A few weeks after the debacle with Feynriel, Aveline contacted Abigail, needing her help again.
Aveline met Abigail in Gamlen's house.
“Alright,” Abigail said. “What is it?”
“The Viscount needs someone to look for his son,” Aveline said.
“Why can't the Guard do it?”
Aveline sighed. “The Viscount doesn't want the Guard to do it,” she leaned back in her chair. “It's not the first time he's run off before.”
“Oh?” Bethany sat down next to Abigail. “Maybe we should leave him be, then, if he doesn't want to be found.”
“If you don't do it, some other, more dangerous group of thugs will,” Aveline said. “The Viscount's put a large bounty on finding his son, and he's not going to take it down.”
“And you're worried that some bounty hunters might end up getting him killed,” Carver said, leaning over the table.
“Exactly. That's the last thing we need.”
“Why has he run away before?” Abigail asked.
Aveline leaned back in her seat. “He has...an affinity for the Qunari,” she said. “He'd probably convert if he wasn't the Viscount's son.”
Abigail raised her eyebrows. “He'd want to convert?”
“If you're not a mage, apparently it's not so bad,” Aveline said with a shrug.
“'Not so bad' isn't the same as 'good.'”
Aveline eventually did convince Abigail to come to the Wounded Coast to look for Seamus. They brought along Carver and Varric, and searched for half a day, before coming across a merc company that had found Seamus first.
He had been in the company of a Qunari, a friend of his, and the Winters had killed the Qunari.
“For the love of the Maker,” Aveline growled, looking down at the Qunari corpse. She rounded on the mercenaries. “Do you have any idea how much more trouble we'll have with the Arishok now?” she demanded.
“What do I care?” the head merc said, waving a hand. “As long as I get paid--”
“You won't get paid at all if the Qunari decide to attack us!”
“What does it matter what the Qunari think?”
Aveline and the Winters merc shouted at each other for several minutes, while Abigail and Varric went to see how the Viscount's son was holding up. None too well, as it turned out. The Qunari—Ashaad—had been a friend of Seamus', and Seamus defended the Qunari vehemently.
Eventually it was decided that the Winters and Abigail's company could split the bounty, and they brought Seamus back in one piece. Seamus and the Viscount had a very public argument before the seneschal escorted everyone out and gave them their money.
“Y'know, Abigail, we might just manage to get the funds for the expedition after all,” Varric said as they counted up what they'd earned.
Abigail looked at him in surprise. “Do you think so?”
“Sure! A few more jobs and I think we'll be good to go.”
Abigail went to see Merrill again, to find Merrill very excited over her current project. She had been working on something for weeks, but no one was quite sure what it was, and Velanna and Sigrun weren’t talking out of respect for Merrill’s privacy.
“Abigail, here, I want to show you something!” Merrill tugged Abigail's hand.
“What is it? Are you going to show me this thing you’ve been working on? I’ve been wanting to know,” Abigail said with a smile, following Merrill.
“You won’t want to when you see it,” Sigrun said, half-laughing. “It’s so creepy!”
“It is not creepy,” Velanna huffed.
“No, it's perfectly safe!” Merrill insisted.
“It makes weird noises,” Sigrun said.
Merrill lead Abigail to her room at the back of the house, where an enormous mirror, easily six feet high, stood freely in the center of the floor. The Veil around it was curiously bent, and it did indeed make strange noises, like the soft chiming of bells.
“What is it?” Abigail asked.
“My eluvian,” Merrill said. “The ancient elves used them to communicate over great distances. I can't get it to work yet, but I finished putting all the pieces back together, and setting the frame up.”
“Maybe it doesn't work yet because it needs another mirror to talk to?” Abigail suggested.
“Maybe,” Merrill said, her tone thoughtful. “But I don't know. I've hardly had the chance to try.”
“Was this one of the things you and Marethari disagreed over?”
