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shannaraisles · 7 years

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Set in Darkness

Chapter: 22 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M (for language) Warnings: None Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Unwritten

The market in Val Royeaux was a world away from what Rory had been expecting.

It was so crowded. In the game, the city market had been virtually deserted, only a few people here and there. In reality, it was a bustling, busy place, packed with people going about their business, haggling with merchants, sharing gossip, passing comment on the arrival of the Herald of Andraste and the Inquisition presence in their streets. Only the nobles and merchants were masked; it was a relief to see the faces of the lower classes uncovered. There were a great many elves, too, but they might as well be invisible to the Orlesians, treated as little more than chattel. Slavery might be outlawed in name in Orlais, but the practice was clearly still in use. Someone had already tried to pickpocket her, an action that had resulted in the boy's humiliation as Helene boxed his ears for his trouble. Now Helene had the Inquisition gold on her person, and Rory had her coat buttoned over her belt, her bag slung across her body and held close to her front.

But despite all this, Val Royeaux was a beautiful city. It was clean and well-kept, the Mediterranean-like buildings brightened by wide windows and gaily-colored silks draped from the rooftops. The whole place put her in mind of Barcelona - bright and open, crowded with people who enjoyed a slower pace of life to the full. With her list and Adan's in hand, Rory and Helene spent much of the day making the rounds of the known merchants, arranging for the delivery of bulky items direct to Haven, and generally making themselves known to all those whose stock would come in handy in the months to come.

Rory also had a little personal shopping to do, still thinking ahead to the disaster that would befall Haven in the not-so-distant future. With Helene patiently walking around with her, she purchased two large packs, a moderate amount of hard tack, a bigger quantity of ready-made bandages, and a large jar of powder to purify water. When Helene questioned her curiously as they tucked all this into just one of those packs, all Rory said was that it never hurt to be prepared. Since she was a woman who was known to hoard moldy bread and maggots against any eventuality, her answer was accepted without suspicion, thankfully.

It was something of a surprise to follow the movement of the crowd and find themselves stepping into the eclectic mix of market stalls owned by various foreign merchants who had come to Val Royeaux to peddle their wares. Suddenly, the voices around her were in a mixture of languages, most of which only sounded familiar. She couldn't tell Antivan from Tevene, lost in the musical cacophony of haggling and conversation that seemed so much more friendly than the somewhat more formal cadence of Orlesian that filled the rest of the marketplace. There were fruits from Nevarra, spices from Antiva, leather-work from Ferelden, glass and intricate metalwork from the Free Marches, even unsettling icons and totems from Tevinter. Every nation was represented, and despite the fact they were on official business, Rory and Helene were happy to waste the rest of the afternoon wandering about to browse the stunning array of goods on offer.

Dipping into her dwindling supply of personal silvers, Rory treated her long-suffering escort to a couple of large peaches from a Nevarran merchant as they wandered through the market, both of them ending up with sticky hands and faces and not caring. A Ferelden trader gave them each leather wristlets worked with the symbol of Andraste, purely for being from Haven, and - not to be outdone - his Orlesian neighbor insisted on letting them wash their sticky skin behind his stall. Helene even managed to forget she was on duty long enough to admire the Tantervale goods as Rory paused to browse a book-stall, the soldier gazing longingly at the beautifully worked charms in metal and leather with one hand on her woefully light personal money pouch.

"They are lovely, aren't they?" Rory murmured to her as she rejoined her companion, tucking a small book of Antivan poetry into her bag.

Helene sighed covetously, drawing her hand back from one sweet bronze of a nug's head. "They truly are," she murmured in answer, dropping her fingers from her money pouch in disappointment.

Bronze and steel shone in the sunlight on the stall, worked into the aspects of animals, both real and otherwise. Dragons, wyverns, nugs, bronto, horses, dogs, lions ... they glittered on the dark fabric laid out over the stall, calling out to the two women as they mutually coveted the display. One in particular caught Rory's eye - a polished steel mabari in mid-stride that made her think of Cullen. He'd always wanted a mabari; she knew that from the Trespasser download. Should she act on impulse? Would he even accept it?

The Marcher tending the stall noticed their attention, scenting a sale in the air. "Fine charms from Tantervale, ladies," he declared cheerfully. "Finest worked by hand, you'll not find better. Ten silvers each - it's a bargain if I say so myself."

It was tempting, very tempting, but Rory only had twenty-two silver in her pouch, and she wouldn't dream of buying just one when Helene was so clearly enamored of that bronze nug. It would be cruel to do that to a woman who had been so patient with her. She sighed, touching the steel mabari regretfully even as she shook her head with a reluctant smile.

