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Chapter Text

The first spark of summer came like a blast of heat from an oven. Weeks of mild weather evaporated overnight, leaving behind a muggy hothouse in its wake. The sun beat down relentlessly, burning the necks and faces of those who ventured out without a hat. The air was unnaturally saturated, thick and heavy and longing for rain. 

The sweltering heat reminded Rhea of her childhood—or, rather, the ideas she had of her childhood. Rivain was crystalized in her mind, a pure landscape of white beaches and turquoise waves. Bright green trees and washed-up seashells on the shore. Gulls in the cloudless sky. Sun and heat and warmth and home. She couldn't be sure if her memory was true—she was a young child when her mother had brought her south—but she liked to think she was.

She liked to think she had once lived in a place better than, well… Denerim. 

Denerim stank in the summer. It stank all year, truth be told, but in the summer the stench putrefied. The foul reek sank into streets and cobblestones and buildings, saturating everything. Rhea half-wondered if it was the Maker's sign that this many people weren't supposed to be cooped up between walls like this. 

Rhea leaned against a wall in the market, scrunching her nose to evade the smell, though it did not help at all. A bead of sweat rolled down her spine. She tugged at the hem of her tunic, pulling it away from her body. The rough linen clung relentlessly to her sticky skin. 

"So, what do you think?" 

Daveth appeared beside her, arms folded, leaning casually against the wall. He had removed the arms off his tunic to compensate for the heat, showing tanned and freckled muscles. His shaggy hair, which he had conveniently forgotten to cut since the previous summer, was pulled up and out of his face with a leather cord. Sweat beaded across his brow.  

"That I'd give anything to raise a middle finger to Andrastian propriety and take my damn shirt off," Rhea said. 

Daveth raised an eyebrow. "That's an… oddly specific answer." 

"You asked me what I thought." Rhea lifted her heavy braid, rubbing sweat off the back of her neck. "It was on my mind." 

Daveth chuckled and nodded towards the market. A number of bright marquees sat in the middle of the square, their flags and streamers hanging limp in the stagnant air. Merchants called out over each other, competing to advertise their wares as customers flocked to the stalls. Street musicians busked in the corners, a cacophony of voices and strings and flutes filling the square with colourful sound. Mabari hounds ran in circles, chased by giggling children. The rich and the wealthy emerged from their carriages, fans in hand, their retainers holding parasols to shield them from the sun. The city guard watched over it all, their expressions stoic and devoid of laughter, their armour reflecting sharply in the summer sun. It hurt Rhea's eyes to look at them. 

The irony was not lost on her. 

"It's a good day," Daveth said. "All things considered." 

Rhea snorted as she watched a retainer hand a noblewoman in a turquoise dress a silver flask engraved with runes. It was dwarven, designed to keep the contents cold, perfect for a hot day. Rhea wasn't too fussed about the idea, but Babs was itching to get her hands on one. The noblewoman accepted it without thanks and drank. 

"If I could afford people to hand me cool drinks whenever I wanted, I'd come out here despite the heat," Rhea said. "And then when I had my fill, I'd go back to my plush mansion with its cold hallways and shaded gardens and bask in my self-importance." 

Her eyes narrowed as she watched the noblewoman hand the flask back to the retainer. The woman sauntered to the nearest marquee, her turquoise skirts billowing dramatically about her, and examined the jewelry on display. Her servants hurried to catch up with her, thrusting a parasol over her. 

"You really have no idea what nobles do when they're at home, do you?" Daveth said. 

"Don't need to," Rhea replied. "Don't really care. Imagining is good enough for me." 

"It's a lot more than basking in self-importance." 

"Like what? Lounging on a bed of gold sovereigns?" 

"Maker, can you imagine how uncomfortable that would be?" 

Rhea made a face and laughed. Daveth grinned at her and chuckled, eyes bright with laughter. 

A shadow loomed over them. Rhea saw a flash of polished silver and the sun's reflection pricked her eyes. She squinted, looking away and up into the face of the guard who stood before them. 

He was tall, his brow heavy and creased with lines, blonde hair falling slick against his forehead. "You," he said, scowling at Rhea. His hand hovered on the pommel of his sword. "Elf. What are you doing outside the alienage?" 

"Roasting like a pig in this weather," Rhea said. She glared up at him, brown eyes staring unblinkingly. "Ser." 

The guard stepped towards her. "Think that's funny, mouthing off like that?" 

"Not particularly," Rhea said. "Though I guess it's hard for you when you think any kind of talking I do to be 'mouthing off.'" 

The guard sneered and spat on the ground. "You—" 

"It's the heat, right?" Daveth said quickly, sliding between them. "You know how it is. Making everyone a little irritable, a little touchy—" 

The guard scowled at him. 

"I mean, even you can't avoid it! And I don't blame you—Andraste's ashes, you must be cooking in that armour. You'll be half-done by the time your watch ends, I'd wager—" 

The guard grabbed Daveth and slammed him against the wall, his gauntlets digging into his shoulders. Daveth winced, winded, his words knocked out of his mouth. 

"Shut up," the guard growled. "Or you'll be tasting steel, street urchin." He shot a look at Rhea. "You, too, elf." 

Rhea didn’t say anything, unmoved, eyes glinting in a mile-long glare. But Daveth nodded, raising his hands in a sign of surrender. 

"Understood,” he said. 

"I highly doubt that." The guard released him, drawing away. "I'm watching you. Don't cause any trouble." 

The guard walked away, wiping sweat from his brow and cursing under his breath. Daveth rubbed his shoulders where the guard had gripped him. Bright red marks dotted his collar bones. 

"Fucking fuck," Daveth swore. "Just for that, I'm gonna wreak more havoc than you can handle—ser." 

"He's watching us," Rhea said, eyes following the guard as he walked across the square. 

"Yeah, I can see that, Rey. Thanks." 

Rhea squinted, watching as the guard took up his post on the other side of the bustling market. She let out a hiss of breath. "This is going to be impossible. We should go." 

Daveth grabbed her arm. "Not yet. This is salvageable." 

"Daveth, this will do the Ravens no favours if we bring the whole watch down on our tails." 

"Why so little faith in me? I'm the best pickpocket in Denerim. And you're not a pickpocket if you get caught—" 

"You're just a thief, I know, I know." Rhea rolled her eyes, arms folded. "There's too many people, Dav." 

"All the better—more distractions." 

"Or eyes to spot you." 

Daveth smirked. "You're making it really hard for me to agree with you. It's almost like you're egging me on." 

Rhea put a hand to his shoulder and shoved. Daveth staggered backwards, that stupid grin still plastered on his face. "I—am—not," she said, hissing through her teeth. 

Daveth spread his hands, walking backwards. "Rey. Come on. Consider it a challenge." 

Sweat dripped down Rhea's back. Thirst crept into her parched throat—she couldn't remember when she had had water. Her eyes flickered across the market, at the woman in the turquoise dress, at her servants who drank from their water skeins. At the rune-encrusted silver flask, which now rested on the hip of her retainer. 

"Fine," she breathed. "Fine. Let's do this." 

Daveth's grin was infectious. Rhea couldn't help but smile, too. 

"I think this calls for a Slippery Fisk, don’t you?" Daveth said, winking. "Follow my lead."

Rhea snorted. "You wish." 

She let Daveth go ahead, remaining in the corner of the market, hands thrust deep into her pockets. A Slippery Fisk wasn't particularly difficult to pull off, given the right circumstances—one person would go in first, choose a target and create a distraction, something expected. While the crowd was busy with the first, the second person would slip by the true target and pilfer them blind. 

They'd named it after Fisk, the newest member of their crew, when he'd executed this tactic by accident and walked away with a pouch of emeralds straight from the Orlesian ambassador's pockets. 

Daveth strolled by the woman in turquoise, heading for the stall beside the jewelers. The crowd was thick, jostling people to and fro, and he had no trouble bumping into her as if by accident. Rhea watched, smirking as the scene unfolded before her, her keen elven ears picking up every word. 

"How dare you put your hands on me, you wretch—" 

"I didn't! You walked into me!" 

The noblewoman continued to screech, indignant that a ruffian could breach her personal space so quickly and easily. Daveth held up his hands, pleading innocence, bowing multiple times, but his apologies fell on deaf ears. The woman's retainers crowded around her, pulling Daveth away even as she called for the guards. Daveth batted them away, doubling down on his insistence that it was an accident. The whole market turned, eager to observe the ensuing drama as the noblewoman called for the guards. 

Rhea joined the crowd as it moved towards the jeweler's stall. She fell along with the tide, slipping unnoticed between the onlookers, creeping towards the retainer with the silver flask. Finally, she was pushed out into the front line of those watching the scene. She kept a careful eye on Daveth and bumped up against the retainer. 

"What's the matter here?" 

The guard who had confronted them before arrived, pushing his way through the crowd. His expression went flat as he caught sight of Daveth. 

"Ser Caspian! This man accosted Lady Perenelle—" 

"If you call an accidental bump accosting, then I suppose so," Daveth shot back. "But then again, what else can you expect when you come to the market on a hot, crowded day, my lady? If you wanted to avoid rubbing soldiers with the rank and file, then perhaps you should have stayed home." 

"I have a right to go where I please, when I please—" 

"And what about my rights?" 

Caspian seized Daveth's shoulder. "You again. I thought I told you not to make any more trouble." 