Merrill nodded. “When we first found it, the darkspawn had been at it,” she said. “Tamlen and Mahariel, the ones who found it, died soon after,” she looked down. “Marethari said it was Tainted, but I thought that that didn't make any sense—it's a mirror, not alive. It doesn't have anything to Taint. So I took the pieces and tried to purify them—there were all sorts of nasty spells on them. Marethari thought it was still wrong, though. She thought it would be dangerous.”
“If she thought it was dangerous, why did you keep pushing?”
“It's a Keeper's job to remember, even the dangerous things,” Merrill frowned. “I thought Marethari knew that. She's supposed to know that.”
“Well—maybe when you fix it, you can bring it back to her and show her,” Abigail said, giving Merrill a quick, encouraging hug around the shoulders.
Merrill leaned into Abigail. “You really think I can fix it?”
“Why not?”
“Velanna says I can too,” Merrill bit her lip. “But I'm never sure. What if Marethari is right? What if I'm doing the wrong thing?”
“Well...” Abigail ran a hand through her hair. “I don't know. I think it's worth the risk.”
“You do?” Merrill looked up at Abigail, her face lighting up.
“Something this old, working again?” Abigail reached out to touch the frame of the eluvian. It was slightly warm to the touch, and she took her hand away again. “It would be—amazing.”
“Oh, I knew you'd understand!” Merrill bounced on her heels, her smile lighting up the room.
There was one night everyone had off, and Varric was aware everyone had the night off, and so he invited everyone to the Hanged Man.
Abigail, Carver and Bethany came, of course. Isabela was there already when they arrived, and had been lured by the promise of free alcohol.
“Varric said he'd pay for the whiskey,” she said with a shrug and a wink towards Varric. “This is terrible, but it'll get you drunk as anything else.”
“You really want to drink what they serve here?” Bethany asked, making a face.
Isabela laughed. “Why shouldn't I?”
“Probably because it'll give you a disease,” Anders chimed in. He and Nathaniel had just arrived as well, and sat down at their table.
“No it won't. It's whiskey—this stuff's cleaner than water.”
Anders sighed and propped his head on his hand. “Look, if I can't get drunk, I'm going to make everyone who can miserable.”
“Why can't you get drunk?” Abigail asked.
“Justice doesn't like drinking, and either way, ever since we merged it’s as if my body processes it faster, too fast for it to have any effect,” Anders said with a scowl. “I don't know why that is—I have to eat even more, too, so he’s probably not doing it on purpose.”
“It was actually a serious problem when we were on the road,” Nathaniel said. “Wardens already have to eat more than a normal person—Anders and Justice've fainted more than once from hunger, without going that long without food.”
“I ate an entire roast pig by myself once,” Anders said.
“I see I've come into a very enlightening conversation,” Aveline came over and sat down next to Abigail.
Isabela raised her glass. “You had any more trouble with those Templars, big girl?” she asked.
“Why are you asking me?”
“Because if any of these folks had had trouble with them, I'd've probably had to come in and help rescue them or something,”
Aveline tilted her head to the side. “Fair point. No, I think they've backed off a bit for now—though I don't know how long that'll last.”
“Haven't heard of them bothering anyone at the Rose lately—and believe me, I'm there a lot.” she winked and grinned, in case anyone didn't get her meaning.
“You just adore unhealthy habits, don't you?” Anders said.
“I'm not the one who lives in a sewer.”
“It's a clinic in Darktown, and it's probably cleaner than your house.”
They had enough people to play cards, and over cards they chatted about things that weren't bounties or Templars or anything too dangerous. Isabela showed them some tricks she could do with her knives, and Anders hounded everyone about the possibility of helping out at the clinic.
Sigrun, Merrill and Velanna arrived a bit later, Velanna scowling as usual, but Sigrun and Merrill looking eager.
“I’ve never played cards before,” Merrill said. “How do you do it?”
“Do the Dalish not play cards?” Isabela asked, aghast.
“How often would we get the opportunity?” Velanna growled. “It’s a foolish hobby, anyhow.”
“Well, Kitten, I’ll teach you,” Isabela told Merrill with a grin. “Just don’t bet anything you aren’t prepared to lose.”
