Dealing With The Devil [Solo, Complete]

[Cauthrien]

(( 29 Drakonis, 9:35, Late Morning, Fort Drakon ))

Cauthrien pulled back on the reins, and Dragon obediently halted at the foot of the steps leading into Fort Drakon. He'd been well behaved on the ride over ... suspiciously so.

She dismounted, handing off the reins to a groom who approached. “Careful, he bites,” she warned the young man. She'd not made it halfway up the steps before a yelp made it clear that her warning had either not been heeded or had been insufficient. She didn't bother turning around; after getting in his bite, the gelding would allow himself to be led until he decided the time had come for more mischief. As far as she had been able to tell, escaping – or at least, putting himself out of reach of his daily feed ration – played no part in the motivation for his antics.

“Warden.” Captain Garrett, commander of the prison portion of the fort, greeted her as she entered.

“Captain,” she responded with a polite nod. “Your message said that you had some possible candidates for me?”

“Aye.” Garrett knew well enough that she had no interest in run-of-the-mill thieves, rapists or murderers. While a lifetime of service as a Grey Warden was considered suitable penance for most crimes, Cauthrien was acutely aware that she would be trusting her back, and the backs of those that followed her, to whoever she recruited. She had taken seven recruits from Drakon since she'd been assigned to Denerim. Of those, four had not survived their Joinings and another, a smuggler facing beheading for killing a rival, had decided afterward to desert and return to his old life. She had tracked him down and killed him on the docks, leaving his body to lay where it fell. His name was not recorded in the book of fallen Wardens.

She'd lost no sleep over that. The Grey Wardens were at war, and desertion in wartime was punishable by death. She had grown more cautious in her selections, however, and had taken no candidates from the prison since.

“Two more from Breaker's crew,” the captain clarified as she followed him deeper into the prison.

That made sense, in a depressing sort of way. The Blight and civil war had left more orphans than the Chantry could take in. The older ones in particular fell through the cracks, surviving any way they could. In every major city, criminal gangs scooped up the unsuspecting youths, using them as throwaway troops. In Denerim, Cyrus Breaker (short for “Bonebreaker”, according to most who knew him) was the most ruthless of the bottom feeders. Roland had been one of his.

“How old?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“Nineteen and seventeen,” Garrett told her. “Cousins. Breaker was using them as protection on a load of smuggled lyrium. When the guards broke it up, they tried to fight.”

“And got the crap kicked out of themselves,” Cauthrien finished with a frown. “Gutsy or stupid?” The former, she could work with...maybe.

“Desperate,” the captain said with a shrug as he stopped outside the cell blocks. Three doors loomed, each leading to a different block of cells. “Hungry. Scared. Breaker doesn't reward failure, and he's got plenty of warm bodies these days. Someone that messes up is just as likely to wind up at the bottom of the river as get another chance. Keeps the rest on their toes.”

“Bastard,” Cauthrien murmured. “All right, let me talk to them.” She hesitated as he turned to enter the door on the left. The dead man's wing, housing the prisoners awaiting execution. “Did they kill one of the guards in the fight?”

Garrett shook his head. “Out of room on the holding block,” he grunted, inserting his key in the lock and opening the massive door. “Got more halfassed criminals than I know what to do with. They're looking at a year, tops, but I thought I'd give 'em a taste of what's waitin' for them at the end of the road they're on now.”

Cauthrien nodded. “Do they know I'm coming?”

He nodded. “They're the ones asked to see you,” he replied, adding in response to her surprised look, “Don't ask me why, because they didn't say. Second cell on the left. First one's empty. Safer to talk to them from there than standing in the aisle.”

She nodded, stepping through the door. The light was dim, filtering in from narrow, barred windows set too high on the walls to allow the occupants of the cells to look out onto the world. The air was saturated with the stench of unwashed bodies, piss and shit. She paused, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom as she drew shallow breaths through her mouth. Chains rattled, and from somewhere further back in the shadows a laugh rose up, high and hysterical, before trailing off into what sounded like sobs.

