“So, why am I having trouble getting things from Orzammar?” Varric asked.
Ignazeda Torror, intermediary between Orzammar and the Kirkwall Merchant's Guild, sighed and leaned back in her chair.
“Look, Tethras...” Ignazeda pinched the bridge of her nose. This was the third time Varric had been at the Merchant’s Guild because of difficulty with shipping, and he wasn’t the only one.
“Just tell me anything,” Varric leaned forward. “And don’t give me that line about weather delaying the caravans. We both know that isn’t true.”
Ignazeda glared at him. “Alright,” she said. “Fine. The Queen's considering ordering sanctions on Kirkwall, and possibly the rest of the Free Marches.”
“What?" Varric stared at her, shocked. "Why?”
“She got the message about that thing in the Vimmarks,” Ignazeda explained. “She sent people to investigate, and found the whole thing filled top to toe with darkspawn and red lyrium.”
Varric blinked. “It wasn’t like that when we were there,” he said. “The red lyrium part, I mean. What's that have to do with us anyway?”
“Red lyrium's infectious, Tethras,” Ignazeda hissed. “She's had people studying it—it's more dangerous than normal lyrium, as I'm sure you know.”
Everyone knew the story of Bartrand Tethras, and Varric’s expression grew stormy at her words.
He folded his arms. “...and...?”
“And, she knows your brother brought some into the city,” Ignazeda explained. “And she knows the whole story. She thinks there's no real infection here, yet, but that ruin in the Vimmarks being so close, and then the Thaig with the nasty infection being just two weeks underneath you...?” she shook her head. “Already the Dalish ambassador told us they've been warning Dalish Clans away from here, except for those lunatics on the Sundermount. The Queen—well maybe sanction's the wrong word for it. Maybe quarantine is better.”
“Look, if you stop trading to Kirkwall, that's bad enough,” Varric said. “But if you stop trading to the Templars...?”
“Not all of them,” Ignazeda explained. “Just the Kirkwall Order. We can't risk them getting infected and infecting other people, especially our own.”
“You can't just stop trading to us based on some darkspawn rumors!” Varric half-laughed.
Ignazeda spread her hands. “Look, I can't do anything about it,” she said. “Maybe the Queen got the word about that darkspawn thing to Warden-Commander Surana, and this is Surana getting bent out of shape about it—but it's not my doing, Tethras.”
“Oh, tell me you’re not going to give that excuse to the Templars when they start demanding answers,” Varric groaned.
“Of course not. We’re not bloody stupid, Tethras, despite what you might think—we know what would happen if we started shooting our mouths off about Warden involvement.” she gave him a significant look.
Varric closed his eyes. “Look, this is just going to make Meredith crazier than she already was—pretty surprised she hasn't come storming in here already--”
“She can try,” Ignazeda gritted. “Look, Tethras, I won't lie—the Merchant's Guild is pretty close to packing up and leaving Kirkwall altogether. This scare with the red lyrium is just too much.”
“Leave?” Varric was aghast. “Leave the city?”
“Is your hearing deficient? Yes, Tethras. We're not liking the way things look, not one bit.”
Varric ran a hand over his hair. “You can't—I mean, that would destroy your businesses too, wouldn't it?”
“Better than getting some kind of red lyrium madness,” Ignazeda pointed out, her voice grim. “And better than having the Chantry on our backs.”
“That would practically get them to declare an Exalted March on you!”
“Never happen,” Ignazeda snorted. “And if it did? We’d be damn well ready for them. We just can’t take the risk, Tethras. I’m sorry.”
Varric left the Merchant's Guild far more unsatisfied and worried than when he entered it. Meanwhile, Isabela returned quietly, and only to see Merrill. Her ship docked, and she turned up at the Hawke residence.
“Isabela!” Merrill cried upon seeing her, and wrapped the large woman up in a back-breaking hug.
“Good to see you too, Kitten,” Isabela said, returning the hug and ruffling her hair.
“Where have you been?” Merrill asked, pulling away from her and leading her into the house. “Are you going to be staying long? Tell me what you’ve seen!”
Isabela laughed. “One thing at a time!” she said.
“Here—I’ll go get us some tea,” Merrill said, and went to the kitchen.
Abigail hovered in the doorway, uncertain.
“Abigail,” Isabela inclined her head.
Abigail took a deep breath.
“It...I know it wasn’t what you wanted,” Abigail said. “I know...I know it wasn’t on purpose.” she looked away. “It’s—it’s still your doing. I know—I know you couldn’t have stopped them. I know...” she covered her eyes.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Isabela told her quietly, holding up a hand. “I—I just came to see Merrill. You don’t have to see me at all if you don’t want to.”
“I--” Abigail sighed. “You’re her friend,” she said. “I’d never keep a friend of hers away.”
Isabela smiled. “That’s because you’re a good woman, Abigail.”
“Is that so?” Abigail closed her eyes. “I don’t often feel it.”
“I wouldn’t know what it feels like to be good, exactly.”
They both fell silent.
“Carver’s dead,” Abigail said.
Isabela jerked in surprise. “What? I hadn’t heard--”
Abigail nodded. “Some—some darkspawn thing killed him,” she spat out the words. “It’s—have you seen or heard of any strange darkspawn?” she asked in a rush, a thought coming to her. “What we found—what it did—it wasn’t normal, it was--”
Isabela shook her head, frowning. “No, I don’t...” she pursed her lips.
“What is it?”
She began to pace. “Nothing, just rumors. You know how sailors are.”
“It might be important.”
“I know, that’s why I’m trying to sort out the bullshit from what might be real.” she fingered her lip piercing. “Strange darkspawn, you said?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll ask around. Friend of a friend said he thought the Wardens were on the move again, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair.”
Abigail ran a hand through her hair. “If you find anything, tell me,” she said. “Varric’s keeping an ear out, but...”
Isabela nodded.
Merrill came back in, bearing a teapot and three cups. She looked between Abigail and Isabela, her expression suspicious, but when they both smiled at her, she relaxed.
“Now,” she said, sitting them all down at the table. “Isabela, why don’t you tell us everything that’s been going on?”
“Why don’t you tell me about Kirkwall?” Isabela asked with a grin. “I haven’t been here in a while.”
Both Abigail and Merrill’s faces fell, and they glanced at each other.
Isabela narrowed her eyes. “You know,” she said quickly. “I’ve just remembered—we were docked in Val Royeaux a few months ago, and you know Orana actually slapped someone?”
Merrill giggled, and even Abigail was shocked.
“Orana?” Abigail gasped. “The woman who--?”
“She used to be a slave, that’s right!” Isabela said, positively gleeful. “Makes a bloody great pirate, she does.”
Isabela regaled them with the tale of how, when stopped in Val Royeaux, Orana was propositioned by one particularly foul and perfumed nobleman, who ended up getting a wicked backhand for his trouble. She followed it up with several other amusing tales that involved Red Jennies or drunken escapades or places of ill repute—nothing unpleasant or troublesome to be had. Soon, both Abigail and Merrill were laughing, troubles forgotten for the moment.