Chapter Text
Marion Hawke listened with a sinking heart as her uncle explained that there was no money, and no estate to help them get into Kirkwall. They had landed here three days ago after a tumultuous sea crossing; they were all tired, broke, heart sore, and out of choices. Uncle Gamlen finished by explaining that they could get into the city, provided they worked for a year to clear the debt.
Flanked by her younger sister Bethany, and their new friend Aveline, she glanced at her mother, who looked quickly away and pasted herself to her Gamlen’s side the moment he had arrived. She and her mother had not spoken since she had laid the guilt of Carver’s death upon her. Marion felt the loss of her little brother keenly, killed quickly at the hands of the darkspawn. She should have stayed closer to their mother, let Carver take point, should have reacted faster to break the ogre’s hold before he could slam Carver into the ground, snapping his neck with an audible crack.
Aveline had lost her husband Wesley as well, from a darkspawn tainted wound, mercifully ending his life with a dagger straight to his heart. She did not know Aveline well enough, in fact they had only met a few hours before, and while Aveline maintained a stoic outer shell, Marion was sure that she had not made it here with all of her intact either.
“So, your big idea is to sell us into indentured servitude?” She threw that out to her uncle when no one else reacted.
“Think of it as having a job in your new home!” His brown eyes narrowed as he continued. “You will not find a better deal for a bunch of Ferelden refugees, believe me.” Her uncle seemed a bit shifty, a little too quick with a questionable solution from his “contacts”. He certainly did not look the noble born man he was, his hair cut crude and uneven, he probably did it himself. His clothes were the same as any laborer, nothing but solid cloth, jerkin and leather belt, non-descript browns that matched his brown eyes. His face was deeply lined around the eyes and mouth, frown lines prominent between his brows as though the fellow was perpetually unhappy about something.
Her mother, Leandra made a token protest, but they all knew, this was their only chance to get into the city. She considered them as they walked towards the center open courtyard to wait. Leandra was just as tall, but had blond hair, growing lighter as she aged, and vivid green eyes. She had smiled little since losing her husband, and not at all since losing Carver, but instead of the face of bitterness her uncle presented to the world, Marion could only see sadness in her eyes and in her posture.
As Gamlen took Leandra to wait in the large courtyard of the Gallows, Bethany, Aveline, and she went to meet the people who might consider getting them into the city if they could be convinced of their worth.
Athenril was an elf, a smuggler of little repute, but enough coin to back them. She was not happy to hear uncle Gamlen had told Athenril that Bethany was a mage. Standing in what was the Circle of Magi for Kirkwall she wanted nothing more than to take her little sister and leave this oppressive place. The look on Bethany’s face was fearful, her eyes darting to every noise, lips pursed into a thin line, unused to being this much out in the open. She thanked the Maker that it was the city guard currently dealing with the influx of refugees, the templars behind the closed gates as they separated their mages from strangers.
Aveline was quick to take the offensive over being a smuggler, but if Athenril did not take them the only option was to become a mercenary for a man named Meeran. Was killing for hire worse or better than smuggling and petty theft? Marion figured the amount of money they still had on them, which amounted to less than 20 silver, would not last two days even if they were in the city.
“What is it you need done?” Marion asked Athenril. Athenril waved her in closer and dropped her voice. A merchant, Cavril who is a friend of the templars has set up shop here in the Gallows. We agreed to supply him for a cut of the take, but now he won’t pay up. He calls the guards every time we try to approach. Get the money and you are in.”
Seemed simple enough. Aveline continued to grouse so she decided to check out the mercenary, just in case. She saw Cavril in a merchant stall on the opposite side of the courtyard from where her mother and uncle waited but made her way to meet with Meeran who had two guards with him not twenty feet from her family.
Approaching Meeran cautiously, she made sure she kept all of the guards, as well as Meeran in sight. He was tall, at least a foot taller than her, and you could tell by his stance, the way he turned when she called his name that he was no stranger to working those muscular arms and legs. He wore simple armor, but no weapon was in evidence, but he was likely armed. Just as she carried more than the two daggers at her back, but such would not surprise an experienced fighter.
The guards with Meeran were all equipped with light armor and their weapons were in complete evidence from a large two handed axe, and another with daggers like her.
Her own armor, a mix from many sets was in good condition, but when he perused her body she was consciously aware that the cut of her armor was a little more revealing in the breast and leggings than Kirkwall may have found acceptable. She had not thought about it before he stepped towards her, but knew she could not back down from his obvious attempt to make her uncomfortable.
“Meeran?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, arrogantly stepping right up to him, throwing her shoulders back so that her breasts pressed even further against the armor, daring him. Bethany coughed behind her and Aveline remained silent.
Meeran smiled, his brown eyes taking in her form and reaching out a hand to entwine a lock of her black hair between his fingers.
“And you must be Hawke, nice.” He dropped his hand and turned away to lean against the stone wall as he faced the trio of women once again. “Your uncle had better not be blowing smoke out his ass again.” The guards around him had not moved, simply watching the interplay between them. She also took a softer stance and turned nonchalantly to walk over to Aveline and Bethany, her eyes betraying nothing as she looked at Bethany. Aveline was tense, her legs spread, arms not hanging loose but bent slightly at the elbow, ready to draw her sword. Bethany did not react, fully aware of the delicate dance Marion was performing, had performed in the past, mostly for templars.
