Chapter Text
RHÉLA
Summerday was fast approaching with Rhéla looking forward to the warmth of the sun. Though, the weather had yet to get that message. The air unseasonably cool and overcast, with the sky above her threatening to open up in a torrent of rain at any moment.
And here she was, stuck on a train.
Rhéla was well aware that crossing county lines was a risky - and honestly, a bit reckless - move for her case. She may have also failed to mention to the Sheriff back in Gwaren that her investigation would bring her across the Brecilian County line. But, she was desperate for her plainclothes assignment to wrap up; the sooner the better.
Illegal lyrium shipments were being funneled through Gwaren's seaport and the product being smuggled was impure which was killing those who used it in potions. A series of overdoses by mages and magic sensitives flooding the county. In fact, there was one day the month before where they had 13 lyrium related deaths in the central square.
It had been horrible to witness.
She shifted in the train seat, uncomfortable and somewhat annoyed by the human that sat beside her. He spread his legs wide enough that his knee pressed against her thigh. The seats were not small either. There was no reason for him to sit like that, she thought. Unless, of course, he had balls the size of a druffalo. The absurdity of the thought did cheer her up, a soft snort through her nose as she pulled up the text from her Carta contact, nervously checking the message again.
It had taken months for her to get on the trusted side of the Carta that worked through Gwaren, and even more time to decipher and learn their coded messages. It was only recently that the criminal enterprise historically run by dwarves began to employ those outside their kin. Notoriously, the Carta was filled with the Casteless and surface dwaves. Now, elves had been recruited into their ranks. Far less likely for an elf or a human to be flagged when crossing the county or country line.
The text directed her to Hafter County, which bordered her own jurisdiction, and she had figured out that "ID" was in reference to the Industrial District of Ostagar. From a quick internet search, she had pinpointed the alley in question, behind an old warehouse. Now, she just needed to slip into Ostagar unnoticed, make contact, and she would be one step closer to finding out the identity of the Foreman assigned to southern Ferelden.
"NEXT STOP: DUNCAN STATION, EAST OSTAGAR." The conductor's voice burst from the speakers attached to the wall of her train car. With a less-than-subtle nudge of her knee, she stood up and stepped over the man's legs. The irritated huff that came from him was unnecessarily satisfying, which caused a small twitch at the edge of her lips while she slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.
Rhéla briefly glanced at her watch - 2 hours until her meeting. More than enough time, she hoped. Her fingers fidgeted with the curls that spiraled from under her cap. She pulled down the front brim to shield her face. Then, she checked to ensure she had her badge safely tucked out of view, in an inside pocket of her jacket.
The train itself slowed to a stop, the chime ringing through the compartment as the doors opened. She was hit with the busy sounds of the city and overwhelmed with a wall of smells. Petrichor from the rain. A hint of chalky limestone, barbecue, and concrete. Sweet bitterness of the city paired with the clean, mineral smell that came from the storm.
With an exhale, slow and deep, she stepped off the train and onto the platform.
Welcome to Ostagar.
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As the sun rose higher in the sky, the cool dreariness of the storm was quickly replaced by an overbearing heat and humidity. The streets packed with people around her, the air weighed down on her skin. Suffocating. Rhéla slid off her jacket, draping it over her arm as she rushed down the stairs into the underground subway.
Three separate train lines later and she finally arrived at the Industrial District. The food smells from when she first stepped foot off the train were gone and the noxious scent of industrial chemicals overtook everything else.
A glance at her watch - 11:53 am. Close. Cutting it very close.
Rhéla picked up her pace, quickly crossing the street outside the subway exit. Weaving through the dense mass of people on their way to lunch. She felt her heart beating wildly in her chest the closer she got to her destination; a knot in her throat when she rounded the corner and spied the warehouse she had been searching for. Behind it, the alley she was meant to have her meeting in.
11:58 am. Right on time.
Rhéla strode down the cramped alleyway; embodying her persona for the meeting. Disillusioned elvhen woman. The background they made up for her was a street kid that came from the system - it was one of those backstories that they tried to keep close to her reality. Close enough that it had felt like her life was on display to the department during the initial briefing.
The meeting point was a loading dock behind the warehouse; ready for trucks to come in from the far entrance. A suspected - though now confirmed, she mused - business owned by the Carta. The building was brick and mortar, a style that Rhéla actually generally liked. The architecture in Gwaren felt modern, a vacation spot for the rich elite. Ostagar, however, had an old world feel. Like she was in a classic detective movie. All she needed was for the cloudy, rainy weather to return and maybe a trench coat with a pipe in the pocket.
