[nsw-fic] Dragon Age II: Exchange

[Tysyacha]

EXCHANGE

A Dragon Age II saga by Tysyacha

 

Prologue: A Life for a Life

 

Darkspawn! The word had never caused much fear in me, even as a wee child. I'd always thought of them as monsters, certainly, but monsters weren't real. I also put no stock in demons, shades, or any of the so-called “spirits” from the Fade. When I dreamed, my visions were of existing people and places—though most of them never made sense. My mother, my dead father, my sister and brother, Carver: these were the benevolent inhabitants of the world when I slept. My sister Bethany claimed she visited the Fade nightly, but that was all too obvious. She was an apostate mage!

 

That was what got us into so much trouble, and why we hid in the humble village of Lothering.

 

It wasn't why we had to leave, though. I'd recently learned that all of my denials of the darkspawn were in vain.

 

“Hurry! Come, my dear daughter. We must move quickly if we're going to survive.”

 

My mother was worried. I'd always been an incredibly slow walker and runner. However, if I could manage to sneak behind someone and wrestle them to the ground, my adrenaline made up for it.

 

“I know,” I groaned, nursing an ache in my side, “but we've been running ever since Ostagar!”

 

“That's what I've been trying to tell both of you,” grumbled Carver, “but no one listens to me.”

 

“Shut your mouth!” Bethany pointed with her mage's staff. “I see darkspawn up ahead.”

 

Indeed! There they were, snarling and growling like rabid dogs although far more disgusting. It made my blood run cold to hear them, but before I could react, they charged. A skillful jester knows how to distract her mark, and I instinctively darted toward the side of the road out of Lothering. With two merciless slices of my daggers' blades, I severed one of them in half.

 

“So they do exist,” I murmured, revolted by the steaming slime all over me. “They're real...”

 

“As real as you or I,” smirked my brother, “and as likely to kill us if we don't move our arses.”

 

I shook my head and smiled. Carver could be a real arse himself sometimes!

 

We moved on. Mother, who could not help but obey the limitations of her age, stayed with me in the rear while Bethany and Carver forged ahead. My sister had always been brave, but sincerely played the role of gentlewoman when she needed to. Myself? I had no such interests. Mincing about in delicate shoes and being polite were for ladies, and I knew I was not one. I was more like my brother—hence the reason why Carver and I were such rivals. He feared that I'd pass him up.

 

More darkspawn dashed at us in waves, and it was all the four of us could do to stop them. Eventually, my weariness threatened to betray me for the final time. I was sick—not only of mind but of body. Weakling, the Chantry priests had said. She won't survive, Mistress Hawke. Let us prepare to send her into the Maker's arms. He'll have mercy. So reassuring, so gentle, and so wrong!

 

Not only had I survived, but I'd become one of the wittiest rogues this side of Ferelden. Quickness was all well and good, but cunning—that had saved me more than any physical training ever had.

 

Maybe I could trick them—yes, that's it, you fiends, come get the weak one—now! Carver! No!

 

************************************************

 

Blackness. Silence. A cool, light breeze upon my flesh. Alone. That was my present state. As I tried to discern my surroundings, unmistakable feelings of sorrow and guilt surged within me.

 

What is this place? Am I—? No, I can't be. I'm still thinking, still conscious, still...

 

Yes.

 

Whose was that voice? I couldn't quite place it. A man's or a woman's? I wasn't sure.

 

You are perishing, fallen one. Soon you will no longer be living. You're lost.

 

“I am not!” I spat right back. “I'm alive and well in the realm of Thedas, and I don't even know who you are!” The strange thing about this conversation was that my lips weren't moving. I couldn't feel them doing so. My voice wasn't shouting. I couldn't sense the quivering in my throat!

 

You are in the Fade, my dear child. Surely you know that's where all of the Maker's children venture to dream, or to die.

 

I suddenly felt myself growing colder. “The Fade? But—that's not real. The Chantry spins tales...”

 

So you may think, but the Chantry are not the only gatekeepers of this ethereal realm. You are indeed in the Fade. You consciously choose to disbelieve it, but your dream-mind never does.

 

“So I'm dreaming?” I arched an eyebrow, even though I couldn't feel it rising. “How could I have fallen asleep in the middle of a bloody battle? We were all fighting the darkspawn, and then—!”

 

You're not dreaming. You're dying. Quickly. I can save you, but you must trust me.

 

I paused for a moment. “Trust you? How can I, when I don't even know or believe you exist?”

 

I am a spirit. You may call me 'Breath', for now. That is what I intend to return to your body.

 

“That's fair enough.” Was this spirit real? Was the Fade itself real? None of this made any sense.

 

I want you to live and be strong, but I ask you this: Will you offer me something in exchange?

 

“Anything!” The coolness I felt around me was turning to ice, and I felt terror engulf me.

 

I wish to see the world. Your world. I wish to live, as you do. Let me be your friend and guide.

 

“Are you evil?” The world seemed to rush upward above me. I was falling, falling...

 

No. I am beyond bloodlust and cruelty. As for heroism? That is up to mortal men to decide.

 

“My life!” I was nearly blinded by a piercing pinpoint of silvery light. “Take me—in exchange...”

 

************************************************

 

“Darling?” My mother was shaking me, shaking me hard. “Wake up. You can't leave me.”

 

“I—haven't yet,” I said, the words slurring out of my mouth as out of a severely drunken man's.

 

“Thank the Maker! Aveline, she's alive. Please, help her stand up. On your feet, now—hup!”

 

Once I was righted, I gazed into the eyes of the marigold-haired woman opposite Mother.

 

“Who are ye?” I asked.

 

“My name is Aveline,” said the woman. Her eyes were kind. “My husband Ser Wesley and I were fleeing the darkspawn just as you were, when we came upon your family fighting them.”

 

“Ser Wesley?” Something made the pit of my stomach churn uneasily. “Is he—a templar?”

 

“Aye, Sister,” Bethany replied, her gaze anxious, “but he did not execute me. In the course of the skirmish in which you—almost died, Ser Wesley and Aveline here found us. We helped them fend off the blighters, and in return he spared my life. He wasn't exactly happy to do so, but...”

 

So two fateful exchanges of life for life have occurred in the course of these sudden events. I shivered.

 

“Where is Ser Wesley now?”

 

“He is—gone.” Aveline closed her eyes and bowed her head. “I had to kill my husband. He was corrupted by the blood of the very darkspawn which he slew. He sacrificed his life to save us.”