"I'm not the one who threw a tantrum about getting bumped in a crowded square," Daveth said. 

Rhea's fingers touched the flask at the retainer's hip. He threw a look over his shoulder, catching her eye. "What?" 

"Sorry, sir," she said, bowing her head. 

He sighed vehemently and turned back to the commotion his mistress was making. Rhea's fingers latched onto the flask at his hip and unclipped it. He moved towards the lady in turquoise and the flask fell free into Rhea's hand. It was hard and delightfully cold. She stashed it in her pocket. 

She looked up to the sound of more shouts and yells and Caspian grasping Daveth by the scruff of his neck. He pushed him away from the stall and viciously backhanded him. The crowd jumped back as Daveth fell, skidding across the cobblestones. The force of his fall scraped a long, dark red mark across his forearm. 

Rhea ran to his side and helped him up. "Come on, Dav," she said, playing up the urgency in her voice. "Let's go. Let's just go—" 

"Listen to your friend, urchin," Caspian said, drawing his sword. "I don't want to see your face around here again." 

"Yeah, yeah," Daveth said, spitting blood. His lip was split. "I'm going, I'm going—" 

Rhea pulled him to his feet and they hurried away, Daveth wincing from the pain of his fall. She could feel the eyes of the crowd on them as they fled, Daveth limping as he leaned on her—she wasn't sure if he was playacting or not. As they reached the edge of the market, the crowd lost interest. Rhea pulled Daveth into a sheltered alleyway to catch their breath. 

"That wasn't exactly a Slippery Fisk if you ask me," she said. "More like a Messy Fisk." 

Daveth wiped away blood from his lip. "Yeah, well, you can't expect things to go as expected. Still think we should haven't done it?" 

"Undecided." She pulled out the rune-engraved flask and balanced it in her palm. 

Daveth's eyes lit up. "Good choice," he said. "Here's mine." He pulled a jewel-encrusted pin out of his pocket—gold, with emeralds and sapphires shapes to look like a butterfly. "Swiped it off a certain lady when she was too busy yelling at me. Funny how making someone angry makes them entirely unaware of what's going on around them." 

"Even if it's worth the split lip?" Rhea asked. "And that guard—whatever his name is—Caspian—he's going to remember you." 

Daveth shrugged. "He's going to remember a dark-haired street urchin in ragged clothes. It's one of the benefits of having a nondescript face." He paused. "He might, uh, remember you, though." 

Rhea frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"That you're not particularly nondescript?" Daveth spread his hands. 

Rhea's eyes narrowed. 

"I mean you're memorable," Daveth continued. 

"Stop." 

"I mean you're pretty." 

She punched his shoulder. "Shut up, Dav." 

"Ouch!" Daveth made a face. "What?" he added, rubbing his shoulder. 

Rhea blew loose hair out of her face and scowled. "Nothing. Come on." 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah—" 

She turned to leave the alley and walked right into glistening plate armour attached to a curled lip, sweaty blonde hair and angry blue eyes.    

Caspian. 

Shit. 

"Thieves and troublemakers," he said, eyes scanning the stolen objects in their hands. "I knew you were up to something, that scene in the market was poorly played—" 

"Maker's balls!" Daveth swore. "That was some of the finest acting ever seen in Denerim. I'd almost consider taking up mumming—" 

Caspian drew his sword. "Does that mouth of yours ever shut up?" 

Daveth gripped the stolen pin as he raised his hands, backing away further into the alley.  

"Not really," Rhea said. 

She darted behind him and gave him a swift kick in the knees, sending him sprawling. Daveth swiped his foot in front of Caspian’s face, kicking dirt into his eyes. Caspian spat and spluttered, cursing with every swear he could think of as he clawed through the dirt. 

“You fucking rats, by the Maker I’ll gut you when I get you—” 

Daveth opened his mouth to undoubtedly try to taunt him and Rhea grabbed his hand. She pulled him from the alley, footsteps thundering along the dirt path, panting as she passed through the thick, muggy air. 

They burst out into the market, sweat slick between their palms, and fled.

Chapter Text

Rhea and Daveth ran, hand-in-hand, pulling each other across the market, swinging past the Chantry and out onto the streets. Rhea’s ears—keen as always—picked up Caspian’s angry shouts and a call to the guard, the thunder of armour boots on the cobblestones and the heavy panting of pursuit. A bubble of laughter of laughter escaped her lips as she looked back over her shoulder, catching the bright pinpricks of reflective sunlight on the guards’ armour as they pushed through the busy market. Her sweaty hand slipped in Daveth’s grasp, but he clung to her, firm and familiar, tugging her abruptly down a back alley between two ramshackle apartments. 

A wet splatter fell from above and Daveth pulled Rhea back sharply, missing the mess. He swore angrily at the woman above, who retreated with her chamber pot and slammed the window shut. They careened down the alley regardless, leaping over the mess in the dirt, disappearing out of sight as Caspian and the city guard barreled down the street. 

Rhea listened as Caspian shouted at people in the streets, desperately urging someone to tell him where these two unkempt, smelly urchins went. She grinned, laughing at his confusion, her hand squeezing Daveth’s—and barreled into the end of the alley. 

There was nothing but walls and shadows and the sky far, far above them. 

“Ah, shit,” Daveth said. “Wrong alley.” 

Rhea’s eyes narrowed. She let go of Daveth’s hand. “Wrong alley?” 

“This isn’t the one with the shortcut,” Daveth said, running a hand over his chin. “It’s the one—” 

“With a dead end?” 

“How about the one with three walls?” 

Rhea rolled her eyes. “Maker, Dav.” 

Her ears pricked up. She heard Caspian’s voice bellowing—he was gripping someone by the shoulders, an old man maybe, shaking him, demanding to know which direction she and Daveth had gone. And then there was the distinct clink of armour, the heavy tread of the guards’ footfalls as they headed into the mouth of the alley. 

She put a hand on Daveth’s shoulder. “Caspian’s coming.” 

“You sure?” Daveth was out of breath. He wiped sweat from his forehead. “You sure they aren’t just skulking about, checking things out—” 

Her hand gripped his shoulder. “I can hear them, Dav.”  

“Okay, okay. I believe you. I promise” He drew away, pushing his hair out of his eyes, looking up and down the alley. “A way out, a way out… There’s gotta be a way out—” 

Rhea followed his gaze. There were no windows that looked out onto this corner of the alley, but there was more than one plank of wood sticking out from the sides of the ramshackle apartments. The surface of the walls were craggy and uneven. With some luck—or a lot, if she was being honest with herself—they had their way out. 

She tapped Daveth on the wrist. “There is,” she said, pointing. “Up.” 

Daveth stared. “Rey, I… Well.” He looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Shit.” 

Rhea pushed him out of the way, reached up and gripped the nearest plank of wood. She pulled herself up, grunting and sweating, feet scrambling against the wall as she looked for a foothold. Eventually she found a crack in the wall, enough to steady herself. She clung to the side of the wall and looked down, grinning. 

“I don’t know if you’re a genius or an idiot,” Daveth said. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Rhea said as she reached for the next handhold. She panted with exertion, sweat trickling down her back. “Just as long as we get away.” 

She climbed, body aching as she pulled herself up inch by painful inch. Daveth followed her path, cursing under his breath. Rhea’s arms burned, muscles sore from the exertion, her skin baking in the too-bright sun. She reached the top, one hand curling around the edge of a slate to pull her onto the roof— 

And let go, hissing with pain. 

Rhea dropped a foot, clinging onto her precarious hold, cursing the summer heat and the sun roasting Denerim’s roofs. She kicked furiously with her legs, desperately scrabbling to find a foothold, and kicked Daveth squarely in the face. He yelped in pain. 

“Fuck—shit—damn—” 

Rhea’s feet found their hold. She steadied herself, gritted her teeth and reached for the slate, preparing herself for the blast of heat. Touching the roof was like touching a hot stove, but Rhea ignored the pain and pulled herself up. Her sweaty hair stuck to her neck, plastered against her hot skin. 

“Andraste’s fucking teeth!” Daveth swore. 

Rhea collapsed on the roof and rolled onto her stomach, offering a hand to Daveth. 

“Fucking Maker fuck—” 

“Dav,” Rhea interrupted, watching as he clung to the wall. “Take my hand.” 

“Fucking bullshit, fucking Voidspawned bullshit—” 

“Dav.” Rhea waved her hand in front of his face. “Take my hand.”

He looked up, squinting in the bright light, and grasped her hand. Rhea gripped him tight, calloused palm to calloused palm, and yanked. Daveth’s cursing vanished into wordless grunts and pants as she pulled him onto the roof. He collapsed beside her, lying flat on his back, heels dug into the slates of the roof to keep him from sliding off. 

Rhea wiped sweat from the back of her neck and grinned. 

“Uggghh,” Daveth panted. “I need… to catch… my breath.” He sniffed, brushing sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. “You’re completely… insane, you know that… right?” 

Rhea perched beside him. “What is it Babs says?” she said. “Madness is the sign of genius?” 

“Something like that,” Daveth said. He closed his eyes, chest heaving. “But I think… she also said it was some ancient proverb some ancient Paragon spouted and you can never trust the word of a Paragon.” He chuckled, his laughter disappearing into a cough. 