A little while later (after Merrill had lost her footwraps and overtunic, but had won Isabela’s belt) Fenris came through the door, looking as threatening as he ever did. His silver hair still hung over his face, but he spotted them well enough.
“Hey—thought you didn't want to come!” Varric grinned as Fenris sat down at the far end of the table, apart from everyone else.
“I did not. But I hardly have much else to do.”
“You know, if you're looking for ways to make yourself useful, I could always use a hand at the clinic,” Anders said. Fenris glowered at him.
“Will you stop badgering everyone about that?” Isabela said with a laugh. “No one else besides you and Nate want to spend any time there.”
“I need extra hands!” Anders protested. “Even frightening glowing elves like him!”
“You glow sometimes, Anders,” Merrill said, with a confused frown between her brows.
Anders sat back in his seat and sighed. “Never mind.”
“I am not much of a healer, anyway,” Fenris muttered.
“All he really needs is someone to hold things,” Nathaniel said.
“I could do that!” Merrill said.
“And probably scare the liver out of everyone, just by being there,” Anders said.
“Aw, Merrill's not scary!” Isabela protested. “Are you, Kitten?” she patted Merrill’s shoulder.
Merrill giggled. “I don't think so,” she said. “Maybe sometimes.”
“You're definitely scary,” Anders said, waving his mug at Merrill. “Waving a knife around and talking about blood magic...it’s just a matter of time before a demon snatches you up, just you wait.”
“Just because she knows more than you do does not make her frightening,” Velanna said. “Merely better-informed. And probably more intelligent.”
“Aww, ibine, there's no need for that,” Sigrun said, but she was grinning.
“Ibine, huh?” Varric piped up. “There's one I don't hear too often, but you call her that all the time.”
“What does it mean?” Bethany asked.
“It's a dwarven endearment,” Varric explained. “I guess it means...jewel? Gemstone? Shiny thing? Something like that.”
“Gemstone,” Sigrun clarified. “Which you should probably know if you're going to do a lot of business with Orzammar merchants. Just saying.”
“Look, five years ago, no one cared about dwarven except for maybe one or two people on the surface!” Varric said, spreading his hands. “Now the Queen's decided she likes surfacers and everyone and their mother needs to learn it.”
“Common comes from the old dwarven tongue,” Merrill piped up. “It shouldn't be so hard to learn.”
“It does?” Carver glanced at her. “I'd've thought Common was related to...I dunno, Tevene or Orlesian or something...”
“Common is nothing like Tevene,” Fenris said.
“It's because the dwarves were everywhere before the Blight,” Merrill explained. “Since they were the ones who were merchants and caravans and everything, everyone just learned their language.”
“Mm,” Velanna grunted. “That's why Dalish has some similarities with the dwarven tongue as well.”
“Oh, Dalish has a bit of everything!” Merrill said. “I think it even has a bit of Tevene, Fenris.”
“What a wonderful thing to share roots with,” Fenris muttered.
“Tevene, Orlesian, common, dwarven, and all the Elvhen we recovered,” Velanna said.
“Why does it have so many different influences?” Abigail asked.
“People stopped speaking Elvhen after the fall of Arlathan,” Merrill explained. “The language was lost after all our years in slavery—but when the Dales were founded, scholars and historians wanted to try and recover Elvhen. But it had been so long and we'd forgotten so much that we couldn't even know if anything we found was right.”
“A summation of our entire history, really,” Velanna said, her brows drawn together in a frown.
“Anyway, they made a new language in the Dales,” Merrill continued. “Even with all the problems—we just needed our own language, you see. And when the Dales fell, the Dalish made sure we wouldn't lose it again.”
“Why don't they speak it in the Alienages?” Bethany asked.
Both Merrill and Velanna scowled.
