(And of opening up a little...)
Sophia had nearly made it down the steps to exit the Viscount's Keep when the voice of her brother called out from behind her. "Off to play the hero again, are we sister?" She lurched to a halt, the pair of guards at the double doors suddenly unsure whether they should open them or not. Sophia spun about to face Saemus, who was coming down the stairs in a rather striking green doublet, his black hair combed back away from his face. Sophia herself had just suited up in her newly enchanted chainmail and plate, and was about to head back down to Lowtown. The day was wearing on, and his father had retired to attend to personal business, leaving any further court matters to the Seneschal, which freed Sophia to do as she pleased with the evening. Apparently her brother did not approve of her choice.
"Saemus, what are you talking about? I'm just going--" But he cut her off. "Down to Lowtown? Perhaps you'll come across another dragon to slay, write another chapter in the legend of Sophia Dumar?" She found herself a little stunned, but this wasn't the first time Saemus had done that to her. This was a rather typical way for him to respond to things he disagreed with. He'd pout for a time, often unnoticeably, stewing by himself, until at some point he could contain his displeasure no longer, and it spilled over the top in the form of venomous words, which were really the only kind of aggression he was capable of mustering.
"Oh!" he continued. "Or maybe another horde of heathen Qunari will attack you, and you can drive off the invaders! Or stop a giant spider-monster from terrorizing the poor people in Darktown!" Sophia weathered this by simply standing where she was, crossing her arms and holding his gaze. The pair of guards behind her shifted uncomfortably. Sophia was glad there weren't many people in hall, at least. "You could go find the leader of the Coterie, and drag him into the Gallows to let him rot for a few decades. Could I come with you? I could be your squire, polish your armor, sharpen your sword, and write down tales of your heroics. We could make a pilgrimage to the sacred ashes of Andraste. Ever since I heard about that one I've wanted to piss in that urn."
That managed to turn Sophia a little red in the face, and she currently regretted the day she put the idea into words. The Warden Queen of Ferelden had supposedly found the location of the Urn some time before the end of the Blight, and ever since Sophia had heard of the place she dreamed of seeing it. "... Are you quite finished, brother?" she asked softly, and to her relief, he spoke no more, allowing her a turn.
"I'm not sure I want to know where all of this is coming from," she continued, "but I can assure you that all I've been trying to do is to help the people in our city, regardless of their social status. Kirkwall is like two different cities at this point, and Lowtown currently needs any help they can get. I can't just stand idly by while--" He scoffed and interrupted her. "Oh, please, Sophia. Don't try to pass this off as some kind of selfless service to Kirkwall, not when everyone says otherwise. It's a reckless, selfish, glory-seeking habit."
She breathed deeply through her nose, trying to avoid raising her voice, and only making things worse. "I had hoped you would have learned by now that the nobles in Hightown do not constitute 'everyone' in Kirkwall. In case you were informed otherwise, the dragon that I played a part in defeating was terrorizing a mine with its kin." Saemus didn't seem impressed. "And the qunari you killed? I suppose you had a good reason for that, too? Apart from increasing the already high tension between them and the city?" Her eyes fell to the floor momentarily, and she ran a hand through thick golden hair. She really didn't want to have this conversation with him here of all places...
Sparrow had the perfect plan. In her own head, in her thoughts, there was nothing at all wrong with the idea of bumbling into the Viscount's Keep in order to ask him about his ledgers, of all those he'd allowed into Kirkwall when they'd all arrived in those ships. Surely, he'd be able to tell her whether or not two shifty characters – bloody bastards, those two rats, had moved through Kirkwall, or even settled down in its midst. She doubted the latter, for she hadn't seen even a glimpse of them. She wouldn't have missed them, either. She never would. Rapture's presence was sporadic, often melting into an ambient noise of displeasure, murmuring in her ear canals when she thought of doing something foolish. This particular plan fell under that category, but she'd made up her mind and she was fighting tooth and nail for control, pushing against the demon with all her might. If she could hunt down Arcadius and Silian, then she could finally exact her revenge and all of this would be over; in theory, anyway. No longer would she find herself suspicious of Rilien's kindness, or look upon Lucien's face and see him staring back. No longer would she find herself painting their faces on her friends, wondering whether or not they'd finally corner her, tear apart who she'd become and reveal a much weaker person; a cowering little girl whose fears rattled her bones.
