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Of all the places he’s been in his years living in Minrathous, the Cobbled Swam is by far Gareth’s least favorite haunt. The tavern is always dark and smokey, the food is terrible and overpriced, and most of the clientele are insufferable and superficial. Fortunately for him, their flippant air and loose tongues make it much easier to track a mark. Indeed, it’s fascinating the things one can overhear in such a space if you know where to look or, more importantly, where to hide.
Gareth is tucked into one such space now, seated at a small table near the back of the stage where Cida Ciconia is performing. He’s been nursing the drink in his hand for the better part of an hour, lazily scanning the space as patrons come and go.
Working for the Shadow Dragons has been a gift for Gareth. Sure, coming to Tevinter initially had been an act of defiance meant to strike a blow to his father, but now that he’s here, working from the shadows to fight back against oppression and break the shackles of slavery, he feels more at home than he ever did in Kirkwall.
A woman enters the tavern, dressed in deep red robes with a symbol of the Magisterium pinned at her shoulder. She walks with the grace and ease of someone who has lived in privilege their whole life and Gareth smirks into his cup; this is going to be easier than he expected.
His eyes, one bright blue and the other a deep, emerald green, follow her as she floats across the room to a table nestled behind a wooden partition a few paces from the bar. There are two other figures seated at the table with their backs turned to him but he doesn’t bother trying to get a better view; he has his target in sight. He takes a few minutes to scan the room again before downing the remainder of his drink and slowly making his way to the long wooden bar near the front of the room.
The bar is sticky and covered in a thin haze of hookah smoke as he approaches. He runs his hands along the edge of the rich maple as the barkeep steps forward, throwing a towel over their shoulder and offering him a nod.
“Ale?” They pull a pint from a shelf below the bar and begin wiping it clean.
“Thanks.” Gareth sets a couple of coins down on the counter and turns back to face the room. He leans back against the bar on his elbows, taking a long pull that he immediately regrets. The ale is sour and acrid on his tongue, not quite as bad as the shit they serve at the Hanged Man, but pretty fucking close. “ Venhedis , this is awful.” He whispers with a grimace.
The faint sound of metal on wood causes the tips of his ears to twitch, and he looks over to see a familiar figure slipping up to the bar several feet away. He feels his lips pull into a smirk as he saunters over to them, sliding in sideways next to them and setting his pint down on the bar.
“You know,” he says, his voice smooth and low, “If you wanted to see me, you could just say so.” He leans in closer to them, the dim firelight dancing playfully in his eyes. A pair of warm, brown eyes meet his gaze as the figure smiles, and turns to face him.
“Tempting.” She says, her voice light and mischievous. “But, I’m actually here for someone else.” She runs a hand down his arm, her eyes flitting over his shoulder in the direction of the table where his red-robed mark still sits.
“Ouch.” Gareth quips, playfully clutching his heart and taking another pull from his pint. “Let me guess…” He keeps his cup close to his mouth as he speaks to help conceal his words. “Seedy Magister type? Robes as red as the blood magic she is rumored to practice on her slaves?”
The woman grabs the glass the barkeep has placed in front of her with a soft smile and tosses a few coins on the counter before she turns her attention back to him.
“That’s the one.” She brings the glass to her lips, her eyes never leaving his.
“Lucky me.” he beams, shifting his weight and stepping away from the bar. “It seems we are here for the same thing.”
“Funny how that keeps happening.” She replies, stepping toward a small table that has opened close to the stage. Cida Ciconia’s voice swirls around them and mixes with the din of conversation between patrons. “So tell me,” she takes a seat and gestures at the empty seat across from her, “What do the Shadows want with one lowly Magister? I was under the impression your sights were set on someone more…prominent at the moment.”
Gareth runs a hair through his silver-white hair, a few loose strands falling into his eyes. He stares into his ale for a moment, the humor dropping from his face.
“This one’s personal.” He feels his jaw tighten and his fist clench around his cup. True, coming to Tevinter had been his idea, but he hadn’t ended up in Minrathous by choice. He had been captured just inside the border by some high born, Magister-backed slavers that jumped him the second his guard was down. The Shadow Dragons had found him not long after, setting him free and offering him a place amongst their ranks. They were the ones who were eventually able to track down the name of the Magister funding the slavers that took him, leading him to this very tavern tonight.
“Well, then,” The woman straightens in her chair, carefully scanning the room once more before turning back to him with a wink, “Let’s get you that mark.”