 

“So did my Carver!” I'd rarely heard that hard tone in Mother's voice. “My only son is dead, and all because he insisted on charging like a fool to try and do the same! To match you, my daughter!”

 

Wet guilt. So that was where it came from while I was in the Fade...”What—what shall we do?”

 

“We're going to go to Kirkwall. We have family there, and an estate. It's a good place to rebuild.”

 

“There are also many templars within its walls,” added Aveline, “but in your case, I suspect you've dealt with them before.” Her glance toward Bethany was certainly wary, but not hostile or unkind.

 

“You speak the truth,” my sister said, returning the warrior's gaze. “I only wish to be let alone and in peace—not to embark on some crusade to murder Chantrymen. My freedom's what I seek.”

 

“And mine.” I gave a start. Did they know about Breath, the spirit who'd claimed me in the Fade?

 

“The darkspawn still seek us, and that's why we need to keep on moving,” Mother said. The iron never left her words, which rang as hard as steel. Is this what happens when you lose one of your children? The favored son you fought for, and the bearer of our family name? The guilt returned...

[Tysyacha]

Prologue: Escape to Nowhere

 

If I would have had any say in the matter, we would not have gone to Kirkwall. Instead, my family and I would have ventured to Orlais or any other part of Thedas that was even further away from those ghastly darkspawn! Any home would have been better than the ill-famed City of Chains.

 

Do ye not know of it? At the height of the Tevinter Imperium's power, they brought slaves over by the hundreds of thousands to toil in Kirkwall's fathomless quarries. It is sadly true that nowadays, Elves are commonly exploited in such a manner. However, the Imperium cared not what bodies mined its ore. Men, Elves, Dwarves—none could escape Tevinter's reach, or its lash. Kirkwall was a city of bondage, of oppression and cruelty and crime. Its very name drove the terror of future suffering into my heart. Estate or no estate, family or no family there, I would never call it home.

 

“Dearest?” Mother asked when we were trapped in the dim and clammy hold of the ship that was bearing us to the City of Chains. “I know it's cramped in here, but do try to be cheerful.”

 

I hugged my arms against my chest and shivered all the more. “Cheerful? I'm sure I'll be in better spirits when I stop being sick from all this endless rocking.” The sea had never bothered me before, but then again, I had always imagined it. Being right in the middle of it was another story.

 

My sister Bethany laughed. “You're more than right! I haven't retched as much as you have, but the queasiness I get from the half-spoiled food the captain deigns to feed us poor Fereldans has sent me to the privy more times than I'd care to count.” She bowed her head, beginning to blush.

 

Mother sighed. “I know 'tis hard, but we must make the best of what we have while we still have it. We are far away from the darkspawn now, or at least the ones in Lothering. Our home is gone. That's why we have to find a new one.” Her shoulders sagged, and I knew that her pragmatic words brought no comfort to her heart. What agony she must be going through, having almost everyone dear to her slip through her fingers! Father was dead, and Carver—my poor brother!

 

Bethany lay a gentle hand upon my arm. “Sister? Are you thinking about...what happened?”

 

“Aye.” Now it was my turn to shake my head. “Why was I so competitive, so eager to make him lose while he still lived? I'll tell you no lie: Carver and I were rivals. Now that he's gone, it all seems so petty of me! Why couldn't I have fought him a little less and loved him a little more?”

 

My sister's amber eyes gazed straight into mine, and I felt no fear. “You did, in your own way. Our brother wasn't one for soft affection. He preferred the battlefield, whether it was at Ostagar or in the fields nearest our home.” Ah! She was just like me, pining for Lothering instead of 'making the best of what we had while we still had it'. “Carver knew you treasured him, and thus he gave his life.” She leaned closer to my ear. “Despite what Mother says, he wasn't trying to surpass your bravado when we fought the darkspawn. He saw what you were trying to do—distract them—and wished to intervene before they took your life. In that respect, he seems to have succeeded.”

 

After hearing this, I bit my lower lip. He really had been trying to help me, and yet I thought...

 

I thought he was being a fool. Trying to charge when the monsters were all over us. Trying to—

 

“Hush!” Mother raised a finger to her lips. “I thought I heard something. Let me know if you do.”

 

It turns out that what she heard was Aveline, the warrior woman, returning from the privy. When she finally came into view, the three of us guffawed so hard that the rest of the miserable wretches in the ship's hold couldn't help but join us! We let Aveline in on the story once our howls and chuckles died down. She herself smiled, but the contagious merriment we felt did not reach her. Was the stalwart matron yearning for her husband? I knew that I would be, if I were she.

 

Yearning. Dreaming. My own dreams were still quite vivid, except this time I knew I was visiting the Fade. 'Breath' spoke with me nightly, when our vessel was full-dark and there was no sound except for waves lapping against the ship. I did not know what the Fade spirit wanted of me, except what it had said before: I want to see the world—your world. I wish to live as you do.

 

On this rainy eve, huddled against Mother, Bethany and Aveline, I slept uneasily. 'Breath' was wondering where we were going and what we were going to do once we arrived. I decided not to hold anything back, either in my dream-mind or my waking mind. If this spirit was going to possess me, to inhabit my body and influence my path, it was best if I told the full truth.

 

I sense us traveling, Breath informed me in the realm of the Fade. Whither do we wander?

 

“We're not exactly wandering. We're sailing on a vessel called the Thedas Minstrel. A minstrel is someone who sings and tells stories to earn their keep. It's very entertaining to hear them, and it lifts my spirits—er, my mood.” I tittered uneasily, although my physical mouth never moved. “As for where we're going, it's a lovely city by the name of Kirkwall—if you find slavery lovely, that is.”

 

Slavery? What does that mean, if I may ask you?

 

“It's a trade and a way of life here in Thedas, at least for some poor wretches. It's when one person captures another and forces him or her to work for them, without pay or compensation.”

 

Ah. A cruel thing.

 

“Aye. I myself believe it's cruel. However, the owners of slaves, especially if they're Elves, wouldn't consider it so. This dastardly and crowded place to which we're headed is known as the City of Chains. When someone takes another person as a slave, they commonly shackle their wrists and ankles in irons so they can't escape. Kirkwall was once a stronghold for a force called the Tevinter Imperium. The legions of that Empire used slaves to forge their weapons, grow their food, and toil away at the tasks that they themselves considered too menial or disgusting.”

