After the long, long, long hiatus… inspiration has hit, thanks to DAI! This chapter was actually long in the planning, but DAI and other stuff took over.

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Fourteen

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His sister really did manage to pick up the oddest things on her way.

Carver was sort of surprised by the presence of a dwarf in the returning entourage, but fortunately his twin was quick enough on the uptake to fill him in upon seeing his apparently telling expression. Well, at least there was a purpose to this glorified shopping trip.

Illyria and the dwarf (who sized him up, introduced himself and maintained a slightly mischievous glint in his eye that Carver didn't trust) continued chatting until everyone else had gotten into the carriage, and even afterwards, when the dwarf climbed atop to join the coachman and their bodyguard disappeared behind the carriage, his sister continued leaning out of the window to carry on their conversation. Apparently, it was engrossing for some unfathomable reason.

In truth, Carver was actually enjoying going around the city without having to deal with all the secrecy. Now, he was respected by association – an improvement from the previous situation, certainly, not that he was completely happy about the 'by association' part – and thus didn't need to worry about being recognized or his sword making too much noise. He had been heckled and heckled to take as much care as possible before by Mother, but he couldn't really snap back at her. Losing Father almost upon arrival to Tevinter had been hard on them all, but her most of all.

Such a trivial thing, life, here amidst the magocracy. They weren't even considerate towards their own kind – mages too could be enslaved and used for whatever purposes their captors saw fit.

Carver hadn't been afraid of mages for most of his life. Well, once he had understood enough that the pretty sparkles his sisters could conjure up could result in third degree blisters on his hands, he managed to learn the basics of what you could and couldn't do around mages. He couldn't counter their powers, but he knew the signs of when they were about to call on them, and understood what they did. Well, mostly.

Point being, he hadn't feared mages when they came into Minrathuous. He should have known better; he learned when Father was killed. But now, drawn deeper into the magocracy's lies, he didn't fear them much at all. After all, they were part of the system and everything.

The slave market was part of the system too… only it seemed much worse than he had imagined it to be.

First of all, there were so many people…. And all of them shouting, clamoring, intent on making as much noise as possible. Carver could never have imagined such noise could be real, not even among the many refugees attempting to get through the gates of Minrathuous. It was simply overwhelming.

Then, there was the stench. Blood and sweat and other fluids – some of which had to be desperate tears – as families were torn apart, sold, displayed for all to see. He was mages imprisoned among their brethren, distinguished by soiled robes, humans and elves and dwarves… and, to his surprise, a few creatures he imagined were qunari – hed never seen one up close before. But they were all the same, with one of three reactions: desperate cries, in the case of many women and children, righteous anger that wouldn't help them at all, or worse, the dead eyes of acceptance of their fate.

It made him sick, and from the expression on their guide's face, the dwarf shared the sentiment wholeheartedly.

"The great slave market of Minrathuous, in all its stone-cursed glory." Tethras gestured around at nothing in particular. Illyria's frown set even deeper, but she didn't comment. The look on Bethany's face appeared to mirror the one she had had when the twins were six and trying to see who could hang upside down on a tree branch the longest. Needless to say, she hadn't won that particular bet.

Carver was suddenly very glad that Mother couldn't get as good of an angle as he could from her side of the carriage.

That didn't stop her from uttering a "Dear Maker!" when she saw even the slightest glimpse of what was happening right outside of the carriage.

"I hope this satisfies your curiosity, Sunshine. I'd rather not linger in this place any longer than we need to."

"You don't deal in slaves?" Carver asked rather brusquely, and, for the first time, the dwarf seemed to acknowledge someone with a harder look than his usual good-natured joviality.

"This place is like Orzammar, only worse. I never thought I'd see a worse system of government than the caste system, but here you go. Life is just full of these little surprises, isn't it, Junior?"

To his credit, Carver scoffed at the new nickname rather than the words. He hadn't thought that it was possible to like and dislike a person more at the same time.

His sisters, on the other hand, seemed somewhat entranced with the whole thing (the market, not his conversation, of course), and really had a bad habit of trying to wander off into dangerous places, especially Bethany. From the side of his eye, he could see that the elf had moved before it was clear that Illyria wanted to get out of the carriage in order to help her disembark. Somewhat to his surprise, Carver could almost swear he saw something new in the elf's eyes when Illyria took his hand, but didn't even look at him as she descended the steps, and then let go the moment she no longer needed the support. It wasn't there when Bethany did the same, that was certain, replaced instead by the familiar, silent deference that was so customary to all of their slaves.

