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peopleofthedas2011-05-01 06:36 pm
amhran_comhrac) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-05-01 06:36 pm
Leap chapter 6 - My least favorite variety of creepy
Title: Leap: chapter 6 "My least favorite variety of creepy"
Game: Dragon Age 2
Pairing: Mage f!Hawke/Anders (eventual)
Rating: T for now, eventual M
Wordcount: 3200
Summary: "Watch for that moment...and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap." Malina has spent her life hiding from the Templars, but she's starting to realize fear can be just as much a prison as the Circle.
Chapter Summary: Kirkwall hospitality is just so... .hospitable.
"It gets no easier."
Malina awoke with a start. The ship was moving around her, the Waking Sea lapping at the sides of the hull somewhere far overhead. She could hear someone vomiting, but it was too dark to see where. The temptation to find them, help them, became overwhelming for a moment. Her hands actually itched, she wanted to so badly.
I'm turning into my father, she thought, actually allowing herself a small smile at the idea. There were, after all, far worse things to happen. Something about knowing everyone on the ship was, in some way, like them made her think of them as allies of a sort. The entire hold was packed, end to end, with refugees fleeing the blight. Ferelden faces, Ferelden voices, even Ferelden dogs here and there. It was, she suspected, one of the last times she would experience such a thing. The thought made her particularly homesick.
Of course, she couldn't help them. Not with so many people around. As much as Malina might have enjoyed imagining they were all in this nightmare together, she knew being a fellow Fereldan, and a fellow refugee who lost everything to the blight, was no guarantee they would overlook her being a mage as well. It had taken a good deal of careful maneuvering and her mother acting as a lookout just to heal Carver when he got sick from drinking the dirty water on the ship, and even that had only been allowed when his clothing started to hang off his shoulders from losing weight so quickly.
Aveline was curled up on her side, the templar shield she'd carried since Lothering clutched in her arms. Even in her sleep Malina could see the woman's shoulders tremble slightly with tears. It was difficult to hate Aveline's husband now that he was dead. Watching the templar's wife cry herself to sleep over his loss dulled whatever rage she might have felt for his profession. In the end, once it became clear the corruption of the darkspawn had taken him, she actually cast a spell so he wouldn't feel the pain of the knife. It seemed like the kindest thing to do.
The idea of offering to kill him for Aveline had actually crossed her mind. Watching a woman kill the man she loved, even as a mercy, was still haunting her. She couldn't imagine how much it must have been tormenting Aveline, and Malina wondered if perhaps she should have done it instead, even if only to spare Aveline the memory of how it felt to kill him. It had just seemed like such a cruel thing to offer at the time, though. She had made a joke about setting him on fire only hours earlier, and kept commenting about how he would kill her or Bethany. Suggesting she be the one to end his life would probably have come across as gruesome. While her social skills weren't exactly impressive, even Malina knew that wouldn't have been appropriate.
Something was digging into her ribs and, after a moment, Malina realized they had all shifted in the night, and she was lying across Carver's legs. Moving gently so as not to wake him, she walked a couple paces away before sitting down again. Carver stirred in his sleep, head resting on their mother's shoulder. Their own family dog, who had been guarding them in their sleep, looked over. "Get some rest, boy," she whispered, rubbing his head. He licked her hand before settling down. "You're a good dog." Homesick or not, it had already been shown that not everyone on the ship could be trusted. Although they had been lucky, more than one person on the ship complained of waking to find treasured family heirlooms missing.
They had boarded almost two weeks ago at Gwaren. She didn't know if they were still in Ferelden waters or not, there were no portholes this far below deck. Just as well, if they were they would look out on nothing but fish. Something made her think the fish in the Free Marches wouldn't be substantially different from the ones swimming off the coast of Amaranthine. Leaning against a post, she tried to find a comfortable position and, when that failed, tried to find a position that wasn't actively painful.