In mid-stride, Sparrow opened the double-doors wide, nearly colliding with Sophia and a man whose eyes she shared, and effectively bustling the guardsmen aside. It took her a moment to recuperate from the shock of nearly bowling two people over, but she took it easily, quickly recovering with a brimming grin. “Oh, I didn't mean to intrude,” She began to say, rocking back on her heels. For a moment, Sparrow seemed poised to say more, but she held up her finger, waggled it and stepped backwards, past the double-doors, where she then closed them back on herself. The doors slowly reopened and she proceeded to lean her shoulders against them, peering out between the crack she'd made. The smile tugging at her lips, two-parts amused, and two-parts mischievous, only seemed to brighten, as if this was a chance meeting with someone she'd been looking for all along. Perhaps, this was more appropriate than her initial idea of storming the Keep until she happened upon the Viscount. What if he was away on an important errand? Far too busy to fetch up some documents. She didn't move away from the doors, only blinked up at Sophia and Saemus, hunched over. “Sophia, is it?” She greeted breezily, “It's what I remember the gallant knight saying, anyway. I like Sophie better.”
“I was hoping it'd be you.” The comment might have seemed odd coming from Sparrow, but she seemed nonplussed by its implications, only glancing briefly at Saemus to gauge what had been going on between them. By the looks of the man's creased eyebrows, broody eyes, and telltale frown, it might've been a disagreement. Rilien always told her it was best not to bury her nose where it didn't belong. Finally, the half-breed straightened her shoulders, stepped through the threshold and pulled one of the doors wide open, ignoring the gawping look the guard was shooting her. “Apologies, Serrah, but I need to borrow Sophie for a wee bit, if you wouldn't mind,” She swept her hand towards the door, arching her eyebrows. If Sophia needed saving from whatever she'd been talking about, then it would've been a perfect excuse, even though they hadn't planned on speaking at all – and she could ask her in the meantime, it wouldn't hurt. She seemed ready to depart the Keep anyway, with mail armour riddled around her joints. As if to accentuate the offer, Sparrow offered an upturned palm for the taking.
The half elf... man's, interruption was a welcome one for Sophia, even if she found everything about it to be entirely odd. She remembered him, even though they had only briefly met before, but even still she found the informal nature of his greeting to be a little surprising. Sophia, Saemus, and the pair of guards inside the door all turned their heads to watch the visitor retract from the doorway and then reappear, addressing the Viscount's daughter by her given name, and then by a nickname, one which Sophia was not particularly fond of herself. Sophie was too... girlish, and reminded her far too much of her childhood.
The guards, and Saemus, blinked in surprise at the rather bold entrance Sparrow made, but allowed Sophia to speak for herself. She was momentarily torn between addressing her brother and the visitor, but Saemus soon solved that problem by throwing up a hand in dismissal and departing towards the private quarters at a quick pace. Sophia thought to call after him for a moment, but knew it would be no good, so instead she sighed in displeasure and turned to Sparrow. The half-elf had his hand swept towards the open door, and Sophia shrugged before heading outside. It was true that she had been planning on leaving anyway, and if Sparrow had come seeking her specifically, maybe they were headed to similar places as well.
Once the pair of them were outside and the great doors shut behind them, Sophia began to lead the way down the steps. "It's... Sparrow, right? We met in the Hanged Man, I think. I was just headed there, myself. You needed something?"
Sparrow offered her another smile, retracting her hand back to her side. She'd half expected for the guards to silence her charade, berate her for interrupting their quarrel and appearing in quarters she didn't belong in, but was glad that Sophia seemed at least as inclined to leave as she'd expected. Her smile briefly faltered, then blossomed into a wry grin. “Sophie is a lovely nickname, but I'll call you Sophia, if you'd prefer,” Sparrow added softly, clicking her tongue. She'd seen the odd scrunch of the armoured-woman's nose when she'd let the nickname slip – and as inept as she was at picking up subtle expressions, she wasn't entirely oblivious. She knew how it felt to be called a name that didn't suit who she'd become, like wearing ill-fitting boots. She hooked her thumbs in her belt, eyeing the ceiling. What might it have been like to grow up beneath those archways, running around marble pillars, scampering down carpeted stairwells?
His inexperience with royalty was plain as day to her, as most of the people around here would have trouble calling her by anything other than my lady, and here he was offering a choice between her first name and a nickname. "I do prefer Sophia, actually. Thank you for asking." In all honesty, it was quite refreshing for someone to come into the Keep and not act like she was worth more than them or something.