It was their fault, in a way, for being so richly dressed – the moment they left the carriage, people began clamoring for their attention.

Merchants, slaves, passers-by… it seemed everyone knew a magister by sight, through some arcane sixth sense he couldn't quite grasp. Or maybe there was some requisite part of their regalia that Illyria was wearing – in any case, they recognized wealth, and went after it.

Bethany's curiosity apparently wasn't quite quenched, particularly as she saw various slaves that had to be refugees from the Blight – Fereldans whose ships on the way to some far-off places had been raided and captured, deserters, farmers… the Blight might have been over, but that didn't mean that those that had fled from it could find new means of returning to their former homes.

There were so many of them… but one group in particular appeared to have caught the attention of his companions. A small family of three, with the little girl frantically trying to hide in her mother's skirt, perhaps to conceal her cries.

They were Fereldan. They were also elves. More than anything, they were downright pitiful, with the father trying to maintain a rather badly composed stoic face, and the mother shivering in terror whenever it came to the possibility that she might be separated from her child.

Mother spared them a single glance, then looked at her own children – Bethany in particular – and it was clear she was going to ask Illyria to buy the family before she had done so.

Illyria attempted to maintain a hard face when hearing the request, but Carver knew his sister too well to not see that she was straining. She couldn't deny Mother anything, especially not now, where there was little monetary reason to deny themselves anything.

"We have plenty of slaves, Mother." Even her voice hardened somewhat – Carver then realized that she was making a show of being a magister now. "We don't need any more staff."

"But darling, they look so afraid… We can't just leave them here, who knows where they would end up at?" Mother was always so kind-hearted, even towards strangers, and her eyes were fixed on the scared elf child as their owner moved the father forward to present him to a potential buyer.

"There are a thousand slaves here, each one with a sob story of their own. You have a kind heart, Mistress Hawke, and these nuglickers will see that all too quickly… you can't rescue everyone here. Not even a magister's mother has that much power."

"I can at least save these people." Mother said firmly, ignoring the dwarf's advice. "I can do without a few pieces of jewelry or finery – I'm happy to forego them if we can purchase this family."

She said it with such conviction that it even seemed to give Tethras pause, and that, Carver would learn later, was no mean feat. And then their dear, sweet, fragile mother was off to haggle with the suddenly very deferential merchant like a professional, much to everyone's surprise. Bethany trailed behind her, just to make sure she ended up being safe, but the rest of the group took a moment to observe the scene before following suit.

"I think I see where the power behind the throne lies now." Tethras noted, mildly amused. "It might be a good idea not to have her see the entire market, though."

The dwarf wasn't speaking out of turn – the moment the merchant saw Bethany, who had her staff on display, and did a quick calculation of what social sphere the two richly-dressed ladies might frequent, many others seemed to have caught wind of the potential of a good sale and started clamouring to them. It took the sight of the armed guards that followed the women and gave the merchants very pointed looks to make them return to somewhat civil terms, though Illyria looked as if she might step in at any moment.

If they were to go through all of the sob stories in this place, they'd be here until the next Blight, at the very least.

In the end, the dwarf made good on his promise to step in, and actually asked Illyria to stay back and watch, since the presence of a magister in the negotiation would only complicate things further. From what they could tell, the peddlers hadn't deduced that yet, as most magisters had servants to send for new acquisitions when they needed slaves. It was better that they keep thinking that there was no one from the highest echelons present.

"So, these plans of yours…" Carver began once they were more or less alone. "How do you propose to carry them into action? You do realise the Magisterium will think you're insane or weak, or both."

Illyria's face remained set in a hard grimace. "We'll have to go slow and subtle. That's the hard part, really."

"We?" Carver snorted with as much dignity as he could muster. "Aren't you the one calling all the shots? You're the one who came up with the whole plan to avenge Father. You're the one who needed to get into the Magisterium to do it."

"You know I didn't think we'd end up knee-deep in these other problems. I didn't know victory would mean this inheritance, but it's done us good in the meantime. Or have you forgotten how we used to hunt for scraps of food?"

"We should have just left." There, he said it. "After Father had died, there was nothing for us here anymore."

"The Amells-"

"Yes, yes, the once great Amells, offshoot of House Whatever in Tevinter. You've said so a hundred times. We could have started over anywhere else. Hells, we still could!"