Nothing had made sense, not since that… dragon appeared. It wasn't really a dragon. At least, she didn't think it was. After landing, leaving the darkspawn either dead or fleeing, it had… changed. Changed into an old woman, of all things; an old woman in a surprisingly low cut and tight outfit. Malina couldn't begin to determine how someone was supposed to respond to that. Well, beyond asking if they could teach her how to do that. Apparently, judging by her actions, you responded by agreeing to whatever crazed bargain they demanded so long as it saved your ass from the fire. Or, to be more specific, the darkspawn.
"It gets no easier. Your struggles have only just begun."
The last words of the dragon-woman, a self-confessed 'witch of the wilds,' had been haunting her. The Chantry said prophesy was a sin, but that implied even they believed it was real. Would a witch of the wilds have such a gift? Malina didn't want to underestimate anyone who could change into a high dragon at will. Something told her the woman's words were true.
She remembered nothing after hearing that. The world seemed to go hazy, and then the four of them woke outside the city of Gwaren, in a field at the side of the road.
From there it was only a matter of selling some of mother's rings and buying passage on a boat. That had, of course, been the plan. Instead it became "selling almost everything since ticket prices had gone sky-high with everyone fleeing the blight." She had managed to keep her father's staff, and refused to let their mother sell her wedding ring, and their father's wedding ring, but most everything else was gone. Part of her wished she had taken the staff from Bethany's body, since it would have fetched a lot of coin, but the idea seemed so gruesome.
They hadn't even had time to burn her and scatter the ashes. While she didn't care for the Chantry's funeral services, Bethany had believed, really believed. It seemed particularly cruel of the Maker, if he even existed, to force them into a situation where her body was simply left to rot.
Malina just had to hope this mysterious Uncle Gamlen would be in a generous mood when they arrived.
Docking in Kirkwall didn't make things any better. Their boat was hardly the first to arrive, after all. Anyone closer to a port than they had been had long since arrived. Refugees seemed to cover the ground, spread out across a large, imposing fortress, bunched together with friends and family who had left home with them.
"What in the bloody void is this place," Malina mused, looking up at the statue of an anguished figure hanging on a high wall.
"The sign back there said it was called 'The Gallows,'" Carver supplied. "You… won't like the rest."
She sighed. "I'm sure I won't. So tell me quickly."
He shrugged. "Your funeral. Perhaps literally. We, my sister, are experiencing the hospitality of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi."
Malina turned to stare at him. Carver didn't look like he was having her on. Spinning, she glared at her mother. "True?"
"Well…"
"Mother," she hissed, "you grew up here. Is it true?"
Leandra sighed, not meeting her eyes. "It is. I… I didn't want to worry you, sweetheart. You've been under so much stress…"
Malina took a breath. Her father's voice echoed in her mind. Magic comes out in times of stress and fear. Control your emotions. Counting back from ten once, and then three more times for good measure, she straightened her back and glanced around. "We need to get away from here now. If we stay much longer someone will find me out."
"And so the running begins once more," Carver said drily. "Fantastic."
Narrowing her eyes at him, she cursed violently. "What the fuck would you suggest then, Carver? Should I give myself up to spare you the trouble? Just open a vein and bleed out right here, so you can step over my corpse and stop worrying about templars and apostates and the Chantry? Please, I'd love to know."
"Please, stop fighting," Leandra pled. "I've listened to you two bicker for eighteen years, isn't that enough? There is nothing we can do; this is the lot the Maker has given us in life."
"The Maker's never given me anything but a headache," Malina said, moving forward towards the guards.
"Now that, I can agree with," Carver said.
Leandra sighed. "I suppose it's my fault," Malina could hear her whisper to Aveline. "We never took them to Chantry… it was so dangerous for the girls…"
Malina glanced around. There were more refugees inside. She couldn't see any templars, but that didn't mean they weren't there: only that she couldn't see them. She had to assume there were templars everywhere. This was, after all, where they lived. Trying to find someone who looked to be 'in charge' proved difficult, though. Eventually she spotted him; standing near a high stairwell, a man in armor projected an air of annoyed boredom.
Crossing the wide courtyard towards him, Malina froze halfway there. A woman had passed them by, completely oblivious to their presence. On her forehead stood out a shining brand of lyrium. "Maker…" she gasped, turning her face away.
"What?" Carver said. "What is it?"