The cell door to her left stood open, and she stepped inside, studying the occupants of the next cell. They looked like two frightened puppies, huddled together in a corner well away from the front of the cell, though they looked as though they'd be a decent size on their feet.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked quietly.

The one who looked to be the younger of the pair glanced at her quickly, as though afraid he'd be struck if his gaze lingered, then turned away, shaking his head. The older one put an arm around the other's shoulders, watching her with a wary curiosity.

“Yer a Grey Warden, are y'not?”

“I am,” she confirmed. “The Captain said that you asked about joining the Wardens.”

The youth looked almost ill with fear, but he nodded. “We just...we wanted to ask -” He broke off, swallowed and glanced over his shoulder nervously.

“You'll have to forgive the lads their deception, Warden.” The voice that rose from further down the line of cells was a gravelly purr, low enough in tone that she almost couldn't hear it, but the boy she'd been talking to cringed as if it had been a shout. “They were doing a little favor for me. They're not really the ones who want to join the Wardens. I am.”

 

[Cauthrien]

"And who would you be?" Cauthrien cocked her head, peering into the gloom, trying to make out the owner of the voice.

"Merely a penitent sinner, seeking to make amends for my life's mistakes." The words were laden with mockery, vibrant with barely restrained mirth. "Absolution is a worthy goal, would you not agree, Ser Cauthrien?"

She didn't bother to muffle her sigh. Another idiot who thought that mentioning her past would make her wilt in shame. "If that's the best you've got, I hope you've made your peace with the Maker," she replied, turning her attention back to the cousins, "and if you two aren't interested in joining the Wardens, I'll be -"

"You've not heard the best I have, Warden!" The words were accompanied by the rattle of chain on steel, as though the unseen speaker had given the bars a shake. "Nor will you, Cauthrien MacLean, daughter of Conal MacLean, until we're face to face."

Almost, she turned and left. Her dislike of being manipulated warred briefly with her distaste at being seen to retreat. Curiosity tipped the balance. She stepped out of the empty cell, moving down the row of cells, careful to keep to the center of the aisle, aware of the eyes on her, waiting for a careless step to place her close enough to one side or the other for an arm to drag her against the bars. The two puppies she'd just left were the only ones on this block with anything left to lose.

She stopped in front of a cell, studying the form of the man who leaned almost lazily against the bars: medium height, wiry build, clothes looked dirty enough to stand on their own. She could feel him watching her, his face hidden in shadow, backlit by the light that filtered through the high window behind him.

“Is that supposed to impress me?” she asked him calmly.

“Impress? No.” He seemed amused by the question. “Not like it's a state secret, is it? Just a bit of information that's out there to be picked up by a man who knows how to keep his eyes and ears open, knows how to look and listen.” He shifted a bit, enough for a bit of light from the opposing windows to fall on his face, revealing features that were remarkable only in their plainness. A bland face, topped by a tangle of dark hair and bristling whiskers surrounding a mouth of decaying teeth. Only the eyes commanded any notice: light blue and heavy-lidded, they appeared almost lazy, but beneath the sleepy-seeming lids, they gleamed with an almost gleeful cunning.

“A man like you.” She took a step closer, trying to decide what his game was.

“Exactly. That's not even the most interesting stuff that's out there about you, Ser Cauthrien. Everybody thinks that you betraying King Cailan, leaving him to die at Ostagar is the most interesting thing, but I found what you did after the Blight to be more intriguing. Teaming up with the likes of Jacob Blake, then turning him in for selling slaves. Offering your sword to the uncle of the King you betrayed. Did you think that protecting Teagan Guerrin's daughter would make up for -”

There was no thought involved. Her hand shot through the bars, grabbing the filthy shirt and shoving its occupant back, then yanking forward, slamming his face into the bars, sending blood spraying from his nose and lip.

She drew her dagger, placing its edge at his throat. “Mention that family again, and I'll save Denerim the cost of an executioner,” she warned him, her pulse pounding dully in her temples.