“Because the Chantry doesn't want them to,” Velanna growled. “Our language is called a heathen tongue, savage, barbaric—children are discouraged from learning it from their parents, no one is allowed to speak it at a place of work--”
“Also Dalish was only spoken in the Dales, anyway,” Merrill said. “When they put Alienages in places like Denerim or Val Royeaux, all the people there either were never Dalish to begin with, or were moved far from their homes, where no one spoke Dalish. They did it on purpose.” she perked up. “You could learn Dalish if you wanted to, Fenris!” she said. “Velanna already teaches some of the Alienage children--”
“And the adults who wish to learn,” Velanna added.
Fenris considered that. “Perhaps,” he said. “I have always found it useful to know other languages.”
“Oh, that's lovely!” Merrill beamed.
“I don’t know how much worth it would really be, however,” he scowled. “The Dalish are freer than any other elves, and they squander their freedom by trying to revive a long-dead past.”
“Oh, Fenris that’s sort of the opposite of what I’ve been saying,” Merrill said, crestfallen.
“Then what is it you are saying?”
“That we should remember the past,” Merrill said. “Preserve our heritage and our history, because what is the point of all of it if we just...forget?”
“Perhaps forgetting a history of defeat would be the better option,” Fenris grunted.
“And what of all the good things?” Merrill said. “What about—songs and paintings, and magic? Well, you might not like magic much,” she amended, seeing Fenris’ glare. “What about all the things that made us who we are?”
“Orlesians and Fereldens and Antivans all have their histories and cultures and stories,” Velanna said. “Why should we not have our own?”
“And Fenris, don’t you learn from—from lost battles, or mistakes you’ve made?” Merrill asked.
“If I had ever lost a battle, I would be dead,” Fenris said.
“Surely you’ve made a mistake before,” Merrill cajoled.
“No.”
“So, you used to captain a ship?” Aveline asked Isabela, trying to change the subject.
Isabela smirked. “That's right.”
“I don't think I've seen your name on a captain's registry...”
“It wasn't exactly a merchant ship, you know.” Isabela took a sip of her cup.
“Ah,” Aveline’s expression grew cold. “I see.”
“You must have been to all sorts of places,” Merrill said, leaning forward, her eyes shining. “I’ve never been across the sea before, just on a boat from Gwaren to Kirkwall. I was ever so sick...”
The conversation turned to Isabela’s adventures and the places she had visited, and the night wore on in a pleasant way. Nathaniel and Aveline both headed home early. Carver and Bethany left soon after they did. Sigrun and Velanna left after that, whereas Isabela proclaimed she’d stay until the early hours, and Varric had a room there.
Merrill, Abigail, Anders and Fenris ended up heading home together. Fenris would not have gone with them, except that he left at the same time they did.
On their way home, they came across a very peculiar sight. A Chantry Sister, out in the middle of the night, claiming to have work for street toughs.
“That's very odd, now, isn't it?” Merrill asked, narrowing her eyes.
“It's hardly very bright, that's certain,” Abigail said. “Excuse me? Sister?” she called, hoping to get the fool woman away from the more unsavory members of Lowtown. However, the woman ignored Abigail, continuing to speak with the man whose attention she had caught.
“If you have the skill, I have the coin,” the Sister said to the man, and before any of them could stop her, she vanished around the corner behind him.
“For the love of the Maker,” Abigail muttered.
“How stupid does someone have to be?” Anders said.
“We should ensure she does not die,” Fenris said. “There is no reason for her to be harmed simply because she acted foolishly.”
They followed the Sister around the corner, where she had been backed into an alley and was currently being threatened by one of the many, many thugs that populated Lowtown.
“I would suggest that you and your friends leave,” Abigail said, rapping one of the thugs across the shoulder with her staff.
“Oi!” the thug turned, and upon looking at Abigail's group, her went pale and sighed. “Oh, Andraste's tits—you people?”
“You people? I don't think we've met before.” Anders said, raising his eyebrow.
“Seen you around,” the thug said. “Haven't we, Jim?” he jabbed one of his friends.
“Oh, fuck me,” Jim rolled his eyes. “Come on, you lot—don't need to deal with these lunatics. Not like Sisters ever have much money on them anyway.”
The thugs went, grumbling unhappily.