 

A pause. If what you say is true, asked Breath, am I using you as a slave, then?

 

In my sleep, I jerked with fright. I could feel my body shudder. The spirit wanted to know if it was doing to me what the magisters of the Imperium did to the people they abducted! I had to answer carefully. From what I heard from Bethany, spirits were often fickle creatures who could turn on you if you let down your guard. How was I to answer the one who had given me back my life?

 

“No,” I finally said. “Slaves have no choice in the matter of whether or not they're captured. They are simply forced to do whatever their master desires, and they must obey. In my case—or, should I say, our case—I could have chosen to die during the fight against the darkspawn, and relinquished my soul. I did not. I chose you, and to let you see the world through my eyes. I'm not a slave; nor are you my master. You're simply someone who offered me a fair exchange.”

 

You call me 'someone'. Most beings don't view spirits as their equals on this mortal plane.

 

I gave another start. “Have I offended you?”

 

Not at all! Many simply consider us their inferiors or superiors—forces to be controlled, or higher powers who control them. It is strange, because from your description of slaves and masters, it seems that mortals think of spirits as slaves and masters. Curious, but not entirely surprising.

 

Feeling myself physically relax, I continued, “Do you want me to consider you as an equal?”

 

If you wish it, yes. I do not agree with this idea of slavery, and there shall be none between us.

 

“Very well.” In the Fade, I found myself smiling. “Is there anything else you wish to know?”

 

Who are the three people with you? They appear to be female and human, as you are.

 

“Yes. The woman with long, silver hair is my mother—the one who gave birth to me. Her name is Leandra Hawke. She delves into the Fade in order to practice the ways of magick.” For now, I decided not to mention to the spirit that she was an official Circle Mage, for simplicity's sake. “Next to me, the one letting me use her strong back as a pillow is Aveline. She is a warrior, and helped to save us during the skirmish in which I nearly died. And in which you saved me, I almost added, but decided not to. “The thin and delicate maid is my sister Bethany, who is also a mage.”

 

It was not only for simplicity's sake that I declined to inform Breath she was an apostate.

 

So much for revealing the full truth!

 

That will come with time, I told myself within the dream-world. For now, I need to stay focused.

 

I understand, Breath replied. Why are you and your kin on this ship, seeking the 'City of Chains'?

 

“The—the darkspawn have destroyed our home in Lothering, and we're fleeing their horde. If they find us, they'll try to kill us, as they did when you rescued me. We have to get away from them.”

 

Indeed. I sense foulness in these darkspawn, which even a Fade spirit has cause to fear.

 

I was curious. “Why?”

 

They seem to have no souls, no spirits of their own within their bodies. I was sensing a taint around you. This is a part of the reason why I intervened to spare your life. Creatures such as these are driven by none but their own hunger and hatred. They consume all beings near them.

 

“Aye, but on that account you're only half-right. The darkspawn are driven by something else besides their own base natures: a fearsome archdemon. It takes the form of a high dragon, which mighty heroes called Grey Wardens are duty-bound to slay. I must admit I had aspirations of becoming a Grey Warden myself, but alas! That is not to be. Instead, I'm trapped aboard this swaying ship, with ill refugees for company. I'm ill myself. There's not one day I'm not seasick! All for an estate we still own, but which might lie in ruins. All for family, and rebuilding. What rot!”

 

Is there another reason why you dislike this 'Kirkwall', besides its long history with wicked deeds?

 

“Cities and crowds make me nervous! Lothering was always quiet, with the biggest tussles usually being over who had the right to harvest crops from our communal fields in their turn. In places like Kirkwall, there are street brawls and murders. Thefts, too, and brazen people who sell their bodies for money. Like slaves, almost, only they get paid heavy coin for the kind of work they do.”

 

What is this work?

 

Dreaming, I laughed. “We'll leave that for another day! For now, Breath, let's both rest.”

 

I agree...The Fade dissolved to black. At last, I was able to sleep without worry or consternation.

 

************************************************

 

The next morning, the Thedas Minstrel entered the harbors of Kirkwall. I was immensely relieved. It's nigh impossible to go a fortnight without a proper wash or hearty meals! The four of us simply reeked—of sweat, sickness and private malodorous scents of which none of us wished to speak. When we had lived in Lothering, we were a well-respected family if no stranger to the templars. Now we were simply “stinking refugees”, and in our situation the metaphor was quite literal.

 

“I can't believe this,” I grumbled toward Bethany as we disembarked. “What a damnable voyage!”

 

“Careful, now,” my sister warned as she helped me clamber off the ship. “You haven't quite regained your 'land legs' yet. I daresay they weren't very stable while we were on land, but—”

 

“You rat!” I gave her a slight, playful shove while continuing to hold onto her arm. Mother and Aveline followed, with the former glowering at our antics. As a mage, she'd always been rather somber. Patience with the mischief of her two daughters—and lost son—was not her strong suit.

 

“Enough, my girls.” She folded her arms across her chest. “With any luck, your Uncle Gamlen has received my letter. However, what's that large crowd up ahead doing? They're just standing about, lollygagging and shouting in front of the city gates!” Indeed, she was right. What was going on?

 

We soon found out. “Leave us bloody well alone!” bellowed one of the armored guardsmen of Kirkwall. “We have enough poor of our own within this city's walls. We don't need more of them!”

 

“Oh, dear,” sighed Mother. “It seems more ships than the Minstrel have found their way here.”

 

“And well they might, with the Blight upon us,” I said with lowered eyes. Then an idea came upon me. “Wait! I've talked to brutes like that before, and charmed my way into their good graces.”

 

“And not their breeches?” My sister winked, and I gave her another shove. Harder, naturally.

 

“Bethany! This isn't doing us any good. All right, darling,” Mother said, addressing me. “If you want to try and make the guardsman see reason, then go ahead, but at least take Aveline with you. There could be...trouble,” she said, glancing uneasily at the angry rabble surrounding him.

 

“Right you are,” I replied, saluting the warrior near me. “Let's venture forward.” And that we did. However, when we reached the be-stubbled sentry, he was clearly in no mood to talk to us.

 

“Back, you lot! I don't need any more creatures in my face that stink worse than the darkspawn!”

 

“I beg your pardon?” Mother was right: trouble would certainly come his way if he kept talking to us like that. “I'll have you know that my mother is Mistress Leandra, Circle Mage and sister to Gamlen Hawke. Our family owns an estate here, and I'll thank you kindly to let us in.”