He gave her a bloody smile, seemingly unconcerned. “Peace, Warden. As I said before, I know nothing that's not out there waiting for someone who knows how to listen. I'm no danger to the Guerrins, and if I wanted to hurt you, I'd have done it already.” His eyes tipped downward. Following his gaze, she saw the shiv in his fist, aimed at her midsection.

Damn it. Chagrin flooded her at having been baited so easily by the bastard. She drew a breath, looked back up into his face. He cocked his head, smiling, waiting. Another breath, and she released him, stepping back and sheathing her dagger. The shiv vanished, and he wiped his bloody face with the back of his hand.

“Your name,” she ordered brusquely.

“Martin Felton, at your service,” he replied, sticking his blood-smeared hand through the bars, feigning hurt when she didn't shake it, mirth capering in his eyes.

“I don't care for games, Felton,” she growled at him, anger replacing embarrassment ... anger at herself, as well as him.

“I do,” he replied with a smirk, “but in this case, my game has a point: to convince you that I'm a man who knows how to listen. How to find things out. You need to believe that, Warden.”

“You need me to believe that, you mean,” Cauthrien countered. He needed her, and if he thought that bringing up her past would influence her, he was destined to be disappointed. One of the up sides to owning your mistakes was that they couldn't be used against you. “The Wardens already have ways of obtaining information.”

“And yet, a murder remains unpunished,” he replied, his smile growing unpleasant. “You don't know, the guards don't know...but I know, Warden.” He leaned forward his eyes no longer lazy as they burned into hers. “I know who killed your Commander's lady. I know who killed Fiona Howe.”

 

[Cauthrien]

"What he hasn't done would make the shorter list, Warden," Garrett growled. "Thievery, rape, assault, murder. And that's just what he's gotten caught doing."

"He's well spoken, for a career criminal," Cauthrien observed, trying to make some sense of the man. Felton seemed quite aware of the contrast between his cultured voice and his disreputable appearance, seemed to enjoy the dichotomy.

The Captain grunted his acknowledgment. "Rumor has it he's a bastard of one bann or another," he replied sourly. "Daddy paid for an education, then cut him off cold when he turned out to be a bastard at heart as well as by birth. He's been doing his damnedest to live up to the title ever since."

"If he's done so much, why hasn't he been imprisoned before now?" Cauthrien wanted to know. "Or executed?"

Garrett snorted. "There's a question I've been asking for years, and the answer is: whenever he gets reeled in, he always seems to have a line on a bigger fish. It's all a game to him: the crimes, getting caught, getting off. He's always watching, spying, listening, bribing...gathering bits to trade for his own hide." He paused, watching her closely. "He's done it again, hasn't he?" he asked with an expression of resigned disgust.

She hesitated, nodded. "He claims to know who murdered Fiona Howe."

The soldier made an indelicate sound, but did not appear surprised. "Of course he does. Bastard was probably there watching."

"You think he's telling the truth?" she asked, almost hoping for something - anything - to cast a shadow of doubt. She didn't want Nathaniel's hopes raised for a lie, but equally, she did not want to have any reason to conscript a man who lay far outside of any of the boundaries she had set for herself. It would not take much to convince her to walk away and leave Felton to the executioner.

"His tips are always accurate," he replied, his expression saying plainly how much he wanted to be able to say otherwise, "and he's smart enough to know that being able to point the finger at the murderer of a noblewoman would buy his way out of damn near anything. It's not as though he killed anyone important, did he? Just some cheap whore, carved up like scrimshaw in a back alley."

Cauthrien flinched at that. "He won't go free, Captain," she promised. "He'll be held in a cell at the Grey Warden compound until the Warden Commander arrives." Felton refused to share his knowledge with any but Nathaniel.

"And when he gives you the names, you'll be off to kill them, then?" He watched her closely. Oliver Garrett was an honorable man, who took his duty seriously. Since taking command of the Warden compound in Denerim, she had forged a relationship of cautious mutual respect with him, and she was acutely aware that the current situation would test it. Always before, the individuals she had conscripted, while invariably for murder, had possessed some possibility of redemption, or at least, a low likelihood of killing again. This time...