Rhea raised an eyebrow. “You an expert on Paragons? You got secret dwarven blood no one knows about?” 

“Ha! Maybe that’s why I’m so short.” 

“Compared to me, you’re not.” 

“You’re not short, Rey.” 

“I am.” 

He cracked an eye open and looked up at her. “Nah,” he said, patting her cheek. “You’re not. Completely average in height.” 

Rhea smile, raising an eyebrow. Daveth sat up, stretching his arms, then clasped his hands around the back of his neck. He tilted his head up, baking in the hot sun. Freckles stood out on his face, splashed across his nose. 

She waited. 

He glanced at her. “What?” 

“You didn’t say it,” she said, disappointment creeping into her voice. 

“Say what?” 

“The thing you usually say whenever you want to piss me off.” 

He coughed. “Ah, Rey, we’re, uh, we’re on a roof? Pissing you off is the last thing I want to do.” 

“Fine, wrong term,” she huffed. “You didn’t say the thing you usually say when you want to tease me.” 

He caught her eye. “Why would I want to tease you? You get pissed when I tease you, and, like I said, we’re on a roof.” 

“If you think I’d actually push you off—”

“Wouldn’t put it past you—” 

“Ugh.” Rhea sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “You are… terrible. Absolutely terrible.” 

Daveth grinned, chuckling as he stretched out on the roof, hands folded behind his head. “I am and I always will be,” he said. He closed his eyes, basking in the sun like a stray cat. In the humid city heat, his dark hair curled pleasantly around his ears. Rhea watched him, taking in his angular features—the strong jaw, the sharp nose, the breadth of his chest. In the bright sun, he almost seemed to glow. He was as grimy as she was, but there was something deeply attractive about him. Maybe it was the way he lounged on the roof, maybe it was the effect of another close shave with the city guard, maybe it was her own light-headedness— 

Or maybe he was simply well and truly attractive. 

Damn it. 

“You know what I was thinking?” Daveth said. “What I wanted to say but didn’t.” 

“No.” Rhea pulled her knees into her chest, clasping her hands around them. 

“You may be average in height,” Daveth continued, “but that’s the only average thing about you.” 

She snorted. “What kind of pick-up line is that?” 

“A very bad one,” Daveth replied. “Why d’you think I didn’t say it?” 

She nudged him. “You just did.” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t need to, did I?” He chuckled, shaking his head as he closed his eyes. “Do you hear Caspian?” 

Rhea listened. “No. Maybe I should check—” 

He grabbed her hand, clasping it tight. “No. If they’re down there, they’ll see you if you go poking your head over the edge. Stay here. Just for a moment. I… I only need a moment, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Daveth let go of her hand and rested his palm on his chest, through the open collar of his tunic and over his heard. Rhea held her knees tight. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and it wasn’t from the climb onto the roof. It was stupid to stay here, stupid to be distracted by her thoughts, but she couldn’t help herself. Her eyes flickered over him as he basked in the sun. 

She wanted to kiss him.

She wanted to kiss him long and hard as they baked on this roof in the hot summer sun. It was indulgent—they were far from safe. Caspian could be in the alley below, and though Rhea had her doubts, there was a chance he was smart enough to realize where they had gone. They needed to move, to run the roof-tops, flee far enough to sink into Denerim’s crowds and become anonymous.  

They didn’t need a romantic sojourn on a roof. 

They didn’t need a romantic anything. 

They were… What? 

Friends. 

Close friends. 

Friends who, on occasion, fucked.    

Her stomach clenched. 

Maker, damn it. I—  

Rhea jolted out of her thoughts as a thud of footsteps and angry voices filled the alley below. She clutched the hot roof slates, heart in her throat, as she listened to the city guard trash the alley below. She poked Daveth in the stomach and pointed to the edge of the roof where they had climbed up. He sat up silently, tension in every muscle. 

“Caspian, ser! They’re not here. There’s no sign of them.” 

“They came into this alley, they can’t have disappeared.” Caspian’s voice was sharp and hot. He sounded as exhausted as Rhea’s arms felt. “What do you take a couple of street rats for? Mages who can vanish into thin air?” 

“I don’t know, ser. Maybe. Stranger things have happened in this city—” 

Caspian grunted and kicked something hard. Debris? The wall? Rhea couldn’t tell from the sound alone.

“Ser—” 

“Shut your mouth!” 

Below, the guards went silent. Rhea waited, shallow breath barely passing her lips. Her hand touched Daveth’s and they shared harrowed looks. 

Just go, Rhea thought desperately. Just go away. We’re not here. We’re gone. You lost us. Give up— 

She slipped. Aching muscles gave way and she slid down the roof, hurtling towards the edge. She clutched at the slates, desperately scrabbling for a hold, her body clattering against the roof as she fell. 

Shit! Shit shit shit— 

“Rey!” 

Daveth grabbed her by the arm. Sharp pain flared in her socket as Daveth tugged her back from the edge. 

“They’re on the roof, Vas!” Caspian yelled triumphantly. “They’re on the fucking roof!” 

Rhea swore. She dragged herself up the roof, scrambling along the slates. 

“Vas, get your bow! Shoot them down! Shoot them!” 

Rhea balanced precariously at the top, glancing down into the void of the alley below. Caspian found her, his face red, anger in his eyes. Beside him, his subordinate held a bow and nocked an arrow on the string. He drew.   

Vas released the arrow. It shot up and lodged itself between the slates. 

She made a rude gesture, then turned and ran. 

Daveth mimicked her and followed. 

It wasn’t their first time running the rooftops of Denerim. There was a trick to it, a knack both Rhea and Daveth were honing, a tool in their ever-growing toolkit for thieves and brigands. As long as she didn’t think about what she was doing, as long as she didn’t consider how much it would hurt if she fell, Rhea could keep her balance. When she ran across the rooves, she thought of her ancestors—fleet-footed warriors freed by their grace. She pretended she was one of them, running in the woods, through the eaves of a great forest (she didn’t know if ancient elves did run through the treetops, but she liked to imagine they did). She didn’t know what Daveth did or thought when he ran the rooves—if he thought anything at all—but he kept pace with her. 

They crisscrossed the dilapidated apartments, scrambling and scuffling, scraping and sliding. As they moved east towards the harbour, the rooves began to slope more and more, becoming precarious to run across. Rhea threw herself from one roof to another, leaping across a gap and sliding down the other side. She skidded to a stop at the edge of the roof, then crouched down and slid herself over the edge. She gripped the slates, cursing under her breath, and let go, dropping into a pile of muck and hay that had been swept off the street. She stood up, body aching, and brushed herself off as Daveth landed beside her. 

“Think we lost him?” Daveth said, brushing hay out of his hair. 

“I don’t know,” Rhea replied. “Come on.” 

They stumbled out of the alley and into a lane. Passing folks grumbled and swore at them as they brushed by, pushing their way out into a wide street. They were on one of the larger thoroughfares. The crowd ebbed and flowed in the sunbaked street, jostling to and fro as it made way for guards trotting by on horseback. Carriages plugged the road, their aristocratic riders poking their pale faces out the window to shout about the inconvenience of being held up. Horses nickered and whinnied, their long tails swatting at flies. Travellers on foot shouted at each other, jostling their way up and down the cobblestones. 

Rhea and Daveth fell in step with the crowd. 

“There’s too many people, Rey,” Daveth said, a line creasing his forehead. “We should double-back—” 

“It’s fine, Dav,” Rhea said, slipping between a mother and her trio of wailing children. “Crowds are good cover.” 

“Crowds are a shitty escape route at best,” Daveth argued. “And how you get caught at worst.” 

Rhea shook her head and pushed further down the street. “What I wouldn’t give for a cloak,” she said, gazing at a pair of arguing Antivans in bright green cloaks near the edge of the road. She wondered what they were doing so far away from the harbour and the market—usually foreigners didn’t stray far from either place. As she watched, one of the Antivans shifted his cloak and Rhea’s eyes caught the glint of something gold.   

“I’d suffocate in a cloak if I wore one now,” Daveth said, wiping sweat off his forehead. “Maybe some people want to fry their insides.” 

“It’s for cover, Dav,” Rhea said as the crowd pushed them closer to the Antivans. “Throw on a cloak, pull up the hood, and no one can tell you’ve got pointed ears.” 

“If it’s winter, sure,” Daveth replied. “Do you see anyone else with a cloak? Or a hood? Put a right target on your back, that will.” 

Rhea sighed, rolling her eyes. “It was an idea,” she snapped. “Since you’re out here, panicking in a crowd—” 

“Do I look like I’m panicking to you?” Daveth said. 

They were feet away from the Antivans now, their bickering now the loudest thing Rhea could hear in the cacophony of the thoroughfare. Rhea’s eyes swept over them, taking in the glimmering rings on their fingers, the gemstones in their ears and the jewel-encrusted daggers at their hips. They dressed like nobles but spoke like sailors. 

Antivan Crows, perhaps? 

She couldn’t be sure. Maybe they were merchants new to their wealth. 

“You’re always panicking,” she said. 

“I am not!” 

“That doesn’t make it sound any better, Dav,” she said, stepping backwards. 

She stumbled into the Antivans. They spun, cloaks swirling around them as she entangled herself between them. They snapped angrily at her, dark brows glistening with sweat, speaking furiously in Antivan. She backed away, pressing against Daveth, hands clasped in front of her as she bowed her head apologetically. 

