Chapter Text
They have a saying in Kirkwall: “when it rains, it pours.” The saying held true most days, in the seaside metropolis. The wind buffeted the walls of Gamlen’s shanty, tucked away in the slums of Lowtown, lifting helpless litter off the street and sweeping it along with the rain. Inside the house, Hawke had begun to arrange the various pots, cups, and bowls to catch the occasional leak. They now covered most of the floor.
The continuous plinking of water and the whistling of the wind through the myriad of cracks was finally loud enough to rouse Hawke’s uncle from dormancy. He emerged, trailing curses and upended containers.
“Dammit girl, what in god’s name have you done to my floor?”
A group of chipped glasses clattered around him. “Blast!”
Hawke glanced up.
“Evening, uncle. Good to see you upright and chipper again.” She put down a card. “Mind lowering your voice a bit? Mother’s finally asleep.”
Gamlen scoffed. “Moping, more likely,” he said, though in a slightly softer tone. “What’ve I told you about gambling?”
“That you wish you were better at it?”
“Especially gambling with the dog!”
“Oh, I think that was: ‘How in the Void did I lose to someone who licks his own arse?’, uncle.”
Gamlen pulled up a chair. “Deal me in.”
It was a slow night in Kirkwall; a favourite of the Guard. The burglars, conspirators, and gangs preferred to stay dry as much as the next man, and, by virtue of their profession, usually had much more comfortable alternatives to the gurgling streets than their less criminal neighbours. The City Guard still needed to patrol, of course, but at least there was less of a chance of seeing anything unfortunate, or getting shanked before you do.
Aveline Vallen did not believe in chance.
She was setting a steady pace through Lowtown, staying under eaves and awnings as much as she could. Pointless, though; the rain was almost horizontal, its hiss drowning out anything other people wouldn’t want her to hear.
Guardsman Donnic had the satchel tonight. Whatever else was in it, it also held the man’s life. And she couldn’t protect it alone.
She needed Hawke.
Varric puffed along behind the two women. “How did I get dragged into this, again?” he asked.
Ah, Lowtown mud. If nothing else, it had a unique odour. An odour which was now all over his boots. Wonderful.
“Because you would never abandon a friend in need. Also, Aveline threatened to crack a mug over your head,” Hawke called back.
“Ah, right.”
Stupid puddles. A dwarf could drown in one of those! He glanced sidelong at Hawke’s dog.
“Say, any chance I could just hop on your ba-”
Teeth flashed. Surprisingly white, he must say. Hawke probably brushed them. “Forget I asked.”
They rounded a corner. There were a lot more masked guys with weapons there than Varric liked to see at three in the morning.
Bianca, however, was ecstatic.