“I wasn't aware you had garnered such a reputation,” Fenris said.
“Maybe that stunt in the Alienage helped,” Abigail said. “And Bethany, Carver, Varric and I do take quite a lot of jobs around here.”
They turned their attention to the Sister, a severe looking woman with short blonde hair.
“I appreciate your assistance,” the woman said. “But I was in little danger.”
“Oh really?” Abigail put her hand on her hip.
“Yes.” the Sister gestured, and out of the shadows appeared a large Templar holding a naked sword. “And why—those look quite like mages' staffs you and your friend have there,” the Sister said, raising her eyebrows.
Abigail did what she had found to be most useful in these situations, and snorted. “What, this?” she raised her staff. It was plain, weighted at the top, but with no figurehead. “This is a quarterstaff, Sister.”
“Do you have any idea how bloody expensive it is to get a decent weapon around here?” Anders said, catching on. He held up his own staff, taller than Abigail's, with a blade on the end. “I mean, look at this thing—it's just a stick with a knife tied to the end of it. Do I really seem like the kind of man who has money for a sword?”
“Maybe you should put ribbons on it,” Merrill suggested.
Anders stared at her. “Why would I do that?”
“It would be a lot prettier,” Merrill said, with a dubious look at the rough-hewn wood.
“And must you really go so armed?” the Sister folded her arms.
“Sister, considering that you only avoided being attacked by thugs, you know the answer to that question.” Fenris said. He shifted, drawing attention to the large, cheap broadsword on his back.
“I see,” the Sister said, surveying them all intently. “Then perhaps you are just the kind of people I need.”
“Need for what?” Abigail asked.
“I have a job for you,” she said. “Something to be done quietly, by those capable enough to suffer violence, but unimportant enough to not draw attention.”
“Well, that's only mildly insulting,” Anders said, exchanging a look with Abigail.
“It is only a statement of fact.”
“Why not have your Templar do it?” Abigail asked.
“He has better armor than anyone here,” Anders pointed out. “And a bloody great sword.”
“Templar involvement would draw undue attention.” the Sister explained.
“And what, getting yourself killed in Lowtown wouldn't?” Anders snapped.
“Do you wish this work or not?”
Abigail folded her arms. “Would you be paying for this work?”
“That is generally the idea behind 'work,' yes,” the Sister said.
“I like to know the names of the people I plan on working for. I'm Abigail Hawke—what about you?”
“Sister Petrice. So you will work for me?”
“I'd need some details, first.”
“Meet me here, tomorrow evening, and you shall have your details.” Petrice informed her.
The group of them left, all a little bemused.
“That was odd,” Anders said.
“I wasn't aware Chantry Sisters were in the business of hiring mercenaries,” Fenris said, a frown wrinkling his brow. “What work could she possibly have that she did not wish to use Templars for?”
“Probably something illegal,” Abigail said.
“Should we tell Aveline?” Merrill asked.
“It couldn't hurt for her to know,” Abigail said. “Who knows...? Mayhaps this will the thing to finally get the Seekers to come and investigate the Kirkwall Chantry.”
Anders sighed and shook his head. “Oh, you have mages getting hurt and no one cares, but when they start breaking laws...”
“I highly doubt protecting the populace from magic is the same as active harm,” Fenris drawled.
“That's because you have no idea what you're talking about,” Anders growled.
“Oh indeed? Because I don't see the South having nearly the same problems as the Tevinters. No magisters—someone to actually take care of demons, not use them--”
“Fenris, the Circles don't really do a good job of keeping magic under control, if that's what you want,” Merrill pointed out quietly. “There's so much fear and hurt in one place it starts attracting demons. You can't get near a Circle without getting horrible nightmares.”
Fenris blinked. “But—is that not the very point of Circles? To contain such things as demons? If a Circle attracts demons--”
“Then what's the bloody point?” Anders said. “I don't have any idea, really—probably has something to do with getting free healing.”
“You supply free healing.”
“Yes, because I want to!”
