Chapter Text
The slavers were unprepared for an invasion by four well-armed attackers. They had obviously not been challenged in their home since they won it off Gamlen. As soon as the group exited the cellar, Desmond noting both the incredible amount of dust and cobwebs as well as the significantly bare wine and alcohol rack, they ran into a small group of four slavers huddled around a card table playing a game of strip Wicked Grace. They died quickly, but Desmond was not with a party of assassins, and therefore their dying screams raised the alarm. The next couple rooms had people in various states of half-dressed and scattered weapons of whatever they could grab. One man wielded a broom as if it would save him from a sweeping arch of Carver’s sword.
The further into the Estate they went, the more they actually had to try to kill the slavers. They’d had more time to prepare. It still didn’t take more than thirty minutes until they’d cleared the entire house of slavers, Desmond’s Eagle Vision making absolutely sure there weren’t any hiding in wait for a chance to ambush them. The worst injury was a minor burn along Carver’s arm from a surprise mage waiting in the upper levels, likely the mastermind behind the whole operation.
Desmond handed off one of the healing salves on his person as Garrett looted the corpses. There was a grand total of one sovereign, twenty-seven silver, and forty-eight copper on all the bodies, but the real treasure was a large bronze key which unlocked a vault full of treasures. Desmond’s little magpie heart went wild at seeing the chests stacked in the room, but he restrained himself, allowing Garrett to take all the spoils to fund his mad expedition.
They found a wardrobe of extravagant clothing, chests of precious gems, and a pouch bulging with coins. Desmond picked through some of the documents hidden away in a safe, finding the deed to the Estate, some letters between Malcolm and a Templar named Ser Carver, and most interestingly, the Amell grandparents’ will. He did a cursory glance through the contents, eyebrows raising higher and higher with every word. He laughed slightly and stowed all the pages away, turning instead to find Garrett grinning in victory.
“That brings us to ten whole sovereigns for today, plus some change. What a good haul for day one, eh? And once we sell everything here, we’ll have even more. Fifty doesn’t seem so far away anymore.” Garrett’s joy lit up the small room, and Desmond rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in love with the idea of the expedition, and he had internally hoped the process of gaining the coin necessary would take longer, but he wasn’t going to mention anything.
“Well, while you’ve found money, I’ve found some gossip. Or at least something to hold over dear Uncle’s head.” He fished out the will and handed it over to Garrett, who read over it eagerly, Carver peeking over his shoulder.
“Oh shit,” Garrett breathed. “We gotta show Mother. I wonder if she’ll beat him up. That could be incredibly fun to watch.”
Desmond snorted and snatched it back. “Well, we have the deed to the place, but not the money to upkeep it. We could start moving in when we have time, but I worry that the Estate might be taken from us if we don’t pay taxes or whatever. I don’t know how it works in Hightown.” Desmond shrugged. “ But for now, let’s take what we can carry and go home. I don’t know about you, but I would love to see Gamlen get knocked down a peg or two.”
They emerged from the newly unoccupied Amell Estate into Hightown at sunset. People were scurrying into their homes, knowing that gangs roamed the streets at night. Specifically ones dressed like the city guard, making it impossible to tell friend from foe until someone was being robbed at sword-point.
“Hey Garrett,” Desmond called, “I don’t know who, but I’m pretty sure someone would pay you for getting rid of the gangs in Kirkwall. Not an easy task, and it will likely be an ongoing problem even after taking one out, but it’s something to consider.”
Garrett tilted his head in thought. “Well, how about we roam around for a bit, see if anyone attacks. Maybe we’ll find their base.”
Varric laughed, “If anyone attacks us unprovoked, they deserve their fate. Only an idiot would try for a team so visibly armed. Or the desperate, but there’s not many of those in Hightown.”
So Varric said, and yet not five minutes later, a pack of the false guardsmen surrounded them, obviously hoping there would be safety in numbers. They attacked in droves, much more of them than Desmond thought were attached to the gangs. They must have been going through a recruiting phase, as most of the opponents didn’t seem well trained or even remotely prepared for a real battle. Most likely seduced by the promise of coin and amnesty from the law.