Sparrow followed Sophia down the steps, moving beside her. She barely avoided bumping into a passing man, murmuring a quick apology as she shifted to the side, then stepped back into place. “Sparrow, that's right. Barely properly introduced,” the half-breed put in, bobbing her head, “The Hanged Man? Perfect. I need to ask you some questions. The subject is a little fragile, and it might not be tasteful for any passing ears, if you get my meaning. I'll buy you a drink.” Searching for assailants with the obvious intent of hunting them down certainly wouldn't sit well with any snobbish, goody-goody nobles who believed justice was best dealt with patience and prisons. She wasn't looking for someone to plaster wanted posters around Kirkwall, either. If Sophia had access to Kirkwall's records, however, then she was the perfect person to come to. Perhaps, better to see her then to ask for an audience with the Viscount. From what she'd heard, he'd holed himself up, refusing to take any action at all.
Another fragile subject, huh? Sophia took a moment to wonder if there was an issue in Kirkwall that wasn't fragile. If it involved the words mage, templar, or qunari, then the answer was definitely no. Maker, even fighting those bandits for her brother hadn't been a straightforward issue. And speaking, Saemus was doing an excellent job remembering to be grateful for that little adventure, wasn't he? Sophia rolled her eyes to herself, pushing the thought of her brother from her mind.
The two of them made their way through Hightown and down the steps, making enough conversation so as to not allow the trip to become awkward. Sophia was more than familiar with the way down the Hanged Man by now, and swiftly cut through the Lowtown streets until she reached the destination, pulling open the door and leading the way inside. She spotted the dwarf, Varric, as she entered the main room, and waved to get his attention. Though they did not know each other very well, Varric easily understood the value of being friends with the future Viscount, and Sophia had learned the benefits of being friends with a man like Varric. She knew him enough to know he was good at heart, and that his connections (and words) had perhaps more influence over the people of Lowtown than she or her father did. "Hello, Varric," she said. He bowed rather low. "Good afternoon, my lady," Varric said with a trademark smirk. "And to you, Sparrow. What can I do for you today?"
"Could I borrow your room for a moment?" Sophia asked. "Sparrow has something to discuss with me. I had hoped to speak with you afterwards, as well." The dwarf nodded easily. "Of course. I'll make sure no one disturbs you."
That out of the way, Sophia gestured for Sparrow to follow and led the way up the stairs to the rooms, closing the door to Varric's room once both of them were inside. She pulled up a chair, indicating for Sparrow to do the same. "This should do, I think. The drink won't be necessary. Now, what can I help you with?"
In turn, as she was greeted, Sparrow bowed her head, and slipped a hand across an invisible plumed hat. The Dwarf had proven, over the years spent in Kirkwall's infamous tavern, to be not only useful, and efficient in gathering information, but to be one of her predominant drinking companions whenever she was out of sorts. He never failed to make her laugh, and even though she'd never shared her most intimate secrets, she'd always felt like he could see straight through her. However, it didn't make her feel uncomfortable. She always thought that he'd heard stranger tales, or stories that reflected her own (at least, ones that might make hers a little less shocking). When she straightened, Sophia had already asked whether or not they could borrow his room – which was met with an assertive yes. It didn't surprise her. Rubbing elbows with the Viscount's daughter, or anyone of any important birthright, was useful in its own right.
For someone who'd spent a hefty chunk of her time under the Hanged Man's bar stools, Sparrow hadn't made it any further than that, so anything in the rooms above the stairs was territory she'd yet to discover. She let her gaze roam across the various rooms until Sophia slipped into the one closest to the staircase, which she promptly ducked into. Unusual posters, and drawings hung in the far corner of the suite, though it was the chair Sophia motioned to that drew her attention. Sparrow swiftly plopped herself into it, crossing her leg over her knee. There were certain secrets she'd have to skip around. It wasn't entirely unlike her to skim around the truth, or offer half-truths in the place of complete honesty, and this particular instance wasn't any difference. If she'd taken anything to heart while staying with Rilien, it was the importance of tactful discretion and keeping her mouth shut. She shrugged her shoulders, sweeping her hands in front of her as if to say are you sure about that drink?
When it was obvious that she wouldn't take her up on the offer, Sparrow rested her elbow on her knee, leaning forward just enough so that she could support her chin in her upturned palm. She met the woman's gaze resolutely, only looking briefly away to gather her thoughts. “I'm looking for someone, or two someones, rather,” She began to say, then continued, “A few months after I came to Kirkwall, we started receiving refugees from Ferelden. If I'm correct, everything's been written down, catalogued in ledgers, or documents. Papers, or anything.” She laughed into her knuckles, though it lacked its usual warmth, “I'll admit that I was seeking an audience with your father, but he's been rather busy with other matters.” Everyone knew that the Viscount was tied up with the Arishok stationed in the docks. Those issues would always be at the forefront of his mind, tangling him into affairs that, to him, would be far more important than shuffling through old files. Her eyebrows drew together, expression growing grave. “I need to find them. Can you help me? Please.”