“Perdón, señor,” she mumbled in broken Antivan, making herself as small as possible. “Perdón—” 

The closest man gestured angrily and pushed her away, shoving her back out into the street. She slipped between two women, Daveth close behind, and made her way to the other side of the thoroughfare. She pushed out through the crowd and backed into the shaded wall of a nearby building. The brick and mortar were hard and rough through her thin tunic. 

“Very clever, Rey,” Daveth said, standing beside her and folding his arms. “I thought we were supposed to be escaping, not pillaging half of Denerim.” 

“Well, I couldn’t get their cloaks, see,” Rhea said, smirking. “But I could get something else.” 

She pulled out a thick leather pouch, embroidered in green and gold. 

Daveth threw back his head and laughed. “You little minx.” 

“Now Babs can’t complain,” Rhea continued, grinning. “Today’s turned out to be more profitable than I thought, even with Caspian breathing down our necks.” 

“I seem to remember you wanted to quit early,” Daveth said. 

“Shut up.” 

“‘This is going to be impossible,’” Daveth said, pitching his voice up in a clear mimic of her. A rather good one, truth be told. “‘We should go.’” 

“Stop.” 

“‘This will do the Ravens no favours—’” 

“You’re such an ass.” 

“‘There’s too many people—’” 

She pushed her hands into his shoulders, shoving him against the wall, hard. She exhaled, long and slow, brown eyes glimmering as she held him there. Daveth’s eyes were wide. He looked her up and down, hands gently resting on hers, that infectious grin plastered on his face. 

“Rey…” 

“Yeah?” 

He glanced over her shoulder, eyes hardening. His smile faded. “Caspian’s here.” 

She let go and spun around. She saw the distinctive glimmer of the watch’s armour further down the street as Caspian and his men barreled through the crowd. 

“Cathaire Street,” Rhea said. “It’s just up ahead. Now.” 

They jostled through the crowd, slinking along the edge of the thoroughfare. Rhea pressed onwards and the throng pressed back, throwing her against the wall of a building. She scraped her arm against brick and mortar, the long wound red and angry. She ignored the flaring pain and barreled onwards, forcing her way towards Cathaire Street. As soon as she reached it, she seized Daveth’s hand and pulled him down the road, tripping over the cobblestones in her haste. 

Caspian spotted them--she wasn’t sure how—and she heard him getting closer, his voice echoing loudly above the crowd. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought it amplified by magic. Cathaire Street was less packed than the main thoroughfare, and Rhea swiftly disentangled herself from the throng. As soon as she was free, she ran, thundering down the road. 

An idea had sparked when she saw the Antivans. Caspian was persistent, but even the most tenacious dogs could lose a scent. If she could get to the harbour— 

“Where… where are we going, Rey?” Daveth panted, running beside her. 

She skidded to stop and tugged on his hand, pulling him up a lane. “You’ll—see—” 

“Sounds like you have an idea—” 

She chortled. “Better than yours!” 

“Of… course it is! I thought… We already established that out of the two of us… you’re the genius!” 

Rhea grinned and raced down the lane, skidding out onto another street. They were deep within the city now. The street was narrow and ran parallel to the Drakon River, which cut its way through the middle of the city. She frowned, swearing under her breath. The street was as busy as the main thoroughfare, choked to the brim with angry, sweltering people. But they had no choice now—they couldn’t turn back. Caspian was close. 

Rhea pushed through the crowd, pulling Daveth behind her. They squeezed between two cloaked men, shouldering them out of the way as they scowled and shouted obscenities in heavy Orlesian accents. 

Rhea’s feet caught on the loose cobblestones and she tripped, pitching forwards, hands outstretched—    

Daveth grabbed her by the back of her tunic, pulling her back as she fell towards the river. Rhea staggered, regaining her balance, and glanced back to thank him. She spotted Caspian’s armour glinting through the crowds like a beacon as he forced his way out of the lane.   

Shit. So soon? How does he keep up with us? 

Rhea whirled, looking left and right. All she saw was an ocean of people. Sweaty, angry, unfriendly people who pressed up against each other as they made their way through their streets on whatever business had forced them outside on a sweltering day. The flow of people pushed them towards Caspian. They would never be able to fight against the tide of people and escape this way. 

Shit shit shit.   

Her feet curled against the edge of the walkway. She looked down into the swirling, dark waters of the river, watching the grimy water ebb and flow.  

“Shit,” Daveth muttered. “Rhea—” 

She glanced at him, smirked—and dove off the walkway. 

Rhea plunged into the river, the cold water knocking the breath from her lungs. She spun beneath the surface, bubbles from her entry trailing after her movements, and opened her eyes. They stung from the saltwater, but she ignored them as she searched for Daveth. A moment later, a stream of bubbles erupted across her vision as he jumped into the river feet-first, re-orienting himself and swimming towards her. They surfaced together, gasping for breath. She faintly heard Caspian’s voice cutting through the chaos of the crowd above, took a deep breath, and sank beneath the surface. She swam with the current, Daveth in tow, following it out towards the bay. 

They swam as far as they could underwater, surfacing when they needed air. If Caspian had an inch of wit, it wouldn’t take him long to figure out what happened to them. But the river stank, and Rhea doubted he would go the lengths he needed to fish them out. Denerim was a Ferelden city, and any Fereldan worth their salt knew that even mabari hounds lost their game when the scent crossed water. 

The same was true for city guards. Even the watch had to draw a line somewhere. 

Rhea swam. Beside her, Daveth pulled long, languid strokes. It was difficult work. Her clothes and shoes pulled at her, her legs weighed down by the dagger strapped to her hip and the stolen pouch and flask in her pockets. But she kept going, pushing herself forwards with every stroke. Eventually, the river opened, its wide mouth flowing into the bay. The old, dilapidated buildings that lined the river slowly became fewer and fewer, then disappeared entirely. The walkway turned into a gravel path leading down to the shore, where a ramshackle dock squeaked and creaked as it shifted to and fro in the current. 

Waves lapped and tugged at Rhea’s sides as she cut through the water towards the dock. A wave slapped water into her open mouth. She coughed, spitting it out, choking. She nearly went under, exhaustion pulling at every muscle, but she forced her head above the surface. She reached the dock and pulled herself up, unceremoniously collapsing onto the rotting wood. 

She lay on her stomach, coughing, long hair splayed across her face, a hacking breath wracking her entire body. She was waterlogged. Her mouth was dry, and a desperate thirst prickled her throat. She glanced to her side and saw Daveth drag himself out of the water. He collapsed beside her, breathing heavily, gasping in breath. 

He turned his head and caught her eye. He reached across the sagging wood and grasped her hand tight. “That’s… one way… to cool off,” he said, wheezing.

 Laughter bubbled in the back of Rhea’s throat. The laughed turned into a hacking cough, and she pressed an urgent hand against her chest, coughing and chortling, tears streaming from her eyes. 

“Yeah,” she said, finally, lying on her back and staring at the blue, blue sky above. “Yeah.”

Chapter Text

Rhea sat on the creaking dock, feet in the water, and watched the waves push against the rotting wood. She coiled up her heavy hair and squeezed the water out of it. 

Daveth sat beside her, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe we should have thought of a swim earlier,” he said. 

“Hm.” Rhea wrapped a hand around the tail of her long hair. She pressed, water bleeding out of her locks. 

Daveth squinted at her. “Is that all you go? ‘Hm?’” 

“I could do the swim again,” she said. She let go of her hair, flicking it over her shoulder, and reached into her pocket. Her hand wrapped securely around the stolen flask. “But maybe go light on the theft for a few days.” 

“It’s a little hard to be a thief if you aren’t gonna steal anything,” Daveth said. 

“It’s a little hard to be a thief if you get caught red-handed,” Rhea shot back. “Best to let it breathe for a few days, don’t you think?” 

“Ah.” Daveth closed his eyes and flopped back onto the dock. “Yeah.” He exhaled, long and low. “So much for a Slippery Fisk. Don’t tell Babs, eh? We’ll never live it down if she hears—” 

Rhea snorted. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

“My lips are sealed.” Daveth covered his face with the crook of his arm, blocking out the sun, and raised his hand towards her. “Shake on it?” 

“Since when do we shake on things?” Rhea asked. 

“Since now.” 

Rhea chuckled. She didn’t shake. 

“Since we ended up in a situation where we could condemn ourselves to lifelong embarrassment,” Daveth said. “I’d rather be dead than embarrassed, wouldn’t you? So. Shake?” 

Rhea’s hand hovered above his. “Don’t you trust me?” she said, the corners of her lips twitching as she held back her laughter. 

“I don’t trust anyone,” Daveth shot back. “Shake?” 

“You trusted Dell to poke you with a needle and ink.” 

“And look how that turned out. Shake?” 

“You trusted Ulster’s choice in herbs to cure your hangover when he could have given you something that made things worse.” 

“Messing with someone when they have a hangover is guaranteed to make you lifelong enemies. Ulster knows that. Shake?” 

“You trusted me,” Rhea said, her palm brushing his. “Just now. When we jumped into the river.”

Daveth lowered his arm and turned his head towards her. “Life and death situations, Rey.” 

“Just saying—it could have gone poorly. Caspian could have… oh, I don’t know.. shot us in the back or hauled us out or something.” 