In front of her stood three dwarves. One leaned against the gunmetal Ferex Paragon sedan with his arms folded over his chest. Light brown hair, a beard that was long enough that it could be tucked into his belt, and dark brown eyes. A large, and old, scar across his cheek that ended just below his eye. She could tell he was the one in charge, based on the almost reverential looks the other two gave him. That and the air of definite authority and arrogance that came with being a ‘big time’ crook.
From the department’s confidential informant, no one was able to get deep enough to know the regional Foreman's name. This guy was likely just some lesser second-in-command that did the Foreman's dirty work; meeting with prospective clients, employees and probably a murder or two. The usual.
Rhéla’s expression remained stoic. Jaw tight as she watched the man push up from the car. A hint of a classically dwarven tattoo peeked from under his suit jacket.
With a gesture of his hand the woman on his left - shorter than the others, blonde hair and striking blue eyes - approached Rhéla and did a quick pat down. Searching for wires, weapons, or anything out of place. The woman's hands moved down Rhéla's denim-clad legs. Her hand ghosted over where Rhéla’s badge lay hidden, but made no indication that she felt it.
Rhéla exhaled slowly, borderline praying to whatever god might listen, if any of them existed. When she moved, Rhéla noticed the slight bump at the back of her shirt, likely some pistol tucked into the dwarven woman’s belt.
Finally, once given the nod from the woman, the leader spoke, "Alright, pointy-ear, you bring the thumb?"
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GELDAURAN
A crackle of static cut in from the radio on the Sheriff’s shoulder, with Katie Mae’s voice echoing through the ambient noise from downtown Ostagar, “Sheriff-1, be advised suspicious persons in the alley behind Kal-Sharok Freight & Storage on Blightwatch Avenue. Caller reported four subjects loitering near the rear bay doors.”
Geldauran’s steps slowed to a stop on the sidewalk when he heard his designation. A quick glance up to confirm he was on Teryn Boulevard, which happened to be a few blocks from the Industrial District - and the warehouse. He responded quickly, already picking up his pace to head down the street. That usual slow, charming drawl hitched with the added movement, “Copy that. I am about two minutes out.”
Katie Mae responded with an undercurrent of her usual coy flirtations when she practically purred his name, “Backup is being dispatched to the location - use caution, Sheriff Arthridge -”
On any other day he might tease her back, but for the moment he rushed toward the Industrial District. The warehouse was on the edge of the district and easy to find. Kal’Sharok Freight & Storage was one of those open secrets known by law enforcement - and civilians, really. Owned and operated by the Carta in an attempt to launder money. Everyone knew it was run by the smuggling operation, but in his time as Sheriff no one had been able to compile enough hard evidence to get them on anything.
It did little to help that there were a handful of judges and lawyers sitting in their deep pockets.
There were puddles dotting the alleyway as he slowly made his way deeper, able to hear the muffled voices of the suspects at the end of the row. As they came into view, he first noticed the three dwarves. That was a common enough sight, especially in the Industrial District, but one of the men was wearing a suit. A nice one, or at least Geldauran assumed it was nice. Clean, well fitted. The other two dwarves dressed in all black and stood beside him like bodyguards.
The fourth suspect was not someone he expected - an elf. The dark copper color of her hair brought his attention there first, red as Ostagar clay. No, no. He corrected himself silently. Most people would find offense in their hair being compared to dirt. But, it sure was pretty, like she was dipped in a campfire glow. A much better comparison anyway; this woman looked like a spark of fire and warmth wrapped in sharp, dark edges.
With one minor misstep, he heard the soft splash of water from a puddle leftover from the morning rain, causing the elvhen woman’s head to snap in his direction. Their eyes met and he could practically feel her silent, yet weighted assessment of him as he walked into the opening.
Geldauran’s usual charming smirk graced his face, hands visible when he approached the group, “Afternoon gentlemen… ladies. Sheriff’s office -” Slowly moving his jacket to reveal the badge cliped on his belt, tapping it with his fingers. The sunlight that filtered from above made the metal shine, “Mind tellin’ me what’re you doin’ here?”
As he approached, Geldauran’s attention returned to the dwarf who wore the suit. His face familiar, heavily highlighted in the federal case files on Carta movements throughout Ferelden. It took a few moments to remember the name - Edric Rotpick. An alias of some sort, and second-in-command to the local Carta Foreman. Edric’s voice was gruff, but calm. Those who dealt with lyrium dust had a smokey quality to their voice, as if the lyrium byproducts were corrosive. “Just waiting for a friend, Sheriff.” Geldauran watched as Edric’s gaze flickered down to the gun on the Sheriff’s hip.
The elvhen woman shifted uncomfortably as he stopped in front of the group. Her hand moved to her pocket, and that is when he first noticed the soft glow of lyrium in her hand. Very small, not enough to sell for any real profit, but still a controlled substance.