Fenris shook his head. “Mages should be contained—as much for their own good as anyone else's,” he frowned. “But what these Templars have been doing—this makes no sense. They break their own laws, and if you are to be believed, they actively encourage magical danger among the mages they oversee.”
“I’m not sure about that first part,” Abigail said. “But essentially, yes.”
“You wouldn't believe the kind of nonsense they got up to in Calenhad,” Anders said. “I mean—fine, you don't give a damn about mages being in prisons--” he rolled his eyes.
“You are correct. That matters little to me.” Fenris said.
“But, during the Blight, Calenhad Circle became overrun with abominations. One bastard got some of his friends to go along with his whole blood magic nonsense--”
“Which is sort of stupid, really--” Merrill said.
“Yes, extremely so, and then the whole damn place was filled with demons. And you know what else? The Templars couldn't deal with it. The Warden-Commander came in and cleaned the place up with a handful of friends—got rid of all the demons, to the Knight-Captain's satisfaction, even. The kicker? The Warden-Commander is a mage. A mage did the Templars' job better than they did.”
Fenris was quiet for a minute. “That...does not make sense,” he said.
“How so?” Abigail asked.
“That—if the tower was overrun, why did the Templars even let the Commander inside? How did she, a mage, do what they could not? It is their duty to protect people from things like that. Why did they fail?”
“Probably because Templars are idiots,” Anders said. “They did call for Annulment, but Surana got their first.”
“The Chantry is scared of magic because it doesn't understand it,” Merrill said. “They try to make it safe, or contain it, but the whole world is built on it. All people go to the Fade when they sleep—except for dwarves, of course.”
“But--” Fenris scowled. “A free mage will want for power—the existence of the magisters proves that. But the entire purpose of protecting people from mages is negated if doing so puts people in danger from demons anyway.”
“Yes, half of that is still wrong,” Anders said. “But the other half is about right. I mean, suppose you're a mage-hating bastard who doesn't care for the freedom of fellow sentient beings—alright. But having places that are so full of hate and fear it warps the Fade around them and attracts spirits and Andraste only knows what else? That's not what I would call good, either.”
“No,” Fenris said. “It isn't.”
“Does every mage in Tevinter become a magister, Fenris?” Merrill asked. “Do you know about any elvhen magisters? Or even vashoth ones, maybe?”
“I--” Fenris opened his mouth, and closed it again. “Vashothari would not be tolerated in Tevinter,” he said. “They hate the Qun too much—even though vashothari are not part of it, it would not matter to them.” he ran a hand through his hair. “Most mages are not slaves—elvhen or otherwise. But...no, I have never seen an elvhen magister.”
“Aha!” Anders exclaimed. “So what you say about power-hungry mages isn't even true in Tevinter, the country with the most power-hungry mages!”
“You hardly know what you speak of,” Fenris scoffed. “Perhaps there are exceptions—for example, Abigail and Bethany have not turned to either blood magic or become abominations--”
“Velanna doesn't do those things either,” Merrill pointed out.
“Her as well, then. Exceptional. That does not mean all mages are as strong as they are—the two of you alone prove that.” he looked at Anders and Merrill.
“I live in a sewer, so I don't really know where you get off about me being power-hungry,” Anders said. “And Merrill's a bloody lunatic, from what I can tell, so I think she's a special case.”
“Me?” Merrill was offended. “I only offered my body to a spirit—oh no, I didn't. You did that. Silly me, I'm so scatterbrained.”
“Didn't you need to practically get possessed to learn blood magic?”
“What?” Merrill blinked. “Don't be silly. You can't learn blood magic from spirits—they hate it.”
“If that's the case, how do you make an abomination from blood magic, like at Calenhad?”
“Oh, you have to kill people for that,” Merrill explained. “Very messy. Very wasteful. That's probably what all the magisters in Tevinter are doing, Fenris. They're not very bright, if it makes you feel better. Fenris—magic is always going to be dangerous, and just locking all the mages up won't help.”
Fenris was quiet again, and after a long moment, he asked “Why is it that they do not kill the mages, or make them Tranquil?”