“That bastard? Doesn’t have it in him.” Daveth shook his head. He peeled off his wet tunic, yanking it over his head and wringing it out. His damp chest shone in the bright sunlight. “When it comes to shit like that… You’re smarter than me. Of course I’m going to trust you.” 

“But not when it comes to Babs?” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you expecting me to give away leverage so easily? Come off it. You’ve already got a leg up on me because of the barn incident—” 

Rhea chortled. Her eyes flickered over his bare chest. She could make out the white scars that crisscrossed their way over his stomach and back. Remnants of one fight too many.   

“Yeah, I know, the barn incident. And because of that, I’m not going to give you any more easy pickings—” 

“You did that one to yourself, Dav,” Rhea pointed out. 

He grimaced and tossed his damp tunic down on the dock. “Don’t remind me. So—” He waved his hand in front of her eyes. “Shake?” 

Rhea paused, hand hovering next to his, watching him carefully, taking in the creases around his eyes, the laugh lines around his mouth, the easy, companionable way he carried himself when he was around her. She smiled and tapped his hand away with the back of her own. “No.” 

He sat up. “Maker, Rey—” 

She kissed him. 

A surprised hitch in his voice bubbled against his lips as she seized a fistfill of his wet tunic and pulled him close. He was cold and wet and smelled like the river, but his mouth was warm and his lips salty and he felt like all things comfortable and familiar. A deeper warmth emanated from his embrace as he wrapped his arms around her and gave into the kiss. His fingers brushed her bare arms, sweeping water droplets from her damp skin.  

“Rey,” he murmured against her lips. His hand snaked into her hair, stroking through the wet locks. 

Her lips parted and she tilted her head, resting a hand on his shoulder and pulling him close as she deepened the kiss. His damp skin stuck to hers, his breath hot in her mouth. His other hand curled around her waist, holding her tight. 

She broke the kiss, her lips lingering a breath away from his. “Dav…” 

“Yeah?” 

“Get your hand off my loot.” 

He chuckled. “But you have the best loot.” 

She cocked her head. “Yeah, and it’s mine.” 

Daveth put an arm around her shoulders and held up the rune-encrusted silver flask. He shook it, its contents sloshing back and forth. “Hey, I helped you get this. By rights, half of it is mine.” 

“By rights, it goes to Babs.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Daveth said. “Babs can have what’s left. It’s the flask she’ll care about. I’d rather have what’s in it.” 

Rhea’s nose crinkled. “You don’t know what’s in it.” 

“There’s an easy solution for that.” He popped the flask open and took a long drink. Daveth winced and made a sour face. “Oh, that is… that is something.” 

“What?” 

He coughed and held the flask out to her. “That lady has interesting taste for a noble.” 

“Hm,” Rhea said, taking the flask and sniffing its contents cautiously. “And here I thought aristocrats had the worst taste in drink.” 

“I wouldn’t call it bad—” 

Rhea took a sip. Her mouth was attacked with competing flavours, part citrus, part flowery, part several clashing splashes of alcohol. She choked and coughed, setting the flask down. 

“Just interesting.” 

Rhea swallowed and took another cautious sip. The second one wasn’t nearly as bad as the first. “Well, at least it’s cold. I could drink the whole ocean… if it wasn’t salt.” 

“Mhm.” Daveth took the flask back and drank. 

They sat there for a moment, passing the flask back and forth, watching the rolling waves. The harbour was further down the shore, and ships and fishing boats tangled the sea as they butted in and out of the harbour. Rhea could just make out the distant calls of the sailors as they worked their trade. 

Rhea ran her hands through her hair, twisting the damp strands into a braid. “I wonder what it would be like to be out there,” she said quietly. “On one of those ships. Out in the ocean, just you and the crew.” 

“Hm. Maybe.” 

“You could go wherever you wanted,” Rhea continued. “You wouldn’t be stuck in one place. You could go to Antiva or Tevinter or Rivain…” She paused, the words hovering on her lips. “I could… I could go home.” 

“Home?” 

She glanced at him. “I… Denerim’s never been my home, Dav. I don’t know where exactly, but somewhere in Rivain is my home. A beach with white sand. And green trees. Seashells. That’s all I remember.” 

“Huh… must be beautiful.” He shook his head, teeth pulling at his lower lip. “Denerim’s not my home, either. Just some shithole in the woods down south, all mud and marsh and bugs. Considering me jealous.” He kicked his foot, spraying water out in front of them. 

“I can’t remember much of it, to be honest.” She sighed, sloshing her feet back and forth in the water. “It was peaceful.” She nodded towards a passing ship. “Like sailing. Never having to worry about shit guards or idiot nobles or a city too full of people.” 

“You could swim whenever you want,” Daveth said. He paused, thinking. “Unless the sharks get you.” 

“The sharks won’t get you.” 

“How do you know? Every second sailor has lost an arm or a leg to a shark—” 

“Or that’s what they say to make themselves sound more heroic,” Rhea interrupted. “Surviving a fight with a shark sounds more intriguing than ‘I got drunk and fell off the mast.’” 

Daveth raised an eyebrow and took a drink. “Do you know a sailor who got drunk and fell of the mast?” 

“I… no,” she said. “Not really. I don’t know many… any sailors, to be honest.” She fell silent. “Cyrion… my step-father… he doesn’t like the idea of me being down at the harbour. Thinks I’ll fall in with an ‘unsavory lot.’” She mimicked his accent, the touch of Denerim’s alienage all over it. 

Daveth laughed. “He’s done a shit job if that’s what he’s worried about,” he said. “Or does he consider the Ravens an exceptionally savoury lot?” 

“He’s never heard of the Ravens.” 

“How’s that?” 

“Because I’ve never told him,” Rhea said flatly. 

Daveth raised an eyebrow. “He was never curious about that the ink on your back?” He flicked a finger against her right shoulder blade. Beneath her linen tunic was a small, black raven—a symbol of her secret affiliation with the gang that was well on its way to becoming the most accomplished thieving crew in Denerim.  

“No,” Rhea said sharply. “And even if he was, even if he did know… Let’s just say, there are very few things my stepfather concerns himself with beyond the alienage walls. Shianni, though…” 

“Your cousin?” 

“Yeah.” Rhea drank. “She knows. She put it together faster than you could snap your fingers.” 

“Is that a problem?” 

Rhea passed the flask back to him. “Only when Shianni decides to worm her way in and knocks Babs off her throne. And she will knock her off her throne. Then we’ll have a civil war in the crew, and I’ll have to choose a side and, believe me, it’ll be a complete mess.” 

Daveth laughed. “All right. So, stop Shianni from joining the Ravens at any cost.” 

“Absolutely. If my cousin ever decides to start a life of crime, all of Denerim will be answering to her, trust me.” She chuckled. “Including me.” 

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing your cousin isn’t inclined to rob Denerim half-blind.” Daveth adjusted his arm around her shoulders. “Not like someone else I know.” 

“We all have our talents.” She raised a hand, spinning a jeweled butterfly pin between two fingers. 

Daveth let go of her and snatched the pin. “When did you…?”

“Just now,” Rhea said, grinning. “Maybe you’re no longer the best pickpocket in Denerim.” 

“Ha ha,” Daveth grumbled. He twirled the pin, the gold glistening in the sun. He sighed, shooting her a side-eyed glance. “Well, if it’s going to fall out of my pocket, then I might as well put it somewhere safe.” He slid the pin into her hair, above her ear. It shimmered against her black hair. “There.” 

Rhea touched it, the tips of her fingers brushing the gemstones. It felt odd to have something so heavy in her hair. She raised her chin. “How do I look?” 

Daveth kissed her forehead. “It suits you more than the lady I lifted it from.” 

Rhea laughed. “I wonder…” 

“What?” 

She pulled the pouch she lifted from the Antivans from her pocket. “I wonder what’s in this.” 

Daveth shrugged. He took another sip from the silver flask. “Go on.” 

Rhea tugged the laces of the pouch open. She dipped inside and pulled out a handful of gold—not coins. 

Jewelry. 

Two were rings, simple bands engraved with twisting leaves. There rest were earrings, an eclectic mix of studs and small, narrow hoops and a clasp intended to wear in the upper ear. They were exquisitely made.  

“Maker,” Rhea breathed. “They’re beautiful.” 

“Maybe you should wear them,” Daveth said. His fingers brushed her ear, fingering the trio of small brass studs in her earlobe. 

“I can’t imagine wearing gold,” she said. 

“You don’t have to imagine.” He shrugged. “If you don’t want to, that is.” 

Rhea pulled out her earrings, dropping them into the pouch. She slipped three of the gold hoops and put them in her ear. She ran her finger over them, enjoying the tinkling sound they made. Like little bells. 

“I need more piercings if I’m to wear them all,” she said, smiling. 

Daveth whistled. “Damn. Who knew you looked best in gold?” 

Rhea’s smile faded. “These must be worth… I don’t know how many sovereigns.” 

“A lot,” Daveth said. He eyed the pouch and drew the ties shut. “Keep them. Sell them. Don’t show them to Babs, keep the money they’re worth. For yourself. Maybe then…” His words faltered. 

“What, Dav?” she asked quietly. 

He glanced at the ships sailing in and out of the harbour. “Maybe then you’ll have a way out of this shithole,” he said. “You could go home.” 