Geldauran exhaled sharply through his nose, tension in his jaw as he motioned for the woman to turn, “Ma’am, I’m gonna have to ask you to hand me that lyrium you just tried to hide in your pocket. And place your hands on the hood of the vehicle.” He gestured to the three dwarves next, “You three - don’t get jumpy.”
Geldauran took the lyrium from the woman, holding it up to the light. Dancing reflections of magic and the weight of history in such a small piece of rock. A soft, discordant hum echoing in his ears. With a shake of his head, he slid the lyrium in his pocket before pulling the handcuffs from his belt.
The woman’s green eyes narrowed in his direction when he pulled her arms behind her back, the soft click of the metal handcuffs as they secured around her wrists. She appeared annoyed. Well, Geldauran was annoyed too. Mostly that the Carta were smuggling through his county, and the pretty red-head was somehow mixed up in all of it. He was not normally this distracted while doing his job. He was a professional. By the Void.
Her shoulders tensed, jaw tight. With how she carried herself, it showed that this was not her first rodeo in being frisked, though that was unsurprising if she was dealing with the Carta.
Edric held his hands up, palms forward while the Sheriff began to pat down the elvhen woman, “We have nothing to do with that lyrium.” Geldauran appreciated the careful wording by the man. That lyrium. The hint of the Carta tattoos from under his jacket did little to ease Geldauran’s suspicions.
Geldauran kept the trio of dwarves in his peripheral while standing behind the woman, his hands pressing against her clothing as they glided down her arms first, then torso. As his hand ghosted over her ribs, he felt a hard lump of something inside of her jacket.
With a cocky smirk, that drawl coming in hot, “Now, now. What do we got here -” He moved her jacket and pulled a metal star from the depths of the inside pocket.
Shit.
The gold and silver badge was heavy in his hand and he turned it over to see BRECILIAN COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE stamped around the edge, with the emblem for the City of Gwaren nestled in the center. An anchor to highlight the city’s reputation and history for being a seaport. He stupidly stared at the badge for too long, reading it more than once as he tried to process what he had stumbled into. The woman he was patting down was a Deputy for the next county over.
Even if he had not been a particularly good investigator - though he proudly would say he was - anyone could put these pieces together. She was working undercover, and if she were meeting Carta members in the open - the operation had been ongoing for a long time.
Double shit.
He quickly tried to school his expression with the realization. Geldauran knew he had messed up the moment he pulled out the badge, but his reaction time was downright awful. He placed that stern, no-nonsense Sheriff look on his face, the one he pulled together when the occasion warranted it, before subtly slipping the badge into his pocket with the hope that he had not blown the woman’s cover. Even if she was in his jurisdiction. That part would be dealt with later.
Unfortunately for both of the elves, Edric had a keen eye and was intelligent enough to put two and two together. The glimmer of metal caught the dwaves attention, and that is when everything turned to shit.
Edric wasted no time, on the move quickly. His raspy voice echoed in the alleyway as he ran, “NUGS!” Chaos erupted around them. The Carta had positioned sharpshooters on the rooftops for the meeting, the sound of bullets hitting the brick and metal behind Geldauran’s head as they rained down from above. He felt his heart race in his chest.
The elvhen woman made a soft ‘oof’ sound as Geldauran grabbed her by the center chain of the handcuffs and yanked her behind the partial wall nearby. He held her against his chest, the two crouching for cover. Bullets continued to shriek past their heads. He felt the warmth of the woman’s back against his chest and the stiff tension in her arms from being unable to defend herself.
A squeal of tires returned his focus to the fight, the shooters on the rooftops retreating as their boss peeled out of the alleyway in the sedan. Geldauran leaned around the corner to empty his clip into the car but it did little to slow it down. It was too late.
Once the dust settled, Geldauran tried to catch his breath. Head tilted back against the wall, pushing his cowboy hat forward a touch. In the distance he could hear the sound of running boots through the alleyway - likely his backup arriving.
The woman's movement against him brought him back down from the adrenaline rush, trying to wiggle her way away from his arm still wrapped around her torso. Once he let go, he was able to see her face quite a bit more clearly. Bright green eyes against that tan skin was striking. She was mighty pretty, but boy, she looked real pissed.
Geldauran gave her his usual charming smirk, and laid that drawl on a little thicker - just for her, “You know you got 2 less points on your badge than I do.”
It was a bad joke, a terrible one even. But he didn't care. He knew he needed to lift some of the tension, and maybe get her to stop looking at him like he had just pissed in her elfroot tea.
She rolled her eyes in response, still handcuffed. Definitely still mad, “You're an idiot.” She quipped back before she murmured under her breath to herself, “Why don't you just whip it out and measure it while you're at it.” Geldauran held back a laugh, watching a small furrow form on her brow. But at the edge of her lips was a small twitch, like she was trying not to smile. He could work with that.