Varric was proving to be especially efficient at the haggling, it seemed, but it would take maybe a minute more or so until the funds went through. Illyria finally looked away from the situation when it seemed that everything would be fine.

"Leave Tevinter?"

"Yes! Sell off the estate, leave with enough money to live well in a country where we don't have to feel disgusted with every other local custom!" There wasn't even really a need to keep his voice down, because no one in the hustling and bustling market was really listening to anyone, but the look Illyria gave him said that he should have done so.

"Alright, Carver, and go where? Back to Ferelden? Or maybe to Orlais, so that we can have Templars inspect us the moment we enter the country?" Illyria didn't really seem to understand why this was an issue any longer. In her mind, they were probably doing a good thing, trying to change the system from the inside. Carver saw an endless struggle for the sake of people they owed nothing to, and worse, who they likely couldn't help on the long run in any case.

Helplessness was something he abhorred above all else.

"I don't know, Lyri. It seems to me you've traded one extreme for another – in Ferelden, you and Bethany had to hide your abilities, but the people around us were mostly trustworthy. Here, we're in a pit of vipers with smiling faces. I'm not really sure that constitutes an improvement."

Contrary to what people might assume, Carver did love both of his sisters very much. But he was also tired of running, especially since that had apparently only led them to a place where he couldn't even decide whether being a mage was even an improvement.

"We are starting over." Illyria looked tired. Too tired to argue, and certainly too tired to take on the entire Magisterium at this point. But who knew? His sister had surprised everyone so many times before. "It'll just take some time getting used to."

"That's about the most positive description of Tevinter I've heard foreigners give." Oh, they were back, Mother and the others. And apparently had a very timid looking elven family trailing behind them. "The more common reaction is: 'Oh Maker.' Or something along those lines."

"Master Tethras was most helpful." Mother said happily, trying still to make her new charges feel comfortable enough to at least look at her without fear instead of averting their eyes whenever she caught them looking. Her mood dropped at that, at least temporarily. "When that horrible man suggested he give us a discount if we rounded up the number of slaves to a dozen, I almost couldn't bear it."

"Not to mention he was trying to scam us on the price. That's just bad manners. Reminds me of the Merchant's Guild back home, only with even less savory merchandise. I didn't think that was really possible."

"I think we've had enough of unsavory things for today." Bethany said primly, though she looked somewhat pleased, at least. "Though I'm not sure the other ten thousand things we have to do won't fulfil that criterion as well."

"So are we done here?"

"That depends on what Varric's schedule is like, Carver." Illyria looked generally content with the situation, or as content as she could allow her magister façade be. "I'd prefer if we could talk over the particulars of business soon – preferably at the estate."

"Yes, yes, I'd really need to have a look at your files before going in any deeper. But I'm happy to sign on with you, Magister Hawke." The dwarf seemed much more cheery after this whole incident, despite his previous insistence that it was bad for business. "It seems like things will be getting somewhat more interesting with you around."

"Excellent. You won't regret this, I promise."

"Well now, that's enough flattery to sway me right there." Tethras said, giving Illyria a smile that would have melted a lesser woman's knees. "Besides, I could do far worse than trusting a Fereldan in this place. I think I should be okay as long as I don't insult your dog, right?"

"We don't have one of those yet."

"Oh, that's a load off my back right there. See, Junior?" Carver could actually feel the vein in his forehead twitch before it did so – an itch to twitch maybe? Foreigners and their stereotypes about Fereldan dogs… "We're good."

Not that they weren't true, but still. He was proud of his own origin, dogs and alleged mud and all.

There was very little time to debate such things, though. They really did have a multitude of other chores on the agenda.

Armor fitting, dress-making, introductions to partners and underlings… no one really had an exhaustive list of their tasks, but they certainly did involve a lot of running around. Varric volunteered to be present for it, partly because he was interested in being Illyria's spokesperson as she went along and arranged things with whatever associates she needed to contact, but mostly because he clearly got a kick out of sharing wild stories with all of them. Carver grudgingly had to admit that he was impressed after the first three, and that was just on the way back to the Lucky Lucita. After all, the dwarf explained, vanishing on his entire crew would hardly be a particularly convincing display of competence on his part.

"The last thing you'd want to see is how things would be run if my brother dearest was left in charge. With any luck, we'd only lose half of our profits due to bad investment decisions."

"In less than a day?" Carver couldn't quite wrap his mind around that.