"That woman," she muttered. "I think… well, she looked like…"
"Would you spit it out?" he snapped.
"She was a tranquil."
He did a double take. "Really?" Carver said. "Wow… creepy."
"Yes," Malina said, "very creepy. In that 'dark vision of my own future if we don't get out of here soon' sort of way. I have to say, that's probably my least favorite variety of creepy."
"Right," he said uncomfortably. "Well, if it makes you feel better, they'd probably just kill you. I think they save that thing for the mages who grew up here."
Malina stared at him in horror. "Actually," she admitted a moment later, "death would be preferable. So… thanks."
"Happy to help," Carver said, finally laughing. "Oh, would you calm down. They're not going to haul some harmless-looking Ferelden girl away in front of all these people. There'd be a riot! Keep your hands down and you'll be fine."
"Oh yes," she said, rolling her eyes, "I'm sure the templars wouldn't want to offend the delicate sensibilities of Ferelden blight refugees. Why, the way we've been treated, it's clear Kirkwall considers us honored guests. They even call us 'lord,' after all. I'm sure adding 'dog' to the front of it is only… a term of endearment." Sighing, she walked over to the guard and began to plead their case. The conversation on tranquil had already taken far too long for comfort. A single mention of them was too much for comfort, really; although her father had told her about them she'd never actually seen one until now.
Actually getting into the city proved far more difficult than expected, even with the benefit of having family already living there. Malina all but begged, and the guard captain simply refused, saying only that he would pass their message along if someone happened to see Gamlen Amell. Even that, apparently, was more than most people got. A group of heavily armed men overheard and began shouting. A fight broke out and, before Malina realized it, she had jumped into the fray.
"Shit," she muttered, looking down at one of the charred corpses. "Shitshitshit." While part of Malina was horrified at how little she cared that she had just killed a man- several men, in fact- the larger part was more terrified of having cast spells in such a public place. Perhaps the worst public place she could have cast them, if given a choice.
With a shudder she expected to see a templar charging towards her at any moment. Amazingly, none appeared. "Tell you what," the captain said, picking himself up off the ground, "you keep it quiet that they got the better of me, and I'll find your uncle. And, um, if you can see your way to a bit of healing on my shoulder I'll probably be able to keep your, ah, secret to myself."
"Really?" she looked at him in shock.
'Yeah," he said, darting his eyes around. "Let's say spending too much time in this place changes your view of things." He was looking past her, staring at one of the tranquil with a look of disgust on his face.
Malina cast the spell quickly, still glancing around. "The… the templars?" she whispered into his ear as she stood close, shielding the magic flowing from her hands to his shoulder with her body.
"Holed up inside," he said. "They're too good to mingle with the likes of you, believe me. They're too good to mingle with the likes of me, and I'm Kirkwall born and bred." He sighed, rotating his shoulder with a look of relief. "You've saved me from a world of hurt for weeks, girl. Thanks."
"You find my uncle and get us out of here and I'll even cook you dinner!" she said, feeling slightly less nervous now that the absence of templars had been explained.
"You do that and I'd get some questions from the wife once I got home!" he laughed, before calling a guard over and sending him off to hunt down Gamlen Amell. Leaning close and whispering, the captain whispered "Check the Blooming Rose first," to his man. Malina didn't know what that was, but she suspected it wasn't good from the way he tried to hide it from them.
"What happened?" Leandra asked after Malina returned to their group.
"Made a deal," she said, explaining the captain's offer. "Seemed fair enough to me. More than fair, really."
"You got lucky," Carver said. "Just like always."
"Yes, of course," she said, waving her hand. "My amazing luck. It's really fantastic, isn't it, how we're living in an enormous estate in Denerim, with no blight and no troubles to speak of." Rocking back on her heels she sighed in mock-satisfaction. "Life is good." When Carver grumbled she made a face at him. "Quit being suck a prick."
"Malina, language!" her mother snapped.
"Sorry," she said. "Anyways. They went to look for Uncle Gamlen. He is apparently most likely to be found somewhere called 'The Blooming Rose.'"
"Oh, Gamlen," Leandra said, shaking her head. "I see he hasn't changed."