“I don’t want to go home.” Rhea looked away. “I don’t want to stay here forever, but I… What I remember. Of Rivain. It’s just a memory. Mother took me from that place for a reason, and I think… I know… Whatever she ran from, it was dangerous. Maybe Ferelden is the better place for us.” 

“I don’t think so,” Daveth said. 

“Dav—” 

“It’s shit here, and you know it,” he continued. “There’s a better place for you than the stinking streets of Denerim.” He brushed hair behind her ear, nudging the jeweled hair pin. “Denerim doesn’t deserve you, Rey. The Ravens, all the shit we do… You’re deserve a better life than all that.” 

“And you don’t?” 

Daveth exhaled, long and sharp, and turned away. “I’m a blundering, blubbering idiot most of the time. A fool, really. I don’t deserve anything.” 

“That’s not true—” 

“Yeah, it is, you don’t have to try to make me feel better for it.” He shook his head. “Some day I’ll get out. Maybe. But you.” He glanced at her. “You, I know you’ll make it out.” 

Rhea sighed. She pushed down, hard, against the sagging, waterlogged wood. It groaned beneath her fingers. “I’m an elf, Dav. What is there, out there, for me? This is the best life I’ll ever get.” 

“I don’t believe that.” 

“Don’t say that—” 

“It’s true—” 

“You’re wrong—” 

“You’re being ridiculous—” 

“So are you—” 

“I’m not going to let myself be delusional—” 

“I don’t bloody care, don’t say that!” Daveth’s eyes flashed darkly. “You. Rey. Rhea. Look. We’re all little shits, really. Babs and Ulster and Ollie… And Mari and Dell… Me… We’re all fucked up assholes when you think about it. But you. You’re different. And I don’t mean to say shit like ‘you’re the best of us’ and ‘you’re so much greater than the rest of us’—I’m not here to idolize you, all right? I don’t. I’m still a better pickpocket than you. But if you can get out of this shithole and make something of yourself…” He kicked the water again, spraying up a cloud of mist and droplets. “Then at least not all of us will end up as gutter rats.” He shook his head. “That’s important to me, yeah? Because one of these days…” He laughed, bitter, remorseful. “One of these days, we’re not going to be so lucky. Shits like Caspian will get us. Or we’ll get a shiv to the neck. Or break a back falling off a roof. Or drown in the sea. Or get clobbered in a fucking bar fight, I dunno, there’s so many ways to go when I think about it, and I’m trying not to think about it—” 

“Dav.” Rhea turned his head and put a finger to his lips. Her eyes met his, and she held his gaze, pulling him close, clutching him, never wanting to let go. “It’ll be all right,” she murmured. “It will be all right.” 

He buried his face in her hair. “You sure about that?” 

She laughed. “When am I sure about anything?” 

“Liar liar,” he murmured, chuckling. 

“I’m not lying,” she said, pulling away. “I’m serious, Dav—” 

He kissed her. Fierce and soft and desperate, in a way. She gave into it, looping her hands around his neck, shifting her weight as she edged closer to him. He pulled her into his lap and she sat, straddling him, pressed against his chest, breathing in the odd mixture of familiar warmth and cool, salty dampness. Water lapped against the dock, rushing over his lower legs as he kissed her. His arms were strong, and she felt something different, something new— 

Need. 

He needed her. 

They had narrowly escaped death on this hot summer afternoon, and she was only now realizing it. Caspian could have killed them in the market. In the alley. They could have fallen from the roof—she almost did, and she choked on the thought—or drowned in the river. A dozen different ways to die and they had avoided them all. 

But what of the next time? 

And the time after that? 

Rhea shivered, collapsing into Daveth. She pulled away from the kiss and rest her head into his shoulder. She held him tight and felt his hands press firmly into her back. She was tired. Sore. Aching. Baked. 

Cold from the water, yet hot from the sun. 

“We should go,” she murmured. 

His lips brushed her cheek. “Yeah.” 

“Babs will be wanting that flask,” she said. “I bet you anything someone saw us running and told her what happened.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Is there anything left in it?” 

Daveth shook the flask. “A mouthful.” 

“Save it for her?”

 “Yeah.” 

They didn’t move. 

Daveth held her until her legs cramped up and her muscles ached from lack of movement. Even then, she stayed where she was, clinging to him, nestled in his embrace. The roar of the waves, the cry of the gulls, the fresh nip of the ocean breeze all rushed over her. She couldn’t help but think of that faraway place, somewhere on the line between imaginary and real—the beach in Rivain that her memory called home. 

The sun was low in the horizon when Rhea finally disentangled herself, rising to her feet and stretching her aching legs. She kissed him once, swiftly, her lips barely pressing against his, and padded across the dock. They climbed onto dry land, feet kicking up dust from the dry path, and headed back into the city.

Chapter Text

The streets were calmer now that evening approached. They weaved their way through alleys and lanes, avoiding the major thoroughfares and ducking behind buildings whenever they caught sight of the city watch on the roads. Though there was no sign of Caspian, Rhea felt a prickle on the back of her neck. 

As if he was watching them. 

As if he was plotting revenge. 

Round and round they weaved, deeper into the city, the dilapidated houses growing closer together until they were leaning so far inward, they almost collapsed on each other. The slums here had a different taste than the ones in the alienage. Rhea’s stepfather did what he could to keep the alienage in order—clean swept, organized, cared for. It was its own community within Denerim, one where few strangers passed. Though they didn’t have much, and what they had was often worn or broken, Cyrion took pride in his community, and others followed suit. 

There was no pride here in the southern slums. Only anger, suspicion, and the undying will to fuck over your neighbours before they fucked you. 

The Ravens’ den was deep in a labyrinth of narrow back alleys, among rundown warehouses and abandoned houses. Rhea had heard rumours that a gang of maleficar had taken up in the area, weaving unknowable magics and luring innocent passersby into their lair. She wasn’t sure if she believed the rumours, but she did know that if maleficar ever found their way into the heart of the capital, this was where they would be. 

She wasn’t afraid. She hadn’t met any yet, and she knew from eavesdropping on templars that magic took time to cast. Her reflexes were fast. She had no doubt she could gut an enemy mage faster than they could cast magic. 

It was an ignorant belief, maybe, but it was what got her through the long walk to the den. 

Rhea and Daveth took the back entrance, sliding through an abandoned home with creaking floors and descending into the basement. There was a trapdoor behind an old bookcase, which led into a tunnel. They entered the tunnel, grunting and straining as they shifted the bookcase back into place and locked the door, and descended. 

Babs liked to say that the den was an old dwarven ruin, cut off from the Deep Roads by a cave-in long ago. Ulster enthusiastically agreed whenever the topic was brought up, but everyone else merely laughed and pretended to agree. Rhea wanted to believe her, but she didn’t—it was a cellar some enthusiastic homeowner had dug a little too far into the earth at best. 

The den was composed of large common room, circular in shape with rotting wood panels framing the walls. Whenever one of the panels rotted through and fell off, Ulster replaced it with a less rotten panel he pulled from the abandoned home upstairs. There were five antechambers that spun off the common room. One was the main entrance with a ladder that led up to a trapdoor to the street. The others were occupied by the crew: Babs had an antechamber to herself, which she used as a bedroom and an office; two were used as dorms, though Rhea hated sleeping there with the lack of privacy and Ulster’s incessant snoring; and the last was used as a kitchen, though they rarely prepared food there. There were two nooks that shot off from the antechambers—small, cramped spaces that were no larger than a closet. One was in Babs’ room and used to store loots and other valuable finds, anything they wanted to sell. Rhea had claimed the other for herself. 

A miscellaneous assortment of furniture was strewn about the den. Some chairs were so ramshackle they looked like they would fall apart the moment you sat in one. Others were plump and rich, upholstered with expensive fabrics. Rugs covered the floor, some threadbare, others rich and elaborated embroidered. In a corner was a mountain of pillows—Mari’s doing. She always said one could never have enough pillows. 

A few token paintings hung on the wall, mismatched in style. They weren’t worth much; Babs had sold the ones that were. Lamps dotted the corners, propped on the floor by piles of old books. Ollie once pointed out it was a fire hazard, but Dell insisted it would take an act of the Maker to set them on fire. 

In the centre of the common room was a table that wasn’t a table. A large round piece of oak had somehow been wheeled into the den and was propped up by four stone slabs. They weren’t quite the same height, which left the table uneven. It would tilt one way or the other unexpectedly, spilling someone’s tankard in the process. There was some kind of writing on the slabs—ancient dwarven, if you asked Babs, and one of the reasons she claimed this cellar had been connected to the Deep Roads. Rhea occasionally stared at it, trying to imagine the writing’s secrets, but she always drew a blank. She couldn’t imagine the life of someone who lived underground. 

Most of the crew were seated round the communal table. Ulster was there, boots planted firmly on the ground, face stuck in a tankard of ale. Ollie sat across from him, playing cards with Dell. He chewed his fingernails, green eyes crossed in concentration, occasionally tugging on a pointed ear. Dell, his newly grown beard finally long enough to hide the angry scar on his chin, rested his feet on the table as he smirked at Ollie, fingering his cards. Fisk watched the card game eagerly, elbows on the table, leg bouncing up and down. 

“Ah, there they are,” Dell said, nodding to them as Rhea and Daveth walked in. “There’s the lovebirds.” He rolled the last word, his Starkhaven accent thick and vibrant. “Where’re’ve you been, lovebirds?” 