 

“Likely story! Even if it were true, I still couldn't do that. Knight Commander Meredith, of Kirkwall's templars, has been cracking down on the bilge-rats that she lets slip through our walls.”

 

“So we'd need to go see her, then?” Aveline asked.

 

“Hah! As if you could speak with the near-queen of the Free Marches smelling like that. Tell you what: if you want into Kirkwall, go see Captain Ewald. He'll know what to do with you, besides summon guards to give you baths.” He snorted rudely and glowered towards the hapless crowd.

 

My battle-matron companion shrugged. “I guess we know what we have to do now...”

 

Returning to Mother, Aveline and I told her what we'd discovered. When the three of us, along with Bethany, reached Captain Ewald in the Gallows harbor courtyard, Mother herself revealed her lone worthwhile connection. “My brother Gamlen is here,” she said humbly, “and he's a nobleman. The Hawke estate is long-standing in Kirkwall. I'm sure that he'll welcome us with open arms.”

 

“Hawke, you say?” Captain Ewald placed two ring-bedecked fingers to his lips and thought for a moment. “I remember the name and the man, though I can't say I know him well. I am not allowed to let you into the city, madam, but I'll find your brother and see what he says. No promises, mind you.”

 

“Excuse me, Captain,” I interjected, “but perhaps you could also grant us an audience with Knight Commander Meredith of the templars? I hear she's the one who controls who gets in or out.”

 

“Aye,” he replied, “but if you wish to talk to her, you've got to have a greater reputation in Kirkwall than that of a landowner—even a nobleman. Many people own estates here, what with all the influx of new coin. I suspect that the Hawkes have all but been forgotten. You see how it is.”

 

“No, I don't.” Mother set her lips into a hard red line. “Please find Gamlen, Captain, and tell him that we wish to be restored to our rightful home. Our first was taken from us by the darkspawn. I won't be denied another simply because there are more refugees here than Kirkwall can support.”

 

The Captain frowned. “I've told you—I'll see what I can do.” He turned to leave the courtyard.

 

Before he could completely vanish, however, a group of enraged men signaled their own leader. “What?” he sneered. “You're going to let these lice through, just because some lady says she has a fancy name? Well, if that's the case, then we'll carve our own way in through your flesh!”

 

Uh-oh...They sprang forward to attack us, and in an instant Captain Ewald joined the fray. It was a long and bloody fight, but in the end the veteran gave us his begrudging respect. “Wait here.”

 

We ended up “waiting here” for three days. Seventy-two hours without any word from Ewald! Fortunately, we were provided clean food and drink by some of the Captain's men. They even spared some soap and bathwater with which to make ourselves presentable. Praise Andraste!

 

As for Aveline, she asked to remain with us as she had no other family. All three of us agreed.

 

My mind was reeling, as I had nothing else to do but sit and think in the summer sun's heat...

 

Is this Kirkwall? Breath asked as I found midday repose on the cobblestones of the Gallows.

 

“It is,” I answered the spirit, “but this is not home. It is simply where we've had to flee, and nothing more. This city may be the dark cornerstone of the Free Marches, but to me 'tis nothing!”

 

We had escaped to nowhere, and if Uncle Gamlen didn't arrive, that was where we'd languish.

[Tysyacha]

Prologue: My Uncle's “Brilliant” Plan

 

When Uncle Gamlen finally did arrive, Mother, Bethany and I all rushed to embrace him. At last, a friendly face among the fearful fleeing Ferelden and the glowering guards! Aveline stayed in the shadows of the Gallows courtyard, and for the moment no one else noticed her. I was glad. This was a tender family reunion, and I didn't want to make any awkward introductions right away.

 

“Leandra!” Gamlen cried. “My, you were always beautiful, but it seems the latest years have not been kind. I never expected this blasted Blight to happen—not in Ferelden, not anywhere—and your husband being gone. I certainly wish there was more I could do to help you, but I can't.”

 

Mother looked confused. “Whatever do you mean? You could certainly get us into the city, and provide us refuge at our estate.” When Gamlen responded with nothing but nervous silence, she leaned further into his face. “The estate's still there, isn't it? It didn't get razed to the ground by looters and robbers?” More silence. “Well? Answer me. We're family, Gamlen. Tell the truth!”

 

“I—I had to sell it to settle a debt,” he stammered nervously, raising both of his hands in a quick gesture of surrender. “Until I got your letter, Sister, I didn't expect you and your kin to darken my doorstep in Kirkwall! I've made several mistakes, and I've paid for them—only not in the way you'd have liked.” Gamlen wiped his palms on his breeches, not daring to look Mother in the eye.

 

“This is incredible,” I murmured, shaking my head which was starting to ache. “Our family fortune gone! Mother was so certain we'd have a home here, and now we don't. I guess we'll have to rot here in this pit until more ships come to take us right back to Ferelden—and the darkspawn.”

 

“Wait!” Uncle Gamlen took my hand as I started to storm away from him. “There is another way. I couldn't get you into the city—at least, not without making promises I might not be able to keep.”

 

I raised an eyebrow. “How is that?”

 

“I have good contacts here in Kirkwall, by the names of Athenril and Meeran. The Elven maiden you might deem a smuggler. As for Meeran? He's the leader of the Red Iron mercenary band.” He took a deep breath. “As for the promises I made, therein lies the rub. As soon as I received your mother's correspondence, my dear niece, I made some plans. These two are willing to pony up the coin to get your family beyond the gates, but you and your sister must repay that debt. Work for either of the two for a year, and then you'll be let off free. Will you do this for your Uncle?”

 

“A year?” My ears must have been deceiving me. “Can you believe this man, Sister?” I asked, turning toward Bethany. “He says he can help, and yet his brilliant plan is to sell us both into indentured servitude!” I clicked my tongue. “Gamlen, I've always believed you were a fool, but up until now that only meant a jester. Now I see what you really are. You can't hold onto one coin.”

 

“Daughter!” Mother glared at me. “Must I remind you what your true name is, and how lucky you are to be alive right now? My brother is kindred to ye. Even though he's done wrong, he's been willing to try and make it right. I don't exactly like the idea of you and Bethany being in debt to either one of the contacts my brother has mentioned. However, if it's our only way into the city...”