The offers from the leaders of the false guardsmen could not save them from a knife to the face, however, and within ten minutes, the battle was over. Garrett laughed as the last one fell, a stark reminder to Desmond that he was now living in a barbaric time where it was more or less kill or be killed. He knew there would be no repercussions for killing so many people, other than the unfortunates that had to clean up the bodies, as Garrett couldn’t be bothered.
Varric downed a healing potion, grimacing at the flavor. Near the end of the battle, the gang members had gained a small amount of intelligence and headed for the squishiest member of their team. Carver was a heavy hitter with a long reach, Garrett had a layer of rock armor surrounding him which was more likely to chip blades than cause any harm to his person, and Desmond was impossible to hit and used the comrades of his enemies against them by way of human shields and his superhuman strength. Throwing people around like they were frisbees was incredibly satisfying, he found, though not very sportsmanlike. Varric, in comparison, was an archer. Although his crossbow, Bianca, had an incredibly fast reload speed, he still wasn’t great in close combat. He had used smoke bombs and evasion tactics, but that could only do so much against a determined opponent in heavy armor.
Desmond had quickly abandoned his own foes and protected Varric as much as possible, but the dwarf still sustained a few nicks and bruises. Nothing that a health potion or two couldn’t fix, and within moments, he was back on steady feet, the only remnant of his injuries being the blood and torn clothes.
Garrett started looting the bodies, around thirty in total, pecking through the wreckage like a magpie searching for something shiny. Desmond tied together some of the fabric from shirts and torn pant legs to create a few bags to carry their goods home to sell in the morning. Some things could be traded in Hightown, where the coin was better, but the merchants were more picky in what they would buy. The majority of their spoils would go to the vendors in Lowtown, where almost anything could be repurposed for something or another. Poverty occasionally created a form of innovation that constantly awed Desmond.
The world fuzzed into grayscale between one blink and the next. He scanned the area for enemies hiding in wait, and upon finding no one within the scope of his vision which meant him or his companions harm, he turned his eyes to the bodies strewn around, not wanting to miss something which might be important yet overlooked. He found one golden light and three of that magic green which was completely unique to this world. The golden glow of importance revealed itself as the location to the gang’s base, as well as the name of their boss. Underlined three times at the bottom of the paper was the warning ‘DO NOT FORGET! (you’ll look like an idiot)’. Desmond chuckled, then handed the note off to Garrett. This was his brother’s operation, and he got to decide if they raided the place tonight or not.
The three green glows, however, led him to a slightly tarnished bronze ring, a stone amulet encased in a swirling copper frame, and another, more ornate ring with gem dust folded into the metal giving it a glittery shine. All three of them had tiny runes inscribed with a delicate hand. Desmond focused his Eagle Vision harder, trying to see what sort of enchantments the jewelry contained, but he didn’t have much practice untangling all the information, and he hadn’t studied runes. But when he put on the tarnished ring, he felt slightly more powerful, like he would be able to hit harder. The other ring made him feel slightly rejuvenated, while the necklace gave him a sturdier feeling, like he could take a few more hits and walk out fine.
He hummed to himself, and then shrugged. He didn’t need any of that, but his companions would likely benefit. “Hey,” he called, “I got some enchanted accessories, if you want.”
The other three meandered over, and he handed them out based on what he thought they needed. Carver got the attack ring, Varric got the amulet, and Garrett became the proud new owner of a sparkling ring. Desmond was somewhat glad that the enchantments on that one matched Garrett’s needs, because Desmond didn’t think any of the others would be willing to wear what amounted to glitter. Granted, he didn’t know Varric that much yet, but Carver would find something like that demeaning, which was the cause of endless eye-rolls on Desmond’s part.
“Nothing for you?” Varric asked with an eyebrow raise.
Desmond smiled and shook his head, his brothers not saying anything. They knew about some of his gifts from the Isu, namely the strength and healing, as well as whatever the fuck was going on with his skin. They didn’t know about Eagle Vision and his limited future sight, and he didn’t think he would tell them until he got a handle on them both. He didn’t want people to expect him to perform on command, to think he was a cure-all magic eight ball or something ridiculous like that. So, until he knew exactly what he could do and what the limits of it were, he was going to keep it to himself.