"What's the Blooming Rose?" Carver asked.
"Nothing," Leandra said. "Nothing for either of you to worry about.
"An awfully scandalous 'nothing,'" Malina observed. "So… particularly filthy tavern, illegal lyrium den, or brothel. With a name like that I'm going to put my vote in the whorehouse column."
"Agreed," Carver said.
"Sounds about right to me," Aveline spoke up.
"Aren't we all clever," Leandra said. "Well… yes, it's a brothel."
"Ha! I was right!" Malina grinned. "Well, let's hope he's not too grumpy getting interrupted."
It wasn't until the next day that Gamlen arrived, looking nervous and harried. Malina had always known her mother's family was important in Kirkwall; it made the story of her running off to be with apostate mage Malcolm Hawke particularly dramatic. Seeing the first glimpse of the Kirkwall Amells didn't impress Malina, though. Her uncle was wearing clothing almost as ragged as their own, and they had fled Ferelden with nothing more than what they had on their backs. He smelled like stale beer and was in dire need of a good shave and a long bath.
"This is the rich uncle we've been expecting?" Carver muttered under his breath. "Oh, we're so screwed."
Carver was right for once, Malina had to admit it. Watching Gamlen wring his hands and mutter about how he never expected Leandra to return to Kirkwall made her think something very bad was about to happen. With a sinking feeling he explained his grand plan to get them into the city.
It wasn't so horrible, really. That is, if you considered involuntary indentured servitude acceptable.
Malina didn't.
"At least we get to pick who he sells us to," she muttered, walking to speak to the head of a smuggler company. They had just talked to a mercenary. He seemed… well, like a mercenary. The smuggler, to no one's surprise, seemed like a smuggler. They both were fully aware of Malina's magic. Evidently dear Uncle Gamlen was a bit of a gossip. She would need to have words with him about that. Words like 'I will burn you alive if you tell anyone else' should do the trick.
"So, which one?" Carver said.
"Mercenaries at least operate inside the law," Aveline provided.
"That isn't really a good thing for someone like me," Malina answered. "My existence isn't inside the law, remember?"
"So… smugglers, then?" Carver asked.
"I think so," she said. "The leader said they don't touch slavery, that's something, at least." She glanced over at the smugglers huddled in the corner. The leader's slim back was turned to her, hair pulled up into a rough knot. "The leader's a woman, so I probably won't have to deal with any assholes looking down on me. Mother said Kirkwall isn't like Ferelden for women."
"So… your justification is that you want to join the smugglers because they're run by a woman?"
"No," Malina said. "I want to join the smugglers since anyone already outside the law isn't likely to call the templars on me. That we have clear proof women are equals is just… a bonus."
"And elves, evidently," Carver said.
"True," Malina replied. "Makes me think we won't be asked to shake down the alienage or anything." She made a face at the idea. She hadn't known many elves in her life, but her father had always spoken disdainfully about how they were treated in large cities. The way he described it had sounded horrific, almost as bad as the way mages were treated. He had known many elves, evidently, since they were more likely to be mages.
"It just sounds so… shady to me," Aveline admitted.
Malina grinned at her, shrugging. "Welcome to our life," she said. "Besides, you'll probably get a real job in two days with your experience. We're the ones who need to find a way to support ourselves."
"And get into the city," Carver said.
"That settles it," she said, walking over to the elven woman. "We're in," Malina announced as soon as they were in the shade-covered corner, hidden from the guards' sight.
Ah, but it wasn't enough to have a deal in advance. Of course it wasn't. She sent them to shake down a merchant operating out of the Gallows. Walking over, Malina listened to him arguing with refugees. Hearing another Ferelden accent beg for help didn't make any of them more sympathetic to the merchant. Threatening him after that was almost fun. Watching him squirm when her verbal taunts were joined by Aveline's blade pressed to his throat elevated the entire thing to actual fun.
"There," she said, holding up a coin purse. "Making assholes wet themselves in fear. That isn't such a bad job."
"You enjoyed that a bit too much," Carver said.