"No. We will submit those names to the guard and allow the King 's justice to be done," Cauthrien said, already readying herself for that fight. "Grey Wardens are not above the law." Nathaniel believed that, but he might well forget in his grief. She would have to remind him.

"And then, this scum becomes a Grey Warden?" he challenged her. "Just like that, all his past crimes forgotten?"

“Not forgotten,” she said firmly. “He'll be watched. He may think he's buying his freedom with this trade, but once he's a Grey Warden, there is no going back. I've maintained control over the others I have conscripted, haven't I?" Roland and Linn had given the guard no more trouble, and he knew that she had killed the smuggler who had tried to desert. Of the ones who had not survived their Joining, all that he knew was that he had not seen or heard of them again. He never asked, but if he had, he would have been told that they were killed fighting darkspawn.

"You have," he admitted, "but they're not the same as this one. If not for what he knows, you wouldn't even be considering him...and you'd be right. Turn your back on that one often enough, Warden, and someone will pay the price."

"Then tell me that he's lying," Cauthrien replied. "Tell me I'm wasting my time. Tell me that there's no way that he could know who killed Fiona Howe." She was all but asking him to lie to her. A single shred of doubt, and she would walk away, but the Captain was an honest man, and he shook his head.

"He knows, Warden," he replied with a bitter twist to his lips. "I'd bet my next month's pay on that."

She nodded slowly, drew a breath. “Then I claim the right of conscription.”

 

[Cauthrien]

Felton was brought to Captain Garrett's office, hands and feet chained with an additional length of chain running between the manacles securing his hands and feet.

"Good to see you again, Captain," the chained man greeted his jailer as if encountering him at a party. "How's that pretty daughter of yours? Seventeen now, isn't she?"

The soldier's face flushed an ugly shade of red, and Cauthrien made no attempt to stop what was coming.

"Now, is that any way to treat a Grey Warden?" He asked mockingly as he picked himself up from the floor. His left eye was already starting to swell shut, and the lip that had been split when Cauthrien had slammed him into the bars of his cell was bleeding freely again, but still he showed no sign of discomfort or pain.

"You're not a Warden yet," she told him bluntly. "Run your mouth like that again, and I'll turn and leave you for the executioner."

"Not a Warden?" He asked, feigning shock. "And here I thought that once a man was conscripted or recruited, they were Wardens from that moment. After all," his one good eye gleamed slyly as he went on, "I've never heard of any leaving the Wardens after that point. Not even one. I've met lots of former soldiers, former sailors, former thieves, even. But never a former Warden." He cocked his head, the mocking smile back. "Must be a tight knit group, eh?"

He wanted her to think that he knew more than he did. What he'd said so far was nothing that could not be figured out with a bit of observation and investigation, and if he really did know more, he'd have been only too happy to open his mouth and spill it, forcing her to conscript everyone in the room. As with the information he'd had on her, however, it was the fact that he'd taken the time to gather it that had her both curious and wary, wondering what game he thought he was playing.

"We see to our own," she informed him quietly. "Which means that the minute you walk out of here with me, your ass is mine, and if I decide that whatever information you might have is not worth the risk that you pose, you will not be coming back here, and there will not be a trial." She kept her eyes locked with his, letting him see that she was not bluffing. There were legal proceedings that were followed for infractions committed after the Joining, but with few exceptions, those who had been conscripted had been sentenced to death for their crimes. If they caused trouble before they were joined, the sentence was carried out.

He watched her closely, his smile fading slightly. "Your Commander won't like that."

"I'll take that chance," she replied calmly. "And you'll be dead."

He remained silent for a long moment, then the smile widened again, the mocking humor back in his manner. “I suppose I'd better behave, then, hadn't I, boss?”

She didn't for a minute believe that she had cowed him, but he wasn't going to give her the excuse that she wanted. “Have him brought to the Warden compound,” she instructed Captain Garrett. “I'll go ahead and see that a cell is ready.” And be damn certain that Guard Captain Tanner knew that their new guest was not to be trusted any further than she could throw Dragon.