"Beautiful as they are, too rich for me," she apologized to the merchant, but he wasn't going to miss out on a sale if he could.

"I hear from your accent you're Ferelden," he said hopefully. "And by your badges, part of the Inquisition with the blessed Herald of Andraste. A poor believer I would be to charge such stalwart defenders of the faith an unfair price - fifteen silver for both charms, and a fine length of leather to wear them upon!"

Helen raised her brow curiously. "You're very eager to sell," the soldier commented mildly. "Perhaps they're not so finely worked as you claim."

"Madam, you wound me," the Marcher answered, but there was a gleam in his eyes as he engaged in the haggling. "Why, this fine bronze nug I could not let go for less than six silver, and the steel mabari, no less than eight."

"Which comes to fourteen," Rory pointed out with a faint smile of her own. She'd never had to haggle before; it was surprisingly fun. "Are you saying the leather thongs are worth a full silver on their own? We could make our own for far less."

"Ah, brains as well as beauty," he flattered her outrageously. "I would, of course, include the thongs for nothing but a smile. Six for the nug, eight for the mabari - twelve for both together, ladies, a bargain for you alone."

He got his smile as he named this price. It was probably still outrageously expensive, but this was an amount Rory could countenance parting with. She reached for her money pouch. "Twelve for both," she agreed, ignoring Helene's shocked intake of breath. "Each on separate leathers, please."

"For you, dear lady, anything," he declared, moving to string the two charms on a pair of brown leather thongs as Rory counted out his payment. "And should any friend or stranger admire them, remember this poor merchant and tell them his name is Aren Romarth of Tantervale!"

"Oh, we will," she promised with a low laugh, taking the two charms into her hand in exchange for the silver. "Thank you, Master Romarth."

"A pleasure, mistress." Romarth bowed to them as they stepped away, already turning to work his magic on another customer.

"You didn't have to do that," Helene hissed, her fingers closing over the bronze nug's head as Rory set it into her palm. "I will pay you back."

"No, you won't," Rory told her firmly. "It's a gift, Helene. For being so astonishingly patient with me today."

"I can't accept this, mistress," Helene tried to argue with her. "I've only been doing what the commander ordered, and it really hasn't been awful."

"Am I going to have to get stern?" Rory asked in amusement. "Take it. I'm not going to take no for an answer."

The soldier eyed her for a moment, finally drawing the little bronze charm to her belt pouch with a reluctantly pleased smile. "Thank you, Mistress Rory."

"Very wise," a new voice interjected, drawing their attention to a robed, masked man lounging in a doorway nearby. "When that one's determined to do you a good turn, there's no stopping her."

Rory frowned suspiciously. He spoke as though he knew her, but no one here should know her, not outside the Inquisition. "Do I know you?" she asked warily. Gods, if he does know me, I am monumentally screwed.

"You did once, little girl," the man said familiarly, reaching up to remove his mask, revealing two mismatched eyes, one of which was bloodshot and clearly made of glass. "You and your sister got me out of Harfoot when the Chantry came calling."

Oh, holy hell, Rory thought in a sudden panic. That bloody backstory is real here. The characters must have met hundreds of ... wait a second. She stared at him as the penny dropped. The village name, the bloodshot glass eye, the insistence on calling her little girl ... she did know him. She'd written him, years ago.

"Granthis Perivale," she said as the name came to her. "What are you doing in Val Royeaux?"

"You'd be surprised what the Chantry misses when it's right under their nose." The man chuckled gleefully. "Especially when the nobility patronize you." He replaced his mask, gesturing for them to come into his shop. "Better question is, what are you doing here? Never thought you'd leave Ferelden."

"Life doesn't always turn out the way you plan," she mused, stepping into his pungent store with Helene at her back, her mind working to remember the details of this incidental character that was apparently thriving and had forged his own place in the world she'd written him for.

Granthis Perivale, born in Wycombe in the Free Marches; elf-blooded human, self-taught alchemist and apothecary; forced to leave the Free Marches after inadvertently poisoning a nobleman and getting himself beaten for his mistake - that was where he'd lost the eye. The bloodshot glass was an affectation; Granthis was extraordinarily ugly even without it. Arrived in Ferelden shortly after the Blight was ended, and made a living selling penny preventatives and virility enhancers until the Revered Mother in Harfoot - a village Rory had made up - got wind of his activities. As she recalled, he had crossed the sisters' path when they'd smuggled him out of the village, past the templars who were searching for him. And had apparently decided to set up shop in Val Royeaux. How fascinating. How many other incidental NPCs of my own creation are wandering around Thedas autonomously?

"Actually, I joined the Inquisition," she said as Helene frowned. "Oh ... Helene, this is Granthis, an old friend of mine. Granthis, Helene - a new friend of mine."