 

“Then we must do what we can to get there,” Bethany finished matter-of-factly. She brushed a nearly-black tendril of hair out of her eyes. “I know that this isn't what any of us wanted. I can't say I disagree with you about Uncle Gamlen,” she mumbled into my ear, “but let's go along with his plans for now. We'll talk to Athenril and Meeran. If we don't fancy working for either of them, we'll return here and discuss it with Mother. Agreed?” I nodded. My sister actually made sense!

 

From looking at Athenril, the Elven lass, I would have assumed she was merely a common ship's captain instead of a smuggler! She was long and lean, fresh-faced and tall. I decided to approach her first, since I was a rogue myself and knew my way around a lock. Bethany followed, after informing Aveline of what Uncle Gamlen's designs were to get us through Kirkwall's gates.

 

“I disapprove,” she said, putting a hand on her right hip, “but it seems our backs are to the wall...”

 

She also disapproved of Athenril, who wore elaborately-embellished Elven garb and a sly smile. “His 'contact'? Is that what Gamlen calls me?” Athenril asked after we introduced ourselves. “Ha! After his last 'grand scheme', which didn't turn out well, he's in our debt. If you're as talented as he says you are, we'll call ourselves even. Besides, it's not every day that we're fortunate enough to have an apostate mage working for us.” The Elf jerked her golden-haired head toward Bethany.

 

My sister looked worried. “It seems our uncle doesn't always keep his blabbering mouth closed.”

 

Athenril laughed. “He loves to spill secrets after only one pint of ale! Don't worry, though. Your secret's safe with me. Your kind are locked up here in the Gallows fortress by the Circle of Magi 'for their own good', the Chantry says. However, I'm far more—flexible—as to the daily dealings of those who roam the Fade. What do you say? Will you and your skeptical-looking sister join us?”

 

“I don't know,” I replied honestly, glancing toward her. “What work will we be doing for you?”

 

“Requisitioning, if you prefer the term. None of us competes directly with the thieves' guild here in Kirkwall, if you understand. However, beyond that we deal in lyrium, silks and spices, and any other luxuries you can get your hands on. Oh—except for slaves and girls who sell their flesh for coin. We enter into no contract with scoundrels who procure those particular goods for others.”

 

I glanced at Aveline as if to say, See? She may be a thief, but at least she's an honest thief.

 

The warrior didn't exactly look convinced. However, she said nothing yet, biding her time.

 

I cleared my throat. “We still have one more person to whom we really should speak before we decide to cast our lot.” I smiled at Athenril, though she still made me a bit nervous. “We'll return.”

 

“You mean Meeran?” Athenril called out after us, laughing. “He's the rougher sort. Be on guard!”

 

Once we were all out of earshot, Aveline turned to me and Bethany. “Tell her no,” she said.

 

“Why? Would you rather work for Meeran?”

 

“Perhaps nay, but I'd rather not work for someone who steals for a living.” She sighed softly and appeared to swallow a lump in her throat. “My Wesley was an honorable man. It seems to me that for his sake and ours, we should stay on the side of the law here in Kirkwall.”

 

Bethany gazed at the mingling throng in the Gallows. “It seems that the law doesn't seem to care whether we refugees do right or wrong,” she said, “if only we don't get past the city gates.”

 

Aveline blinked, but then shrugged in resignation. “Good point. Let's go speak with Meeran, then.”

 

As Athenril had warned, the leader of the Red Iron mercenary gang was “the rougher sort”! He was square-jawed and sinewy, with his bald pate framed by a half-crown of black curls.

 

When the three of us approached him, Meeran grumbled, “Eh? What do you want?”

 

“I'm Gamlen Hawke's oldest niece,” I answered, “and this is my sister, Bethany. We've been told by our uncle that you might have some work for us, in order to pay our passage into the city.”

 

“Gamlen Hawke. Hmph!” Meeran snorted, and then blew his nose on his long sleeve. “I beat that ruffian in a tavern brawl not long ago, and he still hasn't rendered his forfeit. That sore loser needs to pay up!” He squared his shoulders and jerked his head toward me. “If you join my band of hired swords, you and your sister, then I'll consider your uncle's debt paid as well as your own.”

 

I smiled. “I've received another offer, from yonder Athenril. Can ye match or surpass it?”

 

“I can.” He leered at Bethany, which was no surprise but still made me uneasy. “The Red Iron is the most well-known troop of mercenaries this side of the Free Marches. Not only that, but Athenril would just as soon sneak behind your back and swipe your valuables as hire you. The guards won't come and bail you out if you get into trouble—not unless they're on her take, too. We ourselves keep our noses clean, and choose whom we work for. Now, have we got a deal?”

 

I was torn. Athenril seemed quite charming, not to mention clean and well-mannered, but who knew how many enemies she'd made with all her pilfering? Meeran? He was brutish and had roving eyes, but when it came to fair play, I didn't think he'd stab me in the back sooner than Athenril would. She may have cheerfully admitted to being a smuggler, but the last time I checked, there was no honor among thieves. Agh! This was insane. Which master to serve?

 

Bethany dug her nails into my right shoulder at that moment. I gasped, and then followed her lead as she dragged me by the arm to where we heard cursing and shouting. What was going on?

[Tysyacha]

Prologue: Riot on the Docks

 

“Bethany, what—?!” I cried as she helped me weave and dodge around the people in the Gallows courtyard. It seemed as if everyone were now heading toward the source of all the commotion, so it was incredibly hard not to get trampled! Nevertheless, we broke out into a more open area—the sweltering docks where we'd been standing three days ago, when we first arrived in Kirkwall...

 

My sister steadied me once we'd both found a safer position, up toward the front of the crowd. “I can't really see what's going on,” she said, looking concerned. “Can you?” She stood on tiptoe.

 

I did, too. What I saw absolutely sickened me. The first guard we had met, who had told us about Knight Commander Meredith, was brandishing a blood-soaked sword and bellowing at the top of his lungs. At his feet lay the corpses of three refugees: a man, woman, and boy of about thirteen years old. The males were headless, and the lady had been stabbed through the heart. Everyone had cleared a space around the dead, although those nearest them held up clenched fists.

 

“Back, you refuse,” ordered the guard, his eyes bulging, “or I'll slaughter the whole lot of you!”

 

Choking back vomit, I slapped a hand over my mouth and turned to Bethany. “Get Ewald.”

 

“The Captain? But—!” I gently nudged her forward in front of me so that she could catch a glimpse of the bodies. “Right away, Sister,” she replied, her face paler than that of any ghost. She turned and fled. I closed my eyes and prayed for our safety. Please, Maker keep us. Maker protect us...