“What?” Anders exclaimed, so angry he began to glow.
“Why do they not?”
“Because that's horrible, Fenris!” Merrill exclaimed.
“No, wait a minute...” Abigail bit her lip. “Why don't they? I mean—I wouldn't want it to happen,” she said. “But...that would solve the Chantry's whole problem, wouldn't it?”
Fenris looked troubled. “I...would not wish mages who had done no harm dead,” he said. “But...if the Templars truly prioritized the safety of the people, and there is little effective means to make them safe, why would they not take the more powerful route?”
Anders' glow died. “I...I don't know,” he said. “Other than that's awful and you are a terrible person for thinking it I...I don't really know why they want us alive. I mean—peasants tend to hate mages, enough to kill them--”
“Maybe they just don't want to kill that many people?” Merrill suggested. “I don't know who would, really—even when they invaded the Dales, the Chantry didn't kill--well, they didn't kill everyone."
“But if mages cannot be made safe...why do they have laws about who could be made Tranquil at all?” Fenris said. “Why is it a punishment, or a last resort?”
“Well, they don't behead people on the regular either,” Anders said. “But...you're still a terrible bastard, but that...is a good point. I mean, they don't exactly like us—and Circles are dangerous. Why don't they kill the mages?”
“What did that healer say?” Abigail asked. “Templars always came to them for healing, every time. Maybe they like the things that magic can do, so they don't want to get rid of mages.”
“Why would they like any magic?” Fenris demanded.
“I don't know, why wouldn't someone like healing?” Anders asked. “But...wait. If the Chantry likes having free labor, doesn't that make Circle mages technically slaves? I mean, I already thought so, but--”
“It does not,” Fenris snapped.
“Free labor is the definition of slavery.”
“Mages are kept clothed and sheltered--”
“And what, slaves aren't? I can't see even a really evil magister just wanting all his slaves to catch pneumonia and die.”
“Mages learn to read--”
“To cast spells, which are magic, which is both dangerous and there's the whole free labor thing again.”
“Mages are far more dangerous than slaves.”
“Which just brings us right back to the first question—why bother keeping a mage around if they're so bloody dangerous?” Anders was almost gleeful. “Slave labor.”
“You have never been a slave,” Fenris snarled. “Do not presume to know what it is like.”
“No? Alright then,” Anders folded his arms. “Once, I was locked in the dungeons, by myself, in the dark, for a solid year.”
“You what?” Merrill and Abigail both gasped at the same time.
Anders shrugged. “Yes. I swear I thought I'd die down there—but they didn't let me. Demons came to talk to me, every bloody night--”
“Why?” Fenris said.
“Why what?”
“Why did they do that to you?”
“Oh—I tried escaping.” Anders shrugged. “They'd gotten fed up with the escape attempts, I suppose.”
Fenris was very quiet again as they walked through Lowtown. “I wish to see what this Sister Petrice is doing,” he informed Abigail when they parted ways. “If the Chantry is as flippant with the safety of normal people as you say, then it may be vital to prevent what she is plans.”
“Of course,” Abigail said.
“Poor Fenris seems a bit confused a lot of the time,” Merrill said when he left. “Maybe it's Kirkwall. I get ever so lost...”
Anders snorted. “He's a bastard is all,” he said.
“Anders!”
“What? He doesn't like you any more than he likes me.”
“I think anyone who gets involuntary full-body lyrium brands gets a bit of leeway for being a bastard,” Abigail said.
“If you say so,” Anders said, tone of voice highly dubious. “Count me out of the thing with the Sister—I don't want to be any closer to the Templars than I have to be. But let me know how it turns out. Whatever she's up to sounds bad.”
“I shouldn't come either,” Merrill said, sounding put out. “Too much magic would make them nervous. You'll let me know how it goes, won't you?”
“I'll tell both of you,” Abigail promised, and they all returned to their respective homes, Anders walking Merrill back to the Alienage. He'd meet up with Nathaniel there and they could go back to Darktown together.