metal resounded over the courtyard.
"They're at practice already!" a young dark-haired man leaning over the stairwell's parapet yelled down to a small party of stable boys. "They spent the entire night in prison, but it doesn't stop them from performing their duties!" he continued with undisguised admiration.
"Ooh! I want to see!" one of the lad's companions exclaimed, bounding up the steps to join him.
"Hurry—there's quite the crowd assembled to watch them. We'll either run out of room or the guard will make us all disperse," he signaled, turning around again.
"You still hoping, Loïc?" another voice called out playfully.
"What? Me? I wish! The Chargers are in a league of their own," the young man said hurriedly.
Almira calculatingly watched them disappear up the steps.
"Baba," she said to her father, evoking the old term of endearment she hadn't used in a long time, "I'll be back soon."
But not too soon, she hoped, holding her skirt up slightly so she could trudge up the steps.