Raising an eyebrow, Malina smiled before tossing the bag to the smugger captain as they walked over. "Funny, here I was thinking if we were anywhere but the Circle of Magi I could have had a lot more fun with it."
.
Game: Dragon Age 2
Pairing: Mage f!Hawke/Anders (eventual)
Rating: T for now, eventual M
Wordcount: 3200
Summary: "Watch for that moment...and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap." Malina has spent her life hiding from the Templars, but she's starting to realize fear can be just as much a prison as the Circle.
Chapter Summary: Kirkwall hospitality is just so... .hospitable.
"It gets no easier."
Malina awoke with a start. The ship was moving around her, the Waking Sea lapping at the sides of the hull somewhere far overhead. She could hear someone vomiting, but it was too dark to see where. The temptation to find them, help them, became overwhelming for a moment. Her hands actually itched, she wanted to so badly.
I'm turning into my father, she thought, actually allowing herself a small smile at the idea. There were, after all, far worse things to happen. Something about knowing everyone on the ship was, in some way, like them made her think of them as allies of a sort. The entire hold was packed, end to end, with refugees fleeing the blight. Ferelden faces, Ferelden voices, even Ferelden dogs here and there. It was, she suspected, one of the last times she would experience such a thing. The thought made her particularly homesick.
Of course, she couldn't help them. Not with so many people around. As much as Malina might have enjoyed imagining they were all in this nightmare together, she knew being a fellow Fereldan, and a fellow refugee who lost everything to the blight, was no guarantee they would overlook her being a mage as well. It had taken a good deal of careful maneuvering and her mother acting as a lookout just to heal Carver when he got sick from drinking the dirty water on the ship, and even that had only been allowed when his clothing started to hang off his shoulders from losing weight so quickly.
Aveline was curled up on her side, the templar shield she'd carried since Lothering clutched in her arms. Even in her sleep Malina could see the woman's shoulders tremble slightly with tears. It was difficult to hate Aveline's husband now that he was dead. Watching the templar's wife cry herself to sleep over his loss dulled whatever rage she might have felt for his profession. In the end, once it became clear the corruption of the darkspawn had taken him, she actually cast a spell so he wouldn't feel the pain of the knife. It seemed like the kindest thing to do.
The idea of offering to kill him for Aveline had actually crossed her mind. Watching a woman kill the man she loved, even as a mercy, was still haunting her. She couldn't imagine how much it must have been tormenting Aveline, and Malina wondered if perhaps she should have done it instead, even if only to spare Aveline the memory of how it felt to kill him. It had just seemed like such a cruel thing to offer at the time, though. She had made a joke about setting him on fire only hours earlier, and kept commenting about how he would kill her or Bethany. Suggesting she be the one to end his life would probably have come across as gruesome. While her social skills weren't exactly impressive, even Malina knew that wouldn't have been appropriate.
Something was digging into her ribs and, after a moment, Malina realized they had all shifted in the night, and she was lying across Carver's legs. Moving gently so as not to wake him, she walked a couple paces away before sitting down again. Carver stirred in his sleep, head resting on their mother's shoulder. Their own family dog, who had been guarding them in their sleep, looked over. "Get some rest, boy," she whispered, rubbing his head. He licked her hand before settling down. "You're a good dog." Homesick or not, it had already been shown that not everyone on the ship could be trusted. Although they had been lucky, more than one person on the ship complained of waking to find treasured family heirlooms missing.
They had boarded almost two weeks ago at Gwaren. She didn't know if they were still in Ferelden waters or not, there were no portholes this far below deck. Just as well, if they were they would look out on nothing but fish. Something made her think the fish in the Free Marches wouldn't be substantially different from the ones swimming off the coast of Amaranthine. Leaning against a post, she tried to find a comfortable position and, when that failed, tried to find a position that wasn't actively painful.
Nothing had made sense, not since that… dragon appeared. It wasn't really a dragon. At least, she didn't think it was. After landing, leaving the darkspawn either dead or fleeing, it had… changed. Changed into an old woman, of all things; an old woman in a surprisingly low cut and tight outfit. Malina couldn't begin to determine how someone was supposed to respond to that. Well, beyond asking if they could teach her how to do that. Apparently, judging by her actions, you responded by agreeing to whatever crazed bargain they demanded so long as it saved your ass from the fire. Or, to be more specific, the darkspawn.
