It’d been too early in the morning for Varric’s liking when he climbed into the back of the carriage. The sun wasn’t even fully out yet and there was still a faint mist in the air, making everything feel just a little too wet and a little too chilly. He struggled to get his leather gloves on, his hands still a bit numb from sleep and the cold, and by the time they were out beyond the gates of Kirkwall, he’d nearly thrown them out of the window three times.
Their destination was a full day’s trip away. Bianca and a small stack of books had been loaded into the back of the carriage and sat neatly beside him, which put dear old seneschal Bran across from him. But whatever delusions Varric had of being able to read any of those books in peace were quickly dashed aside the moment Bran’s ass hit the cushion beneath him.
“–assets and properties of Lady LaRue’s late husband, Lord Orville,” Bran was in the middle of saying. “His eldest son is claiming the marriage was a fraud and asks that Lady LaRue be removed as the primary beneficiary.”
“So they want us to get involved?” Varric asked. If he was honest, he’d only barely been listening, but he knew it had something to do with a will and some adult children fighting with their father’s very young wife. The typical Kirkwall noble shit. “Lord Orville was the one who decided to marry a girl three decades his junior. If he left everything to her, then she either put in the con work and earned it or he has reason not to like his own kids. Maybe both. Tell them to figure it out themselves.”
Bran gave a disapproving hum but said nothing else on the matter as he scribbled something on his writing board. “That brings us to Lord Warnell. He is once again petitioning for the removal of the Dalish elves on his land,” he continued. “He claims they have been stealing food from his stores, vandalizing his property, and terrorizing his children.”
Varric snorted and turned a page in his book. A Laysister’s Tale, allegedly written by a disgraced sister from the Chantry. Riveting stuff, if he could focus on a single sentence without Bran interrupting him. “His children are older than half the recruits in the guard. I’m willing to bet they’re throwing wild parties and blaming the mess on the elves.”
“Be that as it may, Warnell is not known for his patience,” Bran continued. “We’d best deal with the matter quickly.”
Varric hardly looked up. “And I’m not known for giving into idiotic demands.”
Bran sighed and set the writing board he’d brought along with them flat onto his lap. Varric didn’t have to look at him to know he’d been fixed with a hard, irritated stare, the same one he’d been giving since Varric had been elected to the office. “If you choose to ignore both Lord Warnell and the Orville family in such a short period, you will be making enemies of two noble houses. And I shouldn’t need to remind you how few allies you have left.”
It was Varric’s turn to sigh. “Maybe learning a little self-sufficiency will be good for them.”
“If you do not wish to be ousted from your position prematurely, I strongly advise you to take at least one matter seriously, viscount.”
Politics. Every day Varric found a brand new reason why he’d avoided getting involved with this shit before. It was all fun and games being on the sidelines and watching them tear each other apart like sharks in blood-infested waters. It was significantly less fun to be the thing the sharks were vying for. But his time in the Inquisition made him feel like he could do something, bring some real change to Kirkwall. He just wished the people didn’t kick and scream their way into it half the time.
“Fine. I hate it when you’re right. We’ll tell the elves to pack it up and move elsewhere,” Varric said. “And I’ll trust you to figure out how to solve the Orville problem.”
“Very well, messere. Now, there’s the matter of Starkhaven…”