 

What is wrong?

 

I was so startled to hear 'Breath's' voice outside of the Fade that I almost fell backward into some of the people around me! Luckily, they kept that from happening as I stammered apologies.

 

“How are you speaking to me outside of the Fade, spirit?” I wondered in my waking mind.

 

The Fade is always awake and alive. If I only spoke to you while you slept or were unconscious, I wouldn't be of much aid to you, would I? There is death here, and deep, crushing sorrow.

 

I flicked my right wrist forward, almost without thinking. “See the bodies?” I told 'Breath' silently. “That guard up there's killed three people, helpless refugees like me, and everyone's up in arms. That is, if they have any weapons,” I thought and smiled bitterly. “He's gone out of his mind.”

 

If you will allow me to help you, we'll both turn this situation—and that guard—on their heads.

 

In the midst of the clamoring masses, my body twitched. “What's your plan? I beg you, tell me!”

 

See how undefended he is, leaving himself open to all kinds of attacks? No one dares to strike...

 

Indeed. I understood what Breath was hinting at, but my thoughts were hesitant. “Are you sure?”

 

The guard's next actions wiped away all doubt. As the throng of fellow wretches surged forward, he armed himself with his shield and bashed quite a few of them in the front. The impact of iron against flesh was so brutal that I heard people's bones break, compelling me to charge ahead.

 

I was barely conscious of myself, shrieking and aiming both daggers at the guard's throat. Just as I was about to pay him back in kind for what he'd done to the corpses on the ground, he raised his sword, leered, and deflected my attack. I was briefly stunned by the blow of metal on metal.

“Aha!” He seized me, turned me to face the crowd, and pressed his crimson blade to my throat.

 

Both of my daggers lay cast aside, damaged and useless. My sister was nowhere in sight!

 

“What's your name, lass?” I could feel his hot, moist breath upon my neck. My skin crawled.

 

When I did not answer, I felt the edge of his sword digging into my neck with hot precision.

 

“Perdre!” I shrieked at last. “My name is Perdre Hawke.”

 

The stunned, bewildered folk seemed not to understand. Unfortunately, the guardsman did.

 

“Well, my dear Perdre,” he replied, “you're about to forfeit your very short life.”

 

As I closed my tear-filled eyes, I thought of Carver and Father, now lost. That was what my name meant—“to lose”, no more, no less. I had almost died at birth, and it was Father who had chosen that light yet terse Orlesian name for me. Was it meant to be a mark of shame, or simply a statement of fact? I did not know, but in this moment I didn't care. Why had I wanted to save the day? I should have known that I had no chance against someone as well-armed as that guard!

 

I had been a fool, just like my brother. Rushing forward in haste, when I should have tried to—

 

“Stand down!” I was so relieved to hear the voice of Captain Ewald, even though it barked an order, that I tumbled to the wooden docks when the guardsman released me from his grasp.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Captain Ewald snarled. “Having a bit of sport, are we?”

 

“Bloody hell! It was nothing like that,” objected his sharp-tongued subordinate. “This chit attacked me! I was just doing my duty, sir, minding my own business and trying to keep this crowd under control. However, out of nowhere this girl with two daggers springs forward and goes for my throat!” He made motions, pantomiming what he and I were supposed to have done earlier.

 

Captain Ewald looked down at me. “Is this true?” His tall shadow swathed me in darkness.

 

“No. There are three lying dead here, you see,” I answered. “I killed absolutely none of them.”

 

“You are saying that one of my own guardsmen murdered three Fereldan refugees in cold blood?”

 

Quivering, I tried to look him in the eye, but the sun was too bright. “Indeed. Ask the crowd.”

 

“I won't have to,” Captain Ewald replied, “if I simply compare weapons. Lass, are these your daggers lying here?” When I nodded affirmatively, he picked both of them up. “No blood, although that from the victims was pooling close. That proves you're telling the truth on that particular point. However, what about the other condition? Did you attack my guard 'out of nowhere'?”

 

“I did not.” Bowing my head, I continued, “I saw the bodies, and then he—bashed quite a few more people with his shield when they tried to come forward. I—I couldn't help myself.”

 

Captain Ewald sighed deeply. “In this case,” he announced, “I should have you arrested, if not tried and hanged for attempted murder. However, I can understand how shocked you'd be, caught right in the middle of this bloody mess and near-riot!” He shook his head. “I'll tell you what: you helped save my life in the brawl earlier, and that should mean we're even. However...”

 

“I only wished to earn passage into Kirkwall for myself and my family, sir,” I said. “That's all. I didn't mean to try and play the hero here. I just acted, or rather reacted, and then...”

 

“Leave her alone, Captain!” a fellow Fereldan man shouted. “She's brave enough to stand for us when no one else will!”

 

Speaking of which, Ewald graciously helped me to stand. I was still shaking uncontrollably.

 

“You are brave. I'll give you that,” he said. “Foolhardy, however. As the Captain of this city's guard, I am willing to offer you a deal: the rescinding of all charges you would have faced due to your attack, in exchange for conscription into my ranks. As for my former grunt, he will hang.”

 

“You can't do that!” The aforementioned “former grunt” thrust a meaty armored fist into the air.

 

“Can't I?” Captain Ewald smirked at him. “I ought to tell the Knight-Commander of your deeds.”

 

“Maker's breath, no!” The guard's face blanched. He collapsed to the ground, beginning to sob.

 

“I—I will serve you,” I told the Captain, “as per the agreement you suggested. For a full year.”

 

“A year?” He smiled askance at me, looking rather impressed. “That'll surely pay your way in!”

 

And so it was that I, now known as Perdre more than Hawke, became an orderly and watchman for the armed forces of Kirkwall. 'Twas more honorable than working for an Elven thief or half-bald mercenary, no? Aveline and Bethany wished to join me once they found out what I'd done.

 

Even though Mother decreed that both of them could do so if they wished, why was it that either disappointment or fear lurked behind her eyes whenever she spoke to us afterward...?

[Tysyacha]

Entr'acte: In Peace, Vigilance

 

Serving under the command of Captain Tharix Ewald was difficult and exhausting, but he himself was a just and fair man. As he had promised, the guard who killed the refugees was hanged. I was invited to watch the execution, as turnabout for being his hostage. However, I refused. Justice and revenge, said I, were two sides of the same coin. However, in this case I found it too hard to know on which side my own feelings lay. I was sickened and disgusted by his actions, and enraged at him for threatening to kill me. However, there was something that held me back from attending the hanging. I spoke with my new inner spirit about it:

 

“Breath?” I asked the apparition in the Fade as I lay on my bed, resting the day before the execution. “Is it truly wrong of me to wish someone else dead, even if that person yearned to slay me?”