"It gets no easier. Your struggles have only just begun."
The last words of the dragon-woman, a self-confessed 'witch of the wilds,' had been haunting her. The Chantry said prophesy was a sin, but that implied even they believed it was real. Would a witch of the wilds have such a gift? Malina didn't want to underestimate anyone who could change into a high dragon at will. Something told her the woman's words were true.
She remembered nothing after hearing that. The world seemed to go hazy, and then the four of them woke outside the city of Gwaren, in a field at the side of the road.
From there it was only a matter of selling some of mother's rings and buying passage on a boat. That had, of course, been the plan. Instead it became "selling almost everything since ticket prices had gone sky-high with everyone fleeing the blight." She had managed to keep her father's staff, and refused to let their mother sell her wedding ring, and their father's wedding ring, but most everything else was gone. Part of her wished she had taken the staff from Bethany's body, since it would have fetched a lot of coin, but the idea seemed so gruesome.
They hadn't even had time to burn her and scatter the ashes. While she didn't care for the Chantry's funeral services, Bethany had believed, really believed. It seemed particularly cruel of the Maker, if he even existed, to force them into a situation where her body was simply left to rot.
Malina just had to hope this mysterious Uncle Gamlen would be in a generous mood when they arrived.
Docking in Kirkwall didn't make things any better. Their boat was hardly the first to arrive, after all. Anyone closer to a port than they had been had long since arrived. Refugees seemed to cover the ground, spread out across a large, imposing fortress, bunched together with friends and family who had left home with them.
"What in the bloody void is this place," Malina mused, looking up at the statue of an anguished figure hanging on a high wall.
"The sign back there said it was called 'The Gallows,'" Carver supplied. "You… won't like the rest."
She sighed. "I'm sure I won't. So tell me quickly."
He shrugged. "Your funeral. Perhaps literally. We, my sister, are experiencing the hospitality of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi."
Malina turned to stare at him. Carver didn't look like he was having her on. Spinning, she glared at her mother. "True?"
"Well…"
"Mother," she hissed, "you grew up here. Is it true?"
Leandra sighed, not meeting her eyes. "It is. I… I didn't want to worry you, sweetheart. You've been under so much stress…"
Malina took a breath. Her father's voice echoed in her mind. Magic comes out in times of stress and fear. Control your emotions. Counting back from ten once, and then three more times for good measure, she straightened her back and glanced around. "We need to get away from here now. If we stay much longer someone will find me out."
"And so the running begins once more," Carver said drily. "Fantastic."
Narrowing her eyes at him, she cursed violently. "What the fuck would you suggest then, Carver? Should I give myself up to spare you the trouble? Just open a vein and bleed out right here, so you can step over my corpse and stop worrying about templars and apostates and the Chantry? Please, I'd love to know."
"Please, stop fighting," Leandra pled. "I've listened to you two bicker for eighteen years, isn't that enough? There is nothing we can do; this is the lot the Maker has given us in life."
"The Maker's never given me anything but a headache," Malina said, moving forward towards the guards.
"Now that, I can agree with," Carver said.
Leandra sighed. "I suppose it's my fault," Malina could hear her whisper to Aveline. "We never took them to Chantry… it was so dangerous for the girls…"
Malina glanced around. There were more refugees inside. She couldn't see any templars, but that didn't mean they weren't there: only that she couldn't see them. She had to assume there were templars everywhere. This was, after all, where they lived. Trying to find someone who looked to be 'in charge' proved difficult, though. Eventually she spotted him; standing near a high stairwell, a man in armor projected an air of annoyed boredom.
Crossing the wide courtyard towards him, Malina froze halfway there. A woman had passed them by, completely oblivious to their presence. On her forehead stood out a shining brand of lyrium. "Maker…" she gasped, turning her face away.
"What?" Carver said. "What is it?"
"That woman," she muttered. "I think… well, she looked like…"
"Would you spit it out?" he snapped.
"She was a tranquil."