“Stop calling us that if you know what’s good for you,” Rhea said, throwing herself into a chair. She rolled her shoulders, stretching out the aching muscles. 

Dell raised an eyebrow. “Babs is more than a wee bit concerned for your welfare, y’know.” 

“How nice of her,” Rhea said. 

Ollie snorted. “Seems like you don’t know what Dell means by concerned.” He eyed Dell and sniffed. “You gonna play your turn or what?” 

“Get off my back, Ol,” Dell growled. “I’m thinking.” 

“That’s five minutes know that you’ve been thinking. I think you don’t have enough room for another thought in that big head of yours.” 

“I’m being strategic.” 

“You don’t know how to play this game, that’s what.” Ollie grabbed his tankard and drained it. 

“I know exactly what he means by concerned,” Rhea interrupted. “Where is Babs?”

Ulster belched and set down his drink. “Not your concern. Not after what you pulled.” 

Rhea opened her mouth, checked herself and clamped down on the sarcastic remark that bubbled to her lips. “I think that will be a conversation for me and Babs. Besides—” Her eyes flickered to Daveth, who, lacking a seat at the table, leaned in a corner, arms folded. “—it’s not like I’m the only guilty one.” 

Ulster clicked his tongue and shook his head. “She’ll have words for you both, believe me.” 

“Oh, please,” Rhea said, throwing herself back in her chair. “Maker take me, as if you’ve never fucked up a job. As if you’ve never skirted the city watch. Wasn’t it just last month Dell had half the city guard on his ass?” 

She threw her feet up on the table. The table tilted towards her under the extra weight. Ulster’s drink tipped, spilling the rest of his ale as it rolled towards her. Ollie and Dell’s cards skid, sliding across the old oak surface. Ulster jumped up; Ollie threw his hands in the air; Dell pushed his chair back. 

“Ah, come on, Rhea!” Dell snapped. 

“What the fuck, mate?” Ollie shouted.   

“You owe me a fucking drink,” Ulster finished, tossing his tankard across the room and stomping off to the kitchens. 

Rhea shrugged. “Sorry,” she said. 

Ollie collected the cards and slammed them on the table. “Fuck off.” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Get your feet off the table, lass!” Dell shouted. “Scoot! Scoot!” He waved a hand at her feet. 

Rhea lowered her feet to the floor. “You always put your feet on the table, Dell.” 

“Yes,” he said. “It’s a privilege if you are the first one to sit down.” 

Daveth chuckled. 

“Laugh all you want, Daveth, you know its true,” Dell said. 

“No,” he said. “I think you’re just the ass who can get away with it.” 

A door banged open. 

“What in the blazing halls of my ancestors is going on?” 

Babs emerged, brown eyes narrowed, curly red hair in a tangled poof around her face, exposing the brand that marred her forehead. She was flushed, her shirt hanging open, her flat chest exposed. The scar that ran from the base of her throat to her navel shone pale and silver against her skin. Though she was taller than most dwarven women, she was the shortest of them all—and she commanded such power in her stance she might as well be the height of a Qunari.   

Her eyes swept the common room and found Rhea and Daveth. She scowled. “Oh, it’s you two,” she said, her husky voice raspier than usual. Had she been smoking? “Get in here.” 

“Babs, I can—” 

“Explain?” Babs finished. “I’m sure you can explain seven ways to Sunday, but I’m not in the mood to hear it. Get in here.” 

Rhea stood and crossed the common room, nervousness twisting in her gut. She glanced at Daveth, who followed, shoulders slouched. Babs eyed them as they entered her room and she pushed past them, walking briskly towards her bed. 

The light from the lamps was dim and red and the air was stale and stuffy. Mari—the last member of their crew—lounged on Babs’ bed. It was a luxurious, four-poster monster, draped in red and gold and far too many pillows to be comfortable. Babs had expensive taste, and she stole it where she could. 

Mari stared at the source of the interruption, damp sheet tangled around her naked body. Her tanned, freckled skin glistened with sweat. She puffed on rolled elfroot, blowing smoke across the room. 

“What’s this?” she asked languidly, her mousy brown hair hanging damp around her shoulders. 

“I need to talk to them, Mar,” Babs said. 

A flicker of annoyance passed through Mari’s green eyes. “Now?” 

“Yes, now,” Babs said. “It’s important.” 

Mari puffed, blowing smoke towards Rhea. Rhea coughed, waving a hand, clearing the air around her face. She grimaced. She hated the smell of smoked elfroot (though she would admit she liked the effect). 

“This is important,” Mari said. 

“You can wait. This—” Babs shot a look at Rhea. “—cannot.” 

Mari harrumphed and slowly unraveled herself from the bedsheets. She stretched, unabashed in her nudity, and coiled her hair up and knotted it. She grabbed her shirt, throwing it over her shoulders with no rush to button it up, and sauntered across the room. She eyed Rhea coldly as she left and slammed the door behind her. 

“That’s new,” Rhea said. 

“Oh, come on, Rhea,” Babs said. “This is hardly the time to make comments on what I choose to do in my spare time, and with whom. Unlike someone else I know.”  

Babs tucked her open shirt into her trousers and sat on the edge of the bed. She eyed Rhea and Daveth, crossing her legs, her foot resting on her knee. “What happened this afternoon?” she asked. “Spill it.” 

“The what isn’t important,” Daveth began. 

“It is if I say it is,” Babs interrupted. “Spill. It. I don’t want to ask again.” 

Rhea stared at the floor. “We tried a Slippery Fisk—” 

Babs clicked her tongue. She hated the term. 

“—and it failed. And then the city watch chased us across half the city. Until we jumped in the river and got away.” 

“And that’s the truth of it?” 

Rhea nodded. “Yes.” 

She folded her arms. “You see, that’s not what I heard. Or what I came to understand. Because people talk. And chitter. And tweet like birds. And what I heard from the birds—what every crew in this stinking shithole of a city has heard—is that two of my crew, my crew, went rogue. Brazenly attacking an aristocrat in plain daylight. Making a mess in the thoroughfare. Bringing the city watch down so hard on their heads that when they slipped through their armoured butterfingers, they went home, wiped the tears off their faces, and goaded the Arl into tighter security measures throughout the entire fucking city.” 

Babs reached for a roll of parchment on the table beside the bed. “And, to put a damn nug in it all, the stupid dusters have gone and put a damn price on both your heads.” She unfurled the parchment and held it up. On it were two frighteningly accurate sketches of Rhea and Daveth. “I don’t usually say it would be better if you died, but in this case—it would be better if Caspian had caught and gutted you both.” 

Daveth stared, blinking in the smoky haze of Babs’ bedroom. “My nose isn’t that big.” 

“I don’t care about your damn nose, Daveth,” Babs snapped, standing up and throwing the parchment away. “What I care about is the damage you two have done. Not only to this crew, not only to my own reputation, but to yourselves. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a job in this city with a price on your head?” She shook her head. “No one will trust you. They’ll go to other crews than risk being served by the faces wanted by the city watch.” 

“Maybe you’re wrong,” Daveth said. 

Babs raised an eyebrow. 

“A price on your head…” He laughed cautiously. “Isn’t that, uh… Isn’t that what most of us dream of? A price on your head says danger. Caution. A sign you’re not afraid to fuck with the authorities—” 

“Sure,” Babs said, nodded. “Sure, that’s true enough. But what you forget, you nug-headed idiot, is the watch knows your face. They know your names. Paragon Lantena’s tits, they know where you live.” She turned on Rhea. “While you were off fucking around, they were at the alienage. Harrasing Cyrion and Adaia about your whereabouts. I’m sure that’s not what you wanted when you woke up this morning.” 

Rhea’s heart dropped. “Are they all right?” 

“I don’t know. Ollie would rather eat horse dung than go to the alienage, and I don’t blame him.” 

Rhea scowled. She chewed the inside of her cheek, fingernails digging into her crossed arms. “I need to go, I need—” 

“You will not leave the den,” Babs interrupted. “Not for anything until I say so—you hear me, Rhea?” 

“I don’t care,” Rhea bit out. “Babs, it’s my mother—” 

“Maybe you should have thought about her before you fucked with the city watch,” Babs said. “Be it as it is, it is worse for you to go to her now. The watch will expect you to return home—” 

Rhea snarled, pacing back and forth across the room. 

“The best thing you can do for her is to stay here, out of sight, out of mind, and away from the alienage,” Babs finished. “Trust me. I’ll find an envoy tomorrow, someone who can slip through unnoticed. Your mother will be fine, I’m certain of it.” 

“And if she’s not?” 

“Then what will you do, girl? What can you do? Nothing! Aside from getting yourself killed.” Babs scowled. “If I had wit about me, I’d throw you both out right now. Lucky for you, Dust Town stole all my wits and somehow gave me a heart, but I am very, very…” She paused and sighed. She shook her head, tilting her chin back and laughed. “Listen to me. Schooling you like I’m your mother. By the fucking Stone, what a sight.” Her eyes glinted as she sat down, gazing at Rhea and Daveth, a smirk curling her upper lip. 

Rhea glanced at Daveth. “So, you’re not angry at us?” 

“No, I am angry with you,” Babs said. “Make no mistake. I’ve worn myself out. You’re idiots. I think I’ve made my point, and judging from your expressions, you know it, too.” She held out an expectant hand. “You better have something to show for you pains. Otherwise, I will reconsider.” 