 

I assume you are referring to the guard who seized you on the docks. Am I correct?

 

I let out a deep breath, slowly and quietly. “Indeed.”

 

It is only natural to feel this way, after what you went through. However, I sense disquiet in you. Unrest. Somehow, guilt is plaguing your heart. A brief silence. Do you wish to know why?

 

“I know why,” I thought, mumbling these three words aloud despite the fact that there were many other soldiers sleeping in the guard barracks near me. “The Chantry says that we're to love our enemies. Andraste herself did not wish ill toward the magisters of the Tevinter Imperium, who had her burned at the stake. Nor did she harbor any resentment toward the man who betrayed her—her very own husband. I feel so foolish, so worthless! I can't find it within myself to love the one who called us nothing less than refuse, and murdered three Fereldans out of spite! I know that I'm supposed to. That should be each man's goal within this earthly plane. However...”

 

However, you don't quite believe the Chantry when they decree that this can, and must, be done.

 

I squinted my eyes shut more tightly, because they were becoming sticky with tears. “No.”

 

I glimpse your heart, child. It is torn between a desire for vengeance and mercy. If you were Captain Ewald himself, would you spare this man's life? Would you pardon his transgression?

 

“I would not. That is, I would not forget his crime. I'd still hang him, but commend his soul unto the Maker before the executioner had his way.” I paused in my thoughts. “'Tis a most terrible thing, to be separated from the Maker throughout eternity. No one deserves that, not even a murderer. After all, our lives are bound by time, but our souls will last forever. If one will never be forgiven for the wrongs that he or she has committed, even after death, then there is no hope.”

 

Indeed. Breath fell silent for a moment. Then, What of you? Will you watch him be put to death tomorrow?

 

I sighed. “No. I'm afraid that if I attend the hanging, which it is my right to do as this man's victim, hatred will overwhelm my heart at the moment when he dies. I won't let that happen.”

 

Interesting. Quite noble of you, actually, in that you don't wish to allow yourself to hate him when, by all accounts, you would. You instinctively seek peace. The Grey Wardens have a three-part motto: The middle states, “In peace, vigilance.” More silence. What does this mean to you?

 

“It means that even when everything's going well, we have to keep our eyes open. Someone or something disastrous could strike at any moment. If we allow ourselves to become complacent, we won't be prepared.”

 

Such is the case not only in the physical world, but within our own hearts as well...

[Tysyacha]

Act One: Two Revealing Rendezvous

 

(Author's Note: Perdre Hawke's song here is to the tune of “Lovely Ladies” from the musical Les Miserables.)

 

Time changes everything. In the year since my family and I first fled to Kirkwall, we'd made quite a name for ourselves, whether good or ill. For the most part, were no longer “stinking refugees” but honest and hardworking people who knew how to get things done. However, the city's templars were starting to ask too many questions about Bethany. Being an apostate mage, my sister grew ever more anxious. I sat down one day to have a heart-to-heart talk with her.

 

“Fear not,” I told Bethany softly. “I've had a place with the Kirkwall guard for nigh a year. I won't allow any big, bad templars to come and get you.”

 

She scowled. “This isn't a joke at all! If apostate mages aren't executed outright, they're sent to the Gallows fortress and locked away for the rest of their lives. That is not what I want.” She exhaled loudly, and a lock of hair flew away from her delicate face. “Besides, your aforementioned 'place' is a lowly one. You take the watch and launder the guardsmen's underthings, as well as maintain their weapons. You're more like a servant than a soldier, Perdre. Aveline's a real guard.” Bethany's eyes were haughty. “She could protect me from the templars far better than you.”

 

That was a low blow. It turns out that our warrior friend had indeed taken a position with the armed forces of Kirkwall. However, due to her exceptional strength and knowledge of battle tactics, her status was higher than mine. Her official title was that of patrolman; I was an orderly. Still, in my eyes the humblest tasks were just as valuable as the greatest, in their own way.

 

I reached out my hand to Bethany. “Sister? Why are you so out of sorts with me? There is honor in such work, no matter how menial it may be. Look, we can't have guardsmen marching around with sweaty breechcloths underneath their armor. Their skin would chafe so badly that they'd constantly be trying to scratch themselves in places no one's supposed to see!” The mental image made Bethany and I laugh so hard that we drew near to tears! Mother and Uncle Gamlen stared.

 

“What's so amusing, girls?” Mother raised a curious eyebrow. “Perdre? Are you telling jokes?”

 

“Only one,” I said slyly, a grin spreading across my face. “What did one wall say to the other?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

“I'll meet you at the corner!” Bethany started snickering, but Mother only rolled her eyes. She suspected that probably wasn't the joke I was telling my sister—and, as always, she was correct.

 

Uncle Gamlen shrugged. “Not your best, my dear niece, but you're doing all right.”

 

“I have better riddles,” I replied. “Would you like to hear one of them?”

 

“Never you mind. There's work to be done in the house. As for you, daughter, isn't it time you reported back to the guard barracks?” She put both hands on her hips. Was something amiss?

 

“Yes,” I said, “but before I go—is there anything wrong?”

 

“Don't worry,” Mother said, squeezing my hand. “Gamlen and I were just having a discussion.”

 

Uh-oh. Their “discussions” usually involved lots of yelling and pointing fingers. My uncle was mad at Mother for eloping with Father in the first place, and for bringing our immediate family over to Kirkwall in the second. Mother, in turn, was furious with Uncle Gamlen for treating us like beggars in his home, and for something else that I couldn't quite understand. She never opened up, and when I tried to ask Uncle Gamlen about it, all he did was grumble: “Get out of my face!”

 

That I did, and it was quite a relief to leave the house. I felt sorry for poor Bethany. What a miserable afternoon she'd have, toiling away at housework while I was on duty. She'd probably have to listen to more of our relatives' bickering. As for me? I'd probably hear an earful of stories!

 

As I turned to close the door to Gamlen's house, I heard Bethany cry out. “Wait!”

 

I winked. “Care to join me on the afternoon watch? It's such a beautiful day outside.”