He did a double take. "Really?" Carver said. "Wow… creepy."
"Yes," Malina said, "very creepy. In that 'dark vision of my own future if we don't get out of here soon' sort of way. I have to say, that's probably my least favorite variety of creepy."
"Right," he said uncomfortably. "Well, if it makes you feel better, they'd probably just kill you. I think they save that thing for the mages who grew up here."
Malina stared at him in horror. "Actually," she admitted a moment later, "death would be preferable. So… thanks."
"Happy to help," Carver said, finally laughing. "Oh, would you calm down. They're not going to haul some harmless-looking Ferelden girl away in front of all these people. There'd be a riot! Keep your hands down and you'll be fine."
"Oh yes," she said, rolling her eyes, "I'm sure the templars wouldn't want to offend the delicate sensibilities of Ferelden blight refugees. Why, the way we've been treated, it's clear Kirkwall considers us honored guests. They even call us 'lord,' after all. I'm sure adding 'dog' to the front of it is only… a term of endearment." Sighing, she walked over to the guard and began to plead their case. The conversation on tranquil had already taken far too long for comfort. A single mention of them was too much for comfort, really; although her father had told her about them she'd never actually seen one until now.
Actually getting into the city proved far more difficult than expected, even with the benefit of having family already living there. Malina all but begged, and the guard captain simply refused, saying only that he would pass their message along if someone happened to see Gamlen Amell. Even that, apparently, was more than most people got. A group of heavily armed men overheard and began shouting. A fight broke out and, before Malina realized it, she had jumped into the fray.
"Shit," she muttered, looking down at one of the charred corpses. "Shitshitshit." While part of Malina was horrified at how little she cared that she had just killed a man- several men, in fact- the larger part was more terrified of having cast spells in such a public place. Perhaps the worst public place she could have cast them, if given a choice.
With a shudder she expected to see a templar charging towards her at any moment. Amazingly, none appeared. "Tell you what," the captain said, picking himself up off the ground, "you keep it quiet that they got the better of me, and I'll find your uncle. And, um, if you can see your way to a bit of healing on my shoulder I'll probably be able to keep your, ah, secret to myself."
"Really?" she looked at him in shock.
'Yeah," he said, darting his eyes around. "Let's say spending too much time in this place changes your view of things." He was looking past her, staring at one of the tranquil with a look of disgust on his face.
Malina cast the spell quickly, still glancing around. "The… the templars?" she whispered into his ear as she stood close, shielding the magic flowing from her hands to his shoulder with her body.
"Holed up inside," he said. "They're too good to mingle with the likes of you, believe me. They're too good to mingle with the likes of me, and I'm Kirkwall born and bred." He sighed, rotating his shoulder with a look of relief. "You've saved me from a world of hurt for weeks, girl. Thanks."
"You find my uncle and get us out of here and I'll even cook you dinner!" she said, feeling slightly less nervous now that the absence of templars had been explained.
"You do that and I'd get some questions from the wife once I got home!" he laughed, before calling a guard over and sending him off to hunt down Gamlen Amell. Leaning close and whispering, the captain whispered "Check the Blooming Rose first," to his man. Malina didn't know what that was, but she suspected it wasn't good from the way he tried to hide it from them.
"What happened?" Leandra asked after Malina returned to their group.
"Made a deal," she said, explaining the captain's offer. "Seemed fair enough to me. More than fair, really."
"You got lucky," Carver said. "Just like always."
"Yes, of course," she said, waving her hand. "My amazing luck. It's really fantastic, isn't it, how we're living in an enormous estate in Denerim, with no blight and no troubles to speak of." Rocking back on her heels she sighed in mock-satisfaction. "Life is good." When Carver grumbled she made a face at him. "Quit being suck a prick."
"Malina, language!" her mother snapped.
"Sorry," she said. "Anyways. They went to look for Uncle Gamlen. He is apparently most likely to be found somewhere called 'The Blooming Rose.'"
"Oh, Gamlen," Leandra said, shaking her head. "I see he hasn't changed."
"What's the Blooming Rose?" Carver asked.
"Nothing," Leandra said. "Nothing for either of you to worry about.