“My uncle does not seem the type to hang out with mercenaries.” She stated as she gave Bethany one more glance and faced Meeran with Aveline at her back. Meeran folded his arms across his chest.
“He doesn’t. Your uncle cheated one of my men at a wallop match. You turn out, and we’ll call things even.” Crossing one booted foot over the other, he waited to see what she would do next.
“I’d like to know more about you first.” She folded her arms in imitation and put one booted foot further out which he followed hungrily as her hips shifted. She knew men like him, seeing the firm, well-formed body of a woman usually intimidated the weaker men, drew appreciative glances and occasionally a brave soul would attempt to make a play for what she displayed. He was not a fool, and regardless of the tongue that darted out licking his lips as he took in her looks, her form, he made no move and said nothing. Boldness was her defense, but she also was no fool, and the daggers at her back were well used.
“Right, you’re not a Marcher like your uncle.” He went on to explain that while they stayed out of trouble, he did not hesitate to mess up anyone who messed with the Red Irons, the name of his group of mercenaries.
“So, you are paying a lot to get us into the city.” He laughed, smiling at his men. Who smiled back chuckling along with him as he moved away from the wall and paced back and forth in front of them.
“Did I mention the Red Iron gets paid pretty well? Plus, your uncle said your sister was a mage, we're willing to pay for that.” His eyes shifted to Bethany, dressed in a simple dress that did not hide her figure, but covered every inch of skin. Marion did not look at Bethany, but made the steps to bring her right under his nose, distracting him from his lecherous looks towards her sister. His face was unshaven and stubble, gray-black covered his chin, jaw and upper lip, his hair receding a bit was the same gray-black.
“Does everyone know about us?” He smiled and she did not think it was a good thing. If anything his eyes took on a distant cold view as he stared at her and did not back down.
“She’s not in the circle yet? Then probably not.” He looked down taking in her flashing green eyes, the sharp nose and full lips. He wondered what it would take to tame her. “You stay with us and you’ll be safe, for the year at least.”
“I’m ready to prove myself.” She announced, grateful when she heard no protests from Aveline or Bethany. She really wanted to know how far this man would go, and he was a danger nothing like Athenril, a danger she needed to understand before taking or turning down his help.
Upon learning he wanted their small band to kill a local nobleman and his guard for giving incorrect information she cocked her eyebrow at him again. Easily offended mercenaries, this kept getting better all the time.
“Go kill him and his men. We’ll make sure the guard doesn’t ask why.” A dangerous man indeed if he could pull that one off.
Turning smartly, expecting Aveline and Bethany to follow she made her way around the Gallows into another part of the courtyard, walled off from where Gamlen and her mother waited by another section of the Gallows that jutted into the courtyard, out of the sight of Meeran.
The nobleman was waiting with three guards but he paid them no attention until they were practically upon them.
“I’d be willing to hear what you did to offend the Red Iron.” She told him, giving him the opportunity to explain his side of the story, still not sure that the upstanding Aveline would outright murder anyone. She had never killed anyone except in self-defense, and Bethany, God; Bethany had never used her magic in public except against the darkspawn. She missed Carver more than anything right then, a sure blade at her side no matter what.
Once she heard that Meeran wanted the man dead merely for warning another nobleman she knew she could not kill the man for that alone. Thinking quickly, she crossed her arms, bringing a hand to her chin as she contemplated how to turn the situation into some advantage for her family.
The nobleman offered her the money he would have given the Red Irons if she would let him go.”
“All right, make it worth my while and you can go.” She rubbed her fingers together, indicating the need for coin to make it out of here alive. Gratefully he handed her two sovereigns, which she pocketed immediately.
“Hey, wasn’t that coin supposed to pay us to keep your hide safe?” One of the noble man’s guards protested. The weasel of a man threw his arms in the air as he stalked off.
“If you want to fight them for it, be my guest!”
With that the game was on. She drew her daggers so quickly that the first guard lost his stomach before he could draw in defense. Aveline flanked her, effectively protecting her blindside from attack as she stabbed, parried, and danced circles around the remaining two guards. She could feel the rejuvenating touch of Bethany’s magic as more of the guards came out of the shadows and Aveline made quick work of them with sword and shield.
When the fight was done, Sir Fredrick was gone, his guard was dead, and they had not received a scratch. She wondered what Meeran would do in reaction. Perhaps he would believe the noble man had escaped during the battle.
But Meeran, as she had suspected was no fool though. He angrily faced her, his hands shaking in rage. “The traitor escaped! I hope he gave you enough to get you into the city on your own.” So he wasn’t fooled after all. Still she was surprised when he merely walked out of the gallows without even a backwards glance. They would have to deal with each other again at some point.
After dealing with Athenril’s little merchant problem, she paid the bribes to get them into the city, none the wiser that she had pocketed one sovereign from the money they collected for her. So they were in, a small reprieve and a ticket out of the Gallows, but at least they wouldn’t starve right away if she was careful with the funds they had.