The dwarf snorted. "Oh, clearly you haven't had the pleasure of meeting Bartrand. Were he in charge, we'd probably staffed with undercover Tevinters trying to grab things for the nearest magister they're trying to curry favor with."

"And now you're not? How can you run an operation in Tevinter without local contacts?"

"I didn't say that – we are, I just know where they are and which magister has them by the short hairs. Makes it easier to keep them supplied with information that is just the teensiest bit outdated. That way, the magisters can blame someone else, keep them satisfied in their place, and motivated to keep working for us. Everyone wins."

Overall, things were going great, even Carver had to grudgingly admit. He had new armor – which was also temporary, because new and nicer versions with the new Hawke family crest were already being prepared – and everything else had at the very least been made progress with. The dwarf – smart mouth including – was turning out to be very useful.

In the meantime, Mother continued on her quest to make her new shadows appear comfortable, but without any real success. Because of reputational reasons, as well as a lack of space, the new slaves had had to walk behind the fancy carriage, which had slowed down considerably to allow them some rest. Nevertheless, even though Illyria had asked her bodyguard if he could let the little girl ride on the back of the carriage – and the fact that she was small enough to allow her mother to take a spot there as well – Mother didn't seem entirely pleased with the arrangement.

There was nothing to be done about it, though, and so Mother busied herself trying to learn more about the slaves she had acquired, in particular the shabby little stuffed creature the little girl continued clutching – a lamb or a sheep or something like that? He couldn't really see, not that he likely would while the girl kept hiding. His sisters were both distracted by Tethras's chattering, occasionally adding a quip or two. Illyria would keep glancing outside of the window once in a while to check if her shadow was still following.

Sure enough, there the elf was, making sure that they were drawing the attention of the whole street in case someone had missed the gigantic and very ostentations carriage that was moving very slowly through the streets. Then again, Carver supposed that glowing tattoos and a gigantic sword were generally more effective than a sign saying DON'T attached to the carriage. He himself could give the elf a run for his money on the scary weapon, but the former he would have to make up for with a glare, really.

"I gotta say, Hawke, this operation will require a lot of time and effort. It might be even mildly taxing to my capabilities." Tethras – okay, Varric, because Carver couldn't keep up the effort of disliking the dwarf after the third story involving someone's pants being stolen at an inopportune moment and someone claiming it was shleets – had apparently enjoyed himself tremendously during the day, and looked quite ready to leap into the thick of it when they accompanied him back to the harbor once they were done.

Unfortunately, from where they were coming, that meant going straight past the slave market once again, which definitely wasn't for the light-hearted.

"Glad to be of service." Illyria also looked much more relaxed than she had in the morning. Probably because she was mostly attempting to tune out the hustle and bustle around them. "Then I'll be expecting your visit at the appointed time, then?"

"Absolutely, I know where to find you. You'd be difficult to miss even if you weren't the talk of the town already. It was a pleasure, Sunshine, Junior." he said, inclining his head to both of them (with a grin in Carver's direction that pre-empted the reaction to the nickname). "Hopefully I'll be seeing more of you quite soon."

"That sounds delightful." Bethany said, just as Carver muttered that he'd already seen as much as he'd like to. The dwarf's grin only widened at that.

And, honestly, all of them would have happily called it a day at that point, if it wasn't for an overzealous trader almost literally jumping into their path. Most likely, he was purely desperate to make a sale, or so they assumed.

"Esteemed magister, if you would look this way! I guarantee you only the finest selection for all of your needs!"

"Does she have it stamped on her forehead or something? Or is there a secret handshake that I'm missing?" Carver wondered.

"Nah, they just smell the money." Varric added, with the air of a true connoisseur.

"I'm not interested in your wares." Particularly as the evening could mean one kind of shipment only, the one kind that could stay fresh no matter the time of day.

"But I'm certain you will be! I have something unlike anything you've ever seen! A treasure that will be the jewel of any collection!" Two more steps and he and Illyria would be nose-to-nose, probably. And if there was one thing Carver had learned from a childhood of hiding behind mostly non-flammable obstacles when he annoyed a sister or two, it was that getting in this close and personal was a death sentence unless your sword arm was quicker than your tongue.

Somewhere to the back and left of him, Illyria's bodyguard appeared to be the very physical embodiment of a growl without making a sound, as far as his peripheral vision could tell him. In another situation, he might have been concerned that a brutal display of violence would do nothing to keep them safe and ingratiate them to the population.