“Des here is incredibly self-sacrificing,” Garrett lamented.
Desmond rolled his eyes, “You’re exaggerating. I just thought the enchantments would be more useful to you all, rather than me.” Garrett cooed and swung an arm around Desmond’s shoulder, rocking him back and forth. “Hey, fuck off,” Desmond said half-heartedly. He allowed the manhandling for a moment longer before shrugging off the clingy eldest Hawke. “Are we going to raid the base or not?”
They did in the end. Garrett finished looting the corpses and then they followed the rough map to what looked like an estate like any of the others in Hightown. Desmond cringed a little when he realized the door wasn’t even locked. He’d decimated enough headquarters in his life to know an unlocked entrance either meant the enemies were dumb as fuck, or incredibly sure of themselves, which could spell trouble. Unless they were the type of arrogant prone to mistakes.
Garrett, not one for subtlety in the least bit, slammed the door open and waltzed in like he owned the place. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at him. “Hello!” He started cheerfully, “This is a robbery!”
The gang of guardsmen pretenders, to their credit, immediately attacked. Desmond sighed, and threw himself into the fray, unhooking his dual tomahawks and throwing one into the neck of one of the charging opponents.
He swirled through the well worn dance of death, weaving in and out of range, throwing and retrieving his axes and various knives, and using his enemies’ momentum against them. He got lost in the haze, attacking everyone who came toward him until he was face to face with an incredibly angry gang leader, the one who the note identified as Captain Qerth.
Desmond got a brief flash of an arrow sprouting through the man’s throat before his vision cleared and the captain became whole and well. Desmond tilted his head and spread his lips in a mocking smile meant to provoke. Qerth fell for the taunt and charged with a shout. Desmond moved slightly to the left, and behind him came the twanging release of Bianca’s latch.
The shout became a gurgle of disbelief, Captain Qerth dropping his sword in shock and stumbling back a few steps as his hand raised to touch the arrow in his neck. Desmond knew it would be a slow and painful death if he didn’t help the man along. He raised his bloodied tomahawk and smashed it into Qerth’s skull with the aid of his inhuman strength.
Behind him, the battle came to a swift close. “Maker, I hate fighting indoors,” Carver complained. They had been in a large greeting room, but Desmond rather thought they could all echo the sentiment. Tight spaces did not lend well to easy maneuvers. Plus there was the heavily unpleasant scent of human waste from the corpses, now trapped within the building.
Desmond grimaced, surveying the scene and all the blood and other bodily fluids seeping into the carpet. This place would need some serious reworking before it was inhabitable again. He quickly shrugged it off as not his problem, and began scanning with Eagle Vision for anything interesting. Nothing popped out, so he left the spoils of battle to Garrett to further fund his mad expedition.
“You could help, you know,” Carver grumbled to Desmond who had taken up a post leaning against a wall, watching the three of them.
“I could, yes.” He smiled winsomely. “But that would be giving you my stamp of approval, and I don’t, so have fun fondling dead people. I’ll stay nice and clean over here.” Carver scowled and Desmond settled into place pointedly.
In truth, although he thought Garrett and Hawke were incredibly dumb for considering a trip into the Deep Roads, he couldn’t blame them. It was difficult for a Ferelden mage-in-hiding to find a job, especially one that would pay well enough to support a whole family. Garrett, despite his outward devil-may-care attitude, cared deeply. They all saw how the state of Gamlen’s house in Lowtown was slowly sapping the life from Leandra. Their mother had been raised as a noble who wanted for nothing, who ran away to a life of poverty for the sake of love, and had tried her best to make ends meet. She had made do as a simple farmer, but being so close and yet so far from her childhood made everything feel so much more real. She would walk past people she knew in her youth and they wouldn’t recognize her due to the peasant garb she wore. She would spend all day cleaning their little hovel, and within minutes the grime had seeped into the space again. They had all watched the hope drain from her every time her children came home from their work as an indentured servant to a smuggler and every time a templar looked twice at Garrett. Desmond knew Leandra had avoided cities because they reminded her too much of her time at the top of it all, and the fact that she was back in her hometown but watching from the bottom, well. He knew Garrett saw it as a personal failing that he couldn’t make life for Leandra more comfortable.
