The Bargain (Or, "Why Faren and Alistair never really got along")

[unikorento]

Title: The Bargain
Author: unikorento
Fandom(s): Dragon Age: Origins
Pairing: none that I can think of
Rating: M?
Word Count: 1006
Warnings: .... I dunno.
Summary: They should have taken the road to Lothering

”We've got plenty to trade. And they're good wares, I've shown you everything we're carrying.”

”Yes, and there's nothing there I'd need. Look, this is the last batch of injury kits I'm carrying, and I won't be getting new wares for seven days or more. I won't let a one of them go without proper compensation – and you've not got anything to offer. And no, before you say it, this hasn't a thing to do with being a brand, it's just business. I'd tell the same to a noble”

Faren glared, and the merchant shrugged with a big grin.

”Well, I suppose I wouldn't have to say that to a noble. They would have the coin.”

”We need your wares,” Faren repeated slowly, losing his patience, but the merchant didn't seem even slightly intimidated. (Not surprising that, considering he had five armed men at his back.)

”And they are for sale,” he answered. ”I'll happily sell them to anyone who can make it worth my while.”

”And who would that be? We've been on this road over three days, and there hasn't been a soul on it!”

 

”We could simply rob him,” Morrigan suggested quietly to the air behind Faren's back, as if it were the obvious course of action. It was more bravado than anything else, but she felt that the option deserved to at least be discussed.

”That's stealing,” Alistair protested just as quietly, but when Morrigan simply raised an eyebrow, his voice rose in pitch.

”It's a ridiculous suggestion! You can't hold a spell longer than a few seconds, and Faren barely has a leg to stand on. We'd get skewered, all of us.”

”I suppose you would prefer death by infection then?” Morrigan hissed in answer, stepping back so that their argument would not interfere with the one being held by the wagon.

 

”If your skills in herbalism weren't so rudimentary, perhaps we wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. What kind of a Witch of the Wilds isn't able to ground herbs into poultices anyway? Weren't you supposed to have grown up here?” Alistair countered, jabbing a finger at Morrigan in a way that – had she been in animal form – would have caused him to lose it between her jaws. As it was, her eyes grew wide in anger, and her sharp intake of breath promised a seething verbal comeback, but Faren's raised voice cut her off.

”We've got things to offer in trade,” he insisted (for the second time, and hoping more than knowing it to be true). "We'll go through our packs again.”

 

It was an embarrassment, more than anything else. Most of their injuries hadn't even been caused by darkspawn, just by bad luck. Wolves, bears, and – on one spectacular occasion – an ambush by common robbers.

The thing they ought to have done after Ostagar would have been to go to Lothering as both Morrigan and Alistair had insisted. The road would have taken them there, it wouldn't have been a detour, and it would have given them valuable information. But they hadn't. They hadn't taken the road, and as of yet they hadn't even quite agreed on exactly where they were headed. And now they were... if not exactly lost, then at least in dire need of supplies. And perhaps a map.

 

”For the last time, I've not the space for any more wolf pelts,” the peddler sighed in exasperation. A little more dramatically than was needed, but he was a man who enjoyed adding a flare to things. ”But... ” he glanced back, first at the mercenaries he had hired to guard his own wagons, and then over at Faren's two bickering companions. ”If your need really is as great as it seems. Perhaps we could come to some... arrangement.”

Faren's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and then came down again in keen suspicion.

”What kind of arrangement?” He had a feeling he knew exactly what kind, but things like these needed to be specified.

”Well,” the peddler drawled, slipping easily into the common dwarven tongue to keep the conversation more private. ”Pojat on olleet tien päällä pitkän aikaa,” he explained. ”Ja puolitiessähän tässä vasta ollaan. Rahvas kulkee rahan perässä kauniisti, ei siinä mitään, mutta kulkisivat kauniimmin jos saisivat viihdyttää itseään hetken. Tie on pitkä, tiedät tämän varmaan itsekin, matkalainen kun kerta olet.”

 

Faren shrugged. Sex as currency was common enough in Orzammar, but he was almost completely sure that it wouldn't be quite so easy here on the surface. He looked over his shoulder, only to see that the change in language had caught the attention of both Alistair and Morrigan. Alistair looked mostly baffled, while Morrigan's eyes were suspicious slits. She didn't like not knowing what was going on, and – really – who could be fault her for that? Their collectively weakened state left them vulnerable, and being vulnerable was not a natural state for Morrigan. Her poor temper had grown increasingly worse for each passing day.

 

”Ei me tässä yötä aiota olla,” Faren protested, though he was careful not to refuse the offer entirely.

”Ei me tässä yötä tarvittaisi. Tunnin, ehkä pari. Me kaksi jäädään tähän vaunujen luo, muut siirtyvät metsään...” The peddler gestured towards the forest.

”En usko että Morriganista on...”

”No, ei! Kiven kautta, ei. Maageista ei koskaan tiedä. Huonosti siinä vaan kävisi. Mutta...” he nodded meaningfully at Alistair. ”Tuo sinun ritarisi.”

Faren looked back at his companions, incredulous more than anything else. Morrigan followed his stare to Alistair, and a slow smile of comprehension curved her lips.

 

”Well,” she almost purred. ”It seems we won't have to resort to stealing at least.”

Alistair frowned, still not catching on. He looked at Morrigan, and from her to Faren's hopeful expression, to the peddler's satisfied one, to the hungry eyes of the five mercenaries waiting by the edge of the forest, and turned pale.