Then again, this was Tevinter – it would probably be greeted with cheers. Especially if they were aiming for weeding out the stupid and the suicidal from the population.

By sheer luck, the man survived, because – what a coincidence, he had picked his mark for more reasons than just random coincidence – the crowd of people had navigated them in such a way that they had to go past his wares on the way back. There was a small gathering of people stopping around curiously, because truly, the man was making way too much of a fuss about whatever slave he happened to have there, but it didn't seem remarkable at all.

Then he noticed it, though, about a moment before his sisters did – a moment of pride for him, really. And it had to be important, because even they froze, and the elf scurrying behind them froze in a way that, had he been actually looking at the man, would have had Carver wondering if he was still alive and not petrified to the spot.

There were more interesting things to question, though.

Like the cage.

Most slaves at the market had their hands bound – that was to be expected – and usually their feet as well, to make it harder for them to escape. Some even had collars identifying them as belonging to a particular merchant, whenever people were feeling particularly possessive or cruel. But the slaves were still allowed to roam free.

The cage the man was sitting in appeared to be constructed out of more than just steel. It looked like the very bars had been crafted especially to contain something magical, even he could tell that much. They were probably warded too, since he could see the faint marks of runes glistening in the sun. But the freaky thing were the tiny pieces of lyrium, almost laced into the metal, making it look truly like what he imagined a demon binding ritual had to look like.

Not that he knew what that would look like, since neither of his sisters were insane, but still. Coming back to the cage.

It was downright flashy, and Carver, while fascinated, didn't see much point to it, really. Not once he saw what was inside. He had been expecting a monster of some kind, or a wild animal, at least. The man sitting on the floor of the cage looked like the worst he could do was cough at him, really.

Or maybe whack him with the book he was reading. Carver had a pretty good idea as to why some extra measures for preventing mage slaves from escaping were necessary, but he really couldn't fathom the reason behind this nonsense.

In the meantime, the merchant couldn't stop prattling, and Illyria was quickly getting tired of it, even if she stole a glance or two at the wards.

"So far, the most remarkable thing about this whole thing has been my patience for your nonsense." There was the Magister, alright. "Unless your slave can dance the remigold while shimming down a line of darkspawn, I really don't see why you insist on bothering me."

And, most surprisingly of all, amidst the peddler's frantic attempts to get her attention, the slave in the cage laughed, if it could even be considered that.

"That's probably the most creative thing I've heard around these parts. And they told me you Tevinters had no sense of humor unless a couple of demons were involved."

The man managed to avoid a stern beating for two reasons: the cage bars were in the way, and the peddler was still trying to get Illyria to bite. However, she had noticed what the merchant hadn't said, and that Carver noticed a moment later, when Illyria stepped closer to the cage.

"You're Fereldan." she said, more to herself than really asking him.

The man took to the conversation easily, as if they were discussing this over a few drinks rather than on opposite sides of a peculiar cage. "Not originally, no, but I guess it's as good a home as any. Or was, anyway… this little detour was not in my plan."

Now that Illyria seemed to be more engaged, though, the merchant didn't hesitate to poke his prisoner with a long staff through one of the cage's holes at this insolence.

"You will answer only the questions the honorable magister asks you, slave! Pardon this lowly one, great mistress, the scum has not yet gotten used to his place."

"That's fine, there is no need for that." Illyria said firmly, dismissing the man's growling with a disapproving frown. By then, the whole crowd had caught wind of who she was, or at least what social strata she moved in, and watched with anticipation what might happen.

Now would have been a perfect moment for Varric to lay on the charm once more, but Carver saw that he was just as intrigued about what his sister was going to do as the rest of them. Typical.

"So… magister. That must be an interesting life." Contrary to the awe radiating from almost all other people around her, Carver could have sworn the slave wrinkled his nose like a five year old being forced to eat vegetables.

"That's one way of putting things. I'm sure yours is more than a match, though."

"Oh, you're referring to my lovely accommodations, I see. I do apologize for not being able to offer you a seat; as you can see, I haven't had time to clean up the place."

"I see." Illyria was amused enough to have completely stopped pretending to even pay the slightest attention to the slave merchant. "What about that remigold with the darkspawn, then?"

Something dark passed through the stranger's face, though he recovered quickly enough. "I can help with one of those, but I'm retired. I'll have to see how good my footwork still is, if you truly insist. The darkspawn… I don't believe you have any of those here, so we should be in the clear for the time being."