"An awfully scandalous 'nothing,'" Malina observed. "So… particularly filthy tavern, illegal lyrium den, or brothel. With a name like that I'm going to put my vote in the whorehouse column."
"Agreed," Carver said.
"Sounds about right to me," Aveline spoke up.
"Aren't we all clever," Leandra said. "Well… yes, it's a brothel."
"Ha! I was right!" Malina grinned. "Well, let's hope he's not too grumpy getting interrupted."
It wasn't until the next day that Gamlen arrived, looking nervous and harried. Malina had always known her mother's family was important in Kirkwall; it made the story of her running off to be with apostate mage Malcolm Hawke particularly dramatic. Seeing the first glimpse of the Kirkwall Amells didn't impress Malina, though. Her uncle was wearing clothing almost as ragged as their own, and they had fled Ferelden with nothing more than what they had on their backs. He smelled like stale beer and was in dire need of a good shave and a long bath.
"This is the rich uncle we've been expecting?" Carver muttered under his breath. "Oh, we're so screwed."
Carver was right for once, Malina had to admit it. Watching Gamlen wring his hands and mutter about how he never expected Leandra to return to Kirkwall made her think something very bad was about to happen. With a sinking feeling he explained his grand plan to get them into the city.
It wasn't so horrible, really. That is, if you considered involuntary indentured servitude acceptable.
Malina didn't.
"At least we get to pick who he sells us to," she muttered, walking to speak to the head of a smuggler company. They had just talked to a mercenary. He seemed… well, like a mercenary. The smuggler, to no one's surprise, seemed like a smuggler. They both were fully aware of Malina's magic. Evidently dear Uncle Gamlen was a bit of a gossip. She would need to have words with him about that. Words like 'I will burn you alive if you tell anyone else' should do the trick.
"So, which one?" Carver said.
"Mercenaries at least operate inside the law," Aveline provided.
"That isn't really a good thing for someone like me," Malina answered. "My existence isn't inside the law, remember?"
"So… smugglers, then?" Carver asked.
"I think so," she said. "The leader said they don't touch slavery, that's something, at least." She glanced over at the smugglers huddled in the corner. The leader's slim back was turned to her, hair pulled up into a rough knot. "The leader's a woman, so I probably won't have to deal with any assholes looking down on me. Mother said Kirkwall isn't like Ferelden for women."
"So… your justification is that you want to join the smugglers because they're run by a woman?"
"No," Malina said. "I want to join the smugglers since anyone already outside the law isn't likely to call the templars on me. That we have clear proof women are equals is just… a bonus."
"And elves, evidently," Carver said.
"True," Malina replied. "Makes me think we won't be asked to shake down the alienage or anything." She made a face at the idea. She hadn't known many elves in her life, but her father had always spoken disdainfully about how they were treated in large cities. The way he described it had sounded horrific, almost as bad as the way mages were treated. He had known many elves, evidently, since they were more likely to be mages.
"It just sounds so… shady to me," Aveline admitted.
Malina grinned at her, shrugging. "Welcome to our life," she said. "Besides, you'll probably get a real job in two days with your experience. We're the ones who need to find a way to support ourselves."
"And get into the city," Carver said.
"That settles it," she said, walking over to the elven woman. "We're in," Malina announced as soon as they were in the shade-covered corner, hidden from the guards' sight.
Ah, but it wasn't enough to have a deal in advance. Of course it wasn't. She sent them to shake down a merchant operating out of the Gallows. Walking over, Malina listened to him arguing with refugees. Hearing another Ferelden accent beg for help didn't make any of them more sympathetic to the merchant. Threatening him after that was almost fun. Watching him squirm when her verbal taunts were joined by Aveline's blade pressed to his throat elevated the entire thing to actual fun.
"There," she said, holding up a coin purse. "Making assholes wet themselves in fear. That isn't such a bad job."
"You enjoyed that a bit too much," Carver said.
Raising an eyebrow, Malina smiled before tossing the bag to the smugger captain as they walked over. "Funny, here I was thinking if we were anywhere but the Circle of Magi I could have had a lot more fun with it."
.