Gareth’s smirk returns and his grip loosens on his cup. His eyes dart to the corner of the room where the Magister sits and he watches as she laughs aloud at some joke or comment made by another member of her company. The woman across from him makes idle chit chat, distracting him just enough to maintain their cover and keep him from letting his hatred for the Magister cost them the job.
Eventually, the Magister rises from the table with a flourish and begins to make for the front doors. Gareth shifts in his chair and tilts his chin motioning for his table partner to follow his gaze.
“Looks like she’s on the move.” He begins to stand, carefully adjusting the dagger concealed in his sleeve.
“I’ll slip out the back, meet you around the side.” She reaches over and places a hand on his arm briefly before turning away. “Good luck!” She whispers over her shoulder as he stands there for a moment, watching her walk away before she disappears into the crowd, the slight clink of metal the only indication of her path.
He shakes his head and starts to make his way towards the exit, where his Magister mark is stepping out into the cool, night air of Dock Town, pulling her hood up to shield herself from the heavy rain falling from the sky. He pulls up his own hood as well and follows, keeping enough distance between them to avoid detection.
The Magister winds her way through the market, weaving in between the crowds effortlessly. Gareth pushes his way forward, carefully sticking to the shadows where he can, fidgeting with the concealed dagger now resting in his palm. She turns a corner, beginning to snake back towards the docks and his stomach churns.
He’s never liked the water, even Kirkwall the sea has always seemed ominous and threatening. He grits his teeth and pushes forward, ignoring the silent alarm bells that begin to sound in his head as the salty sea air hits his lungs. He watches as she slips into an alleyway and he quickens his pace - this is it, the chance for revenge he has been waiting for.
Pressing his back to the cool stone wall, he creeps forward to peer around the corner where the Magister disappeared when a hand grabs him by the collar and pulls him back. Brown eyes meet his gaze for a brief moment before the figure holding him leans forward, pressing her soft lips to his ear.
“It’s a set up, you’ve been made.” Her whispered words send a shiver down his spine and his eyes grow wide as he tries to pull away.
“What are you-” He tries to speak but the woman leans forward, her hands covering the sides of his head and she brings those soft lips to meet his, and the whole world spins. He slides his arms around her waist and returns the kiss feverishly, instinct telling him to trust her in this moment.
Around the corner, the sound of footsteps echo off the stone.
“He should be ‘ere!” One gruff voice calls, his breath coming in heavy pants.
“Is this the right place?” Another voice echoes across the night air.
“Are you questioning the Lady, now?” The first voice snaps and the second one whimpers.
“Well, what are we supposed to do? The elf didn’t show!”
There’s a brief moment of silence that falls in the alley and the woman pressed into Gareth finally pulls away. She looks up at him, a silent ‘told you so’ clear on her features. He rolls his eyes and mouths a ‘thank you’ to her, his arms still twisted around her.
“I say, we tell ‘er we got ‘em.” The first voice finally says. “I seen what she’s like when she’s angry, and I ain’t fixin’ to get on her bad side.”
“Yeah, alright.” The other concedes. “Let’s go. I’m gettin’ soaked out here!”
As the footsteps in the alley recede, the woman in Gareth’s arms finally pushes away. His arms fall to his sides and he feels a slight twinge of sadness at their sudden emptiness.
“The coast is clear.” She says, peering around the corner before turning back to him, frowning slightly. “Sorry about your mark.”
“It’s fine.” Gareth replies, his voice a little gruffer than he meant for it to be. He tries his best to staunch the anger rising in his chest - this woman most likely just saved his life, or at the very least kept him from falling back into the hands of slavers. He will have another shot to take her down, which is more than he can say if he’d been here on his own. He takes a deep breath and sighs heavily before looking back over to her. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it!” She winks. She steps forward, straightening out the wrinkles in Gareth’s collar. “This was fun, hopefully our jobs overlap again soon.”
“Who are you!?” Gareth says, his voice breathy. They have run into each other a handful times now, and before tonight have never exchanged more than a few flirty comments and compared notes. The woman chuckles and begins to walk back toward the Swan.
“It’s more fun if you don’t know.” She says over her shoulder. She offers him a quick wave and walks away, leaving him standing there, speechless, as the rain pours down around him.
He chuckles and runs his tongue along his bottom lip, tasting what remains of her before it’s washed away. With one final sigh, he heads back into the heart of the city. He may not have gotten the revenge he has desperately sought these past few years, but he still feels lighter somehow. He makes his way back home, hoping to whatever gods are listening that he runs into his mystery woman again soon.