Sophia was glad Sparrow had run into her rather than try to gain an audience with her father. He was indeed quite preoccupied with larger issues, and would only have been aggravated by a request like this. In fact, the Seneschal likely would have either turned him away or heard the request himself, if he thought it important enough, but certainly this would never have made it before the Viscount. Kirkwall had taken in thousands of refugees since the beginning of the Blight, and although it was ended now, a vast majority of them either could not or chose not to leave, for whatever reason.
"That's true, the city guard took a full accounting of everyone who entered the city seeking refuge during the Blight. I'm afraid there's not much more information to be had than the names, though. If the names you're looking for are on the list, it would only mean that they are somewhere within the city walls." Almost certainly in Darktown, Sophia added mentally. Lowtown if they were lucky or extremely hard working. The undercity's population had exploded since the refugees started coming in, along with the crime.
"I can see if Bran or the city guard can take a look through it for you. Who are you looking for?" It wasn't that she wouldn't be willing to do it herself, it was just that her free time was precious to her, with the responsibilities her father was piling onto her. It seemed a simple enough task, but it also seemed tedious, and Sophia wanted to avoid spending a free afternoon poring over papers in the Gallows if at all possible.
Any attempts at trying to tame her eagerness curdled in her stomach. Sparrow leaned back in her chair, watching Sophia's facial expressions. She'd learnt a long time ago – that, even though your companions may be friends with your acquaintances, it didn't always mean you could trust them, or hope for anything unrealistic. She didn't know her very well, though she had a pretty face, and a genuineness that surprised her. Her ability to tell the difference between lies and truth, to read between the lines and extract what she needed out of lies and dishonesty had long been eroded away with her own inability to come clean. She could only read so much in someone's eyes, but it seemed as if Sophia honestly wanted to help her, if she had the time to do so. “I know who they are, I need only know if they're still residing in Kirkwall.”
Her fingers found themselves wrung together, white-knuckled and rosy, until she slipped them apart and sighed. Anxiety blossomed in her gut, feeding a desperation she never knew she possessed. “Arcadius Kassim and Silian Raunthil,” She said the names like curses, like things she whispered between her lips in the dead of night. She'd said them more times than she wished to count. To Rilien, in the middle of the night, when she had nightmares. To herself, when she scoured Kirkwall, foolishly willing them to appear in the alleyways so that she could kill them. Her eyebrows knit together, souring her usual cheeriness. Every memory that threatened to squirm out of the hole she'd dug was promptly smothered, hastily buried to keep herself from crumbling. “They're dangerous – parasites in your city, really. Worse than anything in Darktown.”
She paused briefly, pinching her nose between forefinger and thumb. “One of them even looks like Lucien.”
So he was looking for dangerous people, was he? That caught Sophia's attention. Worse than anything in Darktown was a pretty big statement, and though he hadn't yet stated why he was looking for these people, Sophia's instincts told her that this was something worth following up on. Sparrow didn't exactly strike her as the type to go catching dangerous criminals just because he could, which led her to believe there was obviously something personal going on here.
"Arcadius Kassim and Silian Raunthil," she repeated. "I'll make sure Bran puts someone on this, and I can let you know personally if their names turn up. If they're criminals, it's likely they would use a false name, but I'll have the city guard go through the lists all the same." Notably, Sophia did not ask the obvious question of why Sparrow would want to find them, but that was primarily because if they did have any success locating the two of them, they would be having this conversation again. That, and Sophia wasn't quite convinced this was entirely her business yet. If they were as much a danger to her city as Sparrow seemed to think, she would probably want to go after them with him, but as of now Sophia didn't feel it was appropriate to pry for more information.
Though, Sparrow would've been hard-pressed to admit it, there was still much of Papyrus inside her. She was still the same: stubborn. Hard-headed. Doubtful, lonely, afraid.She felt like she was protecting someone by seeking them out, by promising that she'd destroy them as soon as she hunted them down. Eyes, brilliantly brown, were beginning to water, until she dashed her knuckles into them, mashing any unspilled tears away as if she were tired, exhausted by the peculiar request she'd just made. She didn't apologize for her behaviour, only met Sophia's gaze once more, holding it steady. “Thank you, Sophia,” She breathed, leaning over so that she could touch the woman's arm, then, thinking better of it, pulled briskly way. Her movements were wooden, particularly odd given her eccentricity.
“We have history. They attacked me as a child, stole me away from my family.” One small truth, vague as it was, would be enough. The details were shady, at best. If Sophia wanted to know more, and if it came down to trading information for what she wanted, for what she needed, then she'd do her best to offer it. If not, then nothing needed to be said. "I want to prevent that from happening ever again."