Daveth sighed and put the rune-encrusted flask in her palm. Babs hummed with interest, turning it over, running her fingers over the runes. “A Coraig creation. Strange to see it so far away from its home.” 

“We lifted it from an aristocrat—” Daveth began. 

Babs shook the flask. “And left me the last drop.” She smirked dangerously. “I don’t know whether to thank you for being considerate or hound you for drinking all the good stuff.” She tilted the flask back and drained it. She smacked her lips, considering the taste of the contents. She made a face. “Ugh. Orlesians. Always ruining perfectly good things with their horrible tastes. I’m glad you drank most of it.” 

Daveth laughed nervously. Rhea stepped on his foot. 

Babs held out her hand. “What else?” 

“That’s—” 

“Not all,” Rhea said. She pulled the jeweled pin from her hair and dropped it in Babs’ hand. “There’s that. Daveth lifted it, from the same lady as the flask. Should be worth a fortune—” 

Babs held it up, turning it over in the dim lamplight. “No, it won’t,” she said. “It’s fake. Not gold.” She tapped it against the post at the end of her bed. “Painted wood, see? And the gemstones are common. Whoever you robbed is poorer than she would like you to believe. The flask must have been her most prized possession.” 

Rhea’s lips pursed together. “I see.” 

Babs’ eyes flashed to her ear. “Those are real gold,” she said, “and good gold at that.” She held out a hand. 

“Let her keep them, Babs,” Daveth said. 

Babs raised an eyebrow. 

“Let her keep the earrings,” he repeated. “It’s something. Just a little something. We all have something. There’s a whole pouch filled with more gold jewelry and, trust me, the pouch itself is probably worth as much as the contents, if what they say about Antivan leather is true. Just… let her keep them. Please.” 

Babs stared at him, eyes flickering up and down, her silence making Rhea uneasy. After an agonizingly long silence, Babs lowered her hand. “Fine. Keep them. And keep the pouch. The flask will do for now, though I expect you to figure out how to make up for the shit you’ve landed yourself in.”

Rhea nodded. “I—we—will.” 

“We?” Babs raised an eyebrow. She crossed her arms. “Don’t expect I’ll be allowing you two to run together any time soon. You’ve made enough of a mess for the time being.” She eyed Daveth, fingers tapping on her arm. “Daveth?” 

“Yes?” 

She jerked her head towards the door. “Get out.” 

He nodded. “Yes, Babs.” 

“Be a good boy and shut the door!” Babs shouted after him. 

Just as Mari had done before, Daveth slammed the door shut. The whole room shuddered with the impact. 

Rhea bit the inside of her cheek. 

Babs clicked her tongue. “Why don’t you sit down, Rhea?” She patted the spot next to her on her bed. 

Rhea crossed her arms. “Babs, I—” 

“Oh, for the love of the Stone, sit down girl before you fall over,” Babs sighed. “You’re exhausted. I’m exhausted just looking at you. Sit down.” 

Rhea sat. She sank into the mattress. It was the softest thing she felt all day. “I’m sorry, Babs,” she said. Her voice was small, childlike. It echoed the apologies she used to make to mother not too many years ago. Back when the worst she could do was skirt her chores or pull her cousin’s hair. 

“You should be,” Babs said. “But don’t ask me to punish you when you’re clearly punishing yourself.” 

“I… I didn’t think—” 

“Nor did Daveth.” 

“Daveth never thinks.” 

“Quite right.” Babs sighed. “It’s a problem.” 

Rhea chuckled, low and quiet. 

“You’re not the first thief to get in shit and you’re far from the last,” Babs said. “If I counted the amount of mistakes I’ve made…” She shook her head. “I don’t want to think how many times I’ve survived due to pure, dumb luck. But those are the cards this life deals. And one day, your hand won’t be lucky enough.” 

Rhea nodded. “I’ve thought of that several times today.” 

“And still you want to stay?” 

“I—” Rhea broke off, confusion on her face. “Of course I do.” 

“Once this blows over, you can go back to the alienage,” Babs said. “You can go back to your step-father and your mother and your cousins. You can live your life with them. You don’t need this scraping and scratching and thieving and—” 

“I do,” Rhea cut her off. “I need it. I can’t… The alienage isn’t the place for me.” 

“You want out.” 

Rhea nodded. 

“I know.” Babs brushed Rhea’s hair over her shoulder. “I was like you, once. In Dust Town. In the muck and the grime and the places your social betters like to forget. I didn’t have many choices. Most girls took up noble hunting and the like, but given I don’t have the goods, that wasn’t an option. So I took what I could and clawed my way out of there.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Only to end up in this dump.” 

Rhea glanced around the bedroom. The lamps, the luxury… all underground, true, but all belonging to Babs. Babs was rich. She could have whatever she wanted and leading a thieving crew in the heart of Denerim was exactly what she wanted. “I don’t think it’s much of a dump,” she said. 

“How sweet,” Babs chuckled. “But no. We can do better. So much better. Someday, we won’t need to hide underground. We’ll have a mansion—a legitimate mansion—and run things from there. Brush shoulders with the Arl of Denerim by day and thieve him blind in the night. Just you wait. I can see it.” 

Rhea swallowed. She tried to envision it—she could see Babs sauntering around a beautiful mansion with stain-glass windows and rooms larger than whole homes in the alienage, the grand train of a dress sweeping after her. No, not a dress. Babs didn’t wear dresses. The train of a magnificent cloak, then, and gilded rapiers on her hips. Perhaps she was swilling a glass of wine. 

Yes. That suited her. 

But Rhea couldn’t see her there. Mari, Dell, Ulster, Ollie, Fisk, even Daveth—they filled the spaces within that imaginary mansion, lounging and laughing and eating and drinking. Enjoying life. But Rhea. Rhea wasn’t there. 

She could only think of the ocean. The beach. The seashells. 

Rivain. 

Even in her imagination, she could smell the salt of the ocean.   

“I can see it,” she lied. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Babs murmured. “Someday. Someday, it will be ours.” 

Rhea nodded.  

“Good,” Babs said. “I’m glad you agree.” She reached over to the table, grabbing a roll of elfroot and touching the end to the inside of the lamp. The lit, sputtering with heat and smoke. Babs put it to her lips and inhaled. “Want one?” she breathed, exhaling a puff of smoke. 

Rhea shook her head.

 Babs shrugged. “I know you and Daveth are alive because of you,” Babs said. “MacCarl’s people saw the whole thing, he told me. You looked out for him, made sure he wasn’t left behind. Scaling the wall to escape a dead-end? Daring. Bold, even. Not many in this business would go that far.” 

Rhea frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense to me. He’s a friend—” 

“No, nor to me,” Babs interrupted. “I’ve always staked my fortune on believing that keeping your people alive is better than getting them dead and finding new people. Sadly, not everyone agrees.” She took a drag, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I’m glad you agree. Leaders need to look out for their people.” 

Rhea shifted away, the mattress squeaking beneath her weight. “What do you mean?” 

“When this blows over—and it will blow over, even if I have to bribe Caspian myself to blow it over—” Babs rolled her eyes. “—I want you for my second.” 

“I thought Ulster’s your second.” 

“He is. And he’s damned loyal. But it’s also brutish and cold and stubborn and, let’s be honest, boring. He’s a thug, he knows it, and he’s good at it. If the Ravens are to become something else, we need more… ingenuity. More flare.” She smiled, the elfroot roll dangling from her lips. “I think you have that.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But don’t tell Daveth.” 

Rhea sat in silence, stunned. “I don’t know what to say, Babs.” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Babs said. “In fact, do not say anything. To anyone. Keep it to yourself. And think it over.” She touched the gold earrings in Rhea’s ear, her fingers lingering. “He’s sweet on you.” 

“I know.” 

“You’ve a small fortune in your ear right now, did you know?” Babs laughed. “And Daveth wants you to have it. What are you going to do about it?” 

Rhea pulled back, brushing Babs’ hand away. “I don’t know what you mean. He’s a friend—” 

Babs snorted. “Oh, darling, no. No. Absolutely not. The whole crew can see it. He’s not a friend.” 

“He is,” Rhea said flatly. 

“A friend with indulgent benefits, if you must,” Babs said, taking another drag. “I can’t quite understand what you see in him, but to each other own. I don’t understand what I saw in Ulster all those years ago. Or what Dell sees in Ollie, for that matter, though I hardly call them a pair. Take enjoyment in it while you can, that’s my advice. It’s never quite as sweet as it is in the beginning—” 

Rhea stood up, face flushing. “You’re talking rubbish.” 

“Am I?” Babs leaned back. “I know you’re fucking him. We all know. Doesn’t take much to put it together—” 

It was too hot in Babs’ room and the smoke made her lightheaded. 

Was it the smoke? 

“It’s fine,” Babs continued. “You’re young. Indulge yourself. Enjoy it. Remember to drink your witherstalk tea, and you’ll have a grand time.” 

Rhea stalked towards the door. “I’m leaving.” 

“Oh, calm down and sit down, Rhea, you’re being ridiculous—” 

Rhea paused at the door. “Am I? Or are you being a bitch on purpose?” 

Babs throaty laughter filled the room. Rhea strode through the door and slammed it shut.