Then along came this expedition with promises of shared treasure and wealth among the explorers, and Garrett was sold. Carver, despite his reticence, had the habit of following whatever his older brother did, even though he would complain the whole time. So sure, Garrett and Carver could find a regular job, make some money, and still barely survive, or they could take a risk and potentially come out the other end with a better life.
Desmond understood, even if he didn’t want to. They weren’t doing this for themselves, at least not in full. Desmond knew he could support them all on the money he got from his work as a bartender and the quests he did as The Ghost of Kirkwall, but that was all he could do: support them. It would take much more coin than he had before they could even think of buying an estate in Hightown, let alone keep it. This expedition could set them up nicely if it panned out, especially if Garrett became a partner in the whole thing; he wouldn’t get paid grunt money, but actually get a share of the treasure, and that was incredibly enticing.
But it was also incredibly dangerous, and that’s what Desmond’s mind kept catching on. The Hawke family had already lost so much and he wasn’t keen on them losing any more. As the past had proved, however, Desmond was much more content with settling and keeping his head down than the rest of the Hawkes. Hiding and evasion, those were his skills. But Garrett would die before giving up the opportunity to see his family thriving and happy. So he would go on this adventure on the off chance it would pay off.
Desmond still hated it though, and he didn’t think that would change.
The three siblings parted ways with Varric at The Hanged Man and headed back to Gamlen’s house to stow their loot and confront their uncle about the will. Desmond couldn’t wait to see the greasy little man be brought down a peg, and maybe that made him a bad person, but the entire last year since he’d met Gamlen, the man had treated him in turns like shit on his shoe, like he was invisible, or like they were best friends. The last was only when Gamlen walked into The Hanged Man and wanted free drinks. Desmond did not like the rat bastard, and he had never pretended to. But, to Gamlen’s credit, he did still house and feed Desmond, even through their mutual dislike.
“I’m just saying,” Gamlen defended to an unimpressed Leandra when the three of them walked in. “Maybe you should get a job and pitch in some money. Food is expensive, you know.” While he wasn’t wrong, Desmond hated him just a little bit more at that moment. They all knew what Gamlen would do with that extra money, and it wouldn’t be for anything but the Blooming Rose and liquor.
“Honey, I’m home,” Garrett said with false cheer. “And I bring gifts!” He handed Leandra her parents’ will.
Gamlen peeked over her shoulder and Desmond watched in delight as the man’s face drained of color. “Ah. I think I have somewhere else to go.”
“Sit your ass down,” Desmond commanded pleasantly. Gamlen immediately dropped into a chair.
“They forgave me,” Leandra sounded faint as her eyes moved rapidly back and forth across the parchment. “I thought they hated me for leaving.” Garrett settled a hand on her back in support while Carver shifted back and forth uncomfortably. Desmond kept his eyes trained on their slimy uncle, watching his every move in case he decided to bolt.
“They left you everything,” Garrett said softly, then his tone changed. “I think you owe Mother every bit of coin you stole from her.” Gone was the lighthearted man from earlier in the day.
Gamlen sneered, “I do not. That money was rightfully mine. You were off doing whatever and I was here, taking care of them when they could barely move and wiping up their shit. I was the one who stayed, and yet all they could talk about was their precious Leandra. So what if I took the money? How was I supposed to know you would come crawling back here, begging for handouts? I owe you fuck all.”
Desmond thought the man had half of a point. If the Blight hadn’t happened, they definitely wouldn’t have come back. He still didn’t like Gamlen.
Leandra’s face went through the five stages of grief within the span of seconds, and then she squared her shoulders. “You’re right, you don’t owe me anything. I appreciate you housing my family for the past year, and I’m afraid I’ll have to rely on you for a bit longer while we settle into the Estate. I’ll speak with the viscount and get everything in order, and soon we will be out of your hair.”
Leandra’s composure knocked all the wind out of Gamlen’s sails and he deflated with a halfhearted scowl. “As if you could ever talk to him. You don’t have the reputation to get an audience with someone as important as the viscount.”
“Well then, I better get started.” Leandra turned and walked into her room, shutting the door with finality behind her. Desmond loved that woman.