Off came the mask again, showing off the man's grotesque grin. "Any friend of the little girl is welcome in my shop," he said charmingly. "Where's your sister?"

Rory still, thumped suddenly in the heart by the realization of who he was expecting to see with her. "Ria ..." She faltered, feeling Helene's hand touching her back as the words stuck in her throat. "She's dead, Granthis," Rory managed to say. "An accident, a few months ago."

The grin fell from Granthis' face. "Oh, little girl, I am sorry to hear it," he sympathized earnestly. "That's a hard blow."

She didn't know why the sympathy of someone who shouldn't exist outside her own imagination should touch her so deeply, but Rory found herself fighting the urge to break down and cry. It had been a while since she'd thought of Ria, guilt edging her grief as she swallowed hard. "Well, nothing can hurt her anymore," she said, her voice thick.

"True enough," Granthis agreed quietly. "And you're getting on, which is what she'd want. But you must have need of something, if you've come to Orlais with your Inquisition. Anything you need from Perivale's Preventatives?"

The brazen name he'd apparently given his shop made her laugh, pushing her grief to one side. "You actually called your shop that?"

"No, but I knew it would make you smile." The elf-blooded man grinned his ugly grin. "Found everything you came for, have you?"

Rory nodded. "I have, but if I'd known you were here, I would have come to you first," she told him, realizing that she'd written herself a valuable contact here. "Actually ... there is something you could sell me."

His good eye narrowed at her innocently expectant smile. "Why do I suddenly feel as though you're about to beggar me?" he asked suspiciously.

"As one healer to another ..." Rory eyed him with a hopeful glimmer in her gaze. "I could get a lot of use out of the recipe for your penny preventatives." In other words, please tell me how to make reliable birth control.

Granthis studied her for a long moment. "Got a mixed army, your Inquisition?" he asked finally. "And you still hopeless at birthing?"

"I'm a healer, not a midwife," she pointed out, blushing a little as she made this admission in front of Helene. "I'd never ask for your deepest secrets, Granthis. But I trust you to give me a recipe that will work. Otherwise I'm going to have to experiment, and that isn't likely to go well."

"Chantry won't like it," he warned, but he was already dipping his quill to write down what she had asked for.

"Chantry doesn't have to," Rory answered with a shrug. "A woman's body is her own domain, and every woman should have the choice without having to sacrifice what little pleasure she may find in the mess this world is in right now."

"Always knew you were a girl after my own heart," he said approvingly as he wrote. "I'll put the dosages down here, too. Every race reacts differently."

"Thank you." She turned to Helene, intending to ask for the pouch of Inquisition gold, only to find the woman frowning angrily at her. "What is it?"

"Killing babes in the womb," the soldier said in horror. "Stopping them being planted ... it's wrong."

Rory winced internally. "It's a choice that people have the right to make for themselves," she told her escort in a calm tone. "It's my responsibility as a healer to give them safe options. This is how I do that, Helene. It's better than letting them harm themselves in the hope that violence will work."

"You help people kill unborn children?" Helene's horror turned to vehement disgust in an instant. "I'll not help you." She turned on her heel and stalked out of the shop without another word.

"Well, that went well," Rory muttered, turning back to Granthis. "She might report you to the Chantry," she warned with a wince. "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head, dismissing her concern. "I'm protected," he assured her. "You, on the other hand -"

"- can talk my way out of whatever trouble hits me for this," she said confidently, though she wasn't entirely sure she could. "Unfortunately, she's got my allocated gold. I only have ten silver on me."

"You didn't really think I'd make you pay for this, did you?" Granthis asked in amusement. He straightened, handing her the parchment. "I'd memorize that if I was you. Probably best you destroy it soon as you can. Then it can't be used against you."

"You're probably right," she agreed reluctantly, tucking the parchment into one of the many pouches on her belt. "Thank you, Granthis. I hope you don't get trouble because of me."

"If it comes, I can handle it," he promised her. "You're a mite more fragile than I am."

"I'm too stubborn to be put down," she insisted, raising a smile to reassure him, despite her own quiet anxiety. "Take care of yourself, all right?"

"I always do." He smiled, waving her off as she left his shop.

Helene was nowhere to be seen. She'd apparently decided to wash her hands of the healer she'd been ordered to escort, purely on the basis that she disagreed with one aspect of Rory's job. The marketplace was still bustling, but there were less people around now, the stall-holders beginning to shut up shop for the day as the shadows lengthened in advance of nightfall. Rory sighed, hefting her pack up onto her shoulder as she moved into the dwindling crowd. Now then ... which way to the city gates?

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #helene #val royeaux #granthis perivale #a clash of opinions #lost in the capital

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