 

Her face fell. “As much as I'd like to, Mother needs some help. It must be awful for her, shut up inside day in and day out, while Uncle is either gambling or fighting with her. She cooks our meals and washes our clothes, and Gamlen? All he can say is, 'All of this is your bloody fault'!” Bethany sighed. “That fool can't see one inch past the end of his own nose. He doesn't care about us, except as pawns to pay off the debts to his contacts. He treats us like dirt! I can't stand him, Sister. Why did we even partially agree to his awful plan to sell us into indentured servitude?”

 

Sighing heavily, I shook my head. “He said it was the best he could do, but I know that he could have done better. He's an Amell, after all, and our family name carries some weight. At least, it used to. Why is he so angry with Mother, anyway? For abandoning him? I daresay that Gamlen got along fine without her. She wasn't his nursemaid! As for running away with Father, I can sort of understand that. He was an apostate mage, and Mother risked her life in order to wed him.”

 

“And bed him.” Bethany giggled. “Don't forget about us!”

 

I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep from dissolving into a fit of giggles. “Right. In all seriousness, however, what right does Uncle Gamlen have to disdain us the way he does?”

 

She shrugged. “If he owns the roof over our heads, I suppose he can do what he wishes.”

 

“Andraste help us,” I grumbled. “Well, that's that, at least for now. My watch is starting soon.”

 

“Enjoy it. Here's hoping you're not set to washing undergarments instead!” Bethany sniffed.

 

I turned and left, raising my head a little higher. Disdain is not only our Uncle's flaw, Sister...

 

As I strolled down the roughly-hewn stone streets of Kirkwall's Lowtown, a song came to mind about the life I'd led for the past year. It was meant to be a joke, but sounded rather poignant:

 

“Tu viens, Perdre! You'll set things to right,

Taking the noon watch by day, and humbler work at night.

Tu viens, Perdre! I'll obey the call.

For my precious kindred, I'd do anything at all.

I just wish our backs weren't to the wall!”

 

Then, after walking a few minutes in silence, I added a much slower epigraph:

 

“Tu viens, Perdre! Yes, I find it strange,

Wondering if I've actually made quite a bad exchange.

Easy money, service to the guard,

Yet none of the men know that our lives are twice as hard.

Don't they know our family was once held in high regard?”

 

All of a sudden, I heard someone cry, “Ha!” and take off with my coin purse just like that! I darted off and pursued the man through Lowtown, not caring that he was running in the opposite direction of the guard barracks. After all, without my coin purse, how was I supposed to buy our daily bread? Fear and a scarlet rush of fury overtook me. He was fast, and I was slow.

 

Thwack! Was it only my imagination, or was that an arrow soaring through the air? As I found out, it was, and it found its way straight into the meaty shoulder of the thief. He shrieked in agony.

 

“Ah! Another kill.” A Dwarven male with golden beard strode up to his victim. “Or, not quite a kill, but close enough to count. Perhaps you should find another line of work, serah. Are we agreed?”

 

The thief nodded meekly, and the Dwarf pulled the arrow from his shoulder. Screaming like a girl, he fled the scene with blood trailing behind him. I shivered as the Dwarf gave back my purse.

 

“Er, thank you,” I said, blushing and wanting to run away as quickly as my weak legs would allow.

 

“Call it nothing. My name's Varric Tethras, and I've heard about you. You're named Hawke, yes?”

 

I nodded. “Perdre Hawke.”

 

Varric smirked. “You've made quite a name for yourself in the city guard over the past year.”

 

“As an orderly? I highly doubt that.”

 

“No one has keener eyes on the afternoon watch than you do. I was surprised you let that beggar get so close to you. Most of the time, you prove your namesake—Hawke. Is something wrong?”

 

Despite myself, I nodded. “As surely as the Maker has abandoned us. My family's in hard straits, although not yet dire. We're keen to leave our Uncle's house as soon as possible, but we can't afford to buy one of our own. At this rate, we never will. My wages aren't exactly generous.”

 

The Dwarf scratched his head. “It sounds like you need to strike out. Earn your fortune.”

 

“I would, but I don't know of any work around Kirkwall that could make me a fortune.”

 

“I do.” The smile on Varric's face spread slowly and shiftily. He didn't seem like the sort of Dwarf who could be trusted, although he had retrieved the one possession that I couldn't live without. “My brother Bartrand and I are financing a venture into the Deep Roads. There's only so much time after the end of a Blight when the darkspawn are few and the treasures are many. What do you say? We go underground, take whatever we can find, and sell it back up here for more gold than your family can count!” He fingered the back of his crossbow. “Bianca will help, of course.”

 

I raised an eyebrow. “Bianca? You named your crossbow?”

 

“And why not? She's been like family to me over the years, and saved my life more than once.”

 

“Fair enough.” Despite myself again, I couldn't help but be charmed by Varric's clever wit.

 

“So, will you join me, or would you rather continue toiling away in the doldrums of Kirkwall?”

 

I gave a snort. “What is this, the Tevinter Imperium? All right. Are you searching for a hireling?”

 

“No. We've got enough of those, although not enough who look like they can actually fight. What my brother and I seek is a partner. Someone to chip in fifty sovereigns to fund our expedition.”

 

My jaw dropped. “Fifty sovereigns?! What makes you think I possess that kind of coin?”

 

“Well, you can earn it—or, even better, you can steal it. This city's crawling with work, if you know the right people to talk to. However, Bartrand and I want to head for the Deep Roads as soon as possible, and you with us. The city guard's probably hoarding some gold, and I bet your bottom copper you could take it. They wouldn't miss a thing. Listen, lass: Captain Ewald makes and takes bribes. He's not exactly an honest man, so why should you continue to be honest in your dealings with him? He greases palms. Why should we not do the same if it makes us rich all the quicker?”

 

“I—I shouldn't be talking to you,” I stammered quickly. “I have to go take the watch. I'm late.”

 

He threw a look back at me. “Meet me in the Hanged Man if you change your mind.” He vanished.

 

Conflicted, I sped toward the barracks and heeded Ewald's gentle but firm command: “Tu viens.”

 

As I made my rounds, I couldn't help but wonder: Was Varric right? If there was truly no honor among thieves, how could there be any in a force of puppet guards whose strings were pulled by stronger, richer masters? I was a rogue, after all. We rogues pilfered, plundered, backstabbed.

 

And we spied. Perhaps I could turn this confusing situation to my advantage after all!

 

Then again, simply stealing from the Captain's chest of sovereigns would be far easier for me...

[machievelli]

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