Behind him, the crowd roared as undoubtedly a young chevalier ate another lance. MichÀel's mind was elsewhere however, and his intended path taking him there. There may have been an urgency to his stride, a worry on his shoulders, but for the life of him he wouldn't let Khari know that. Marcy knew, she could read everything he felt, even through his mask. Though it couldn't have been too difficult, he hadn't hidden the the hiss between his teeth when Caron's lance dipped low. Marceline had let him depart without a word, only a knowing nod.
It didn't take long with his quickened pace to reach Khari's tent. Instinctively he reached out to the tent flap before he hesitated. He tossed a cursory glance around him to ensure that there were no prying eyes before he poked his head in. He quickly scanned the inside before trying to catch the eyes of Leon in order to get some information. He'd seen that Khari was dripping blood, and for her to forfeit, it couldn't just have been skin deep. It'd take a lot for her to just give up, even if it was the wisest option at the moment.
Leon was not typically difficult to find, though in this case, the number of people in the tent was not helping. As it happened, he was still beside Khari; he'd anxiously looked up when MichĂ€el half-entered, but his brows furrowedâobviously he was expecting someone else.
"They should be sending us a healer," he muttered, as much to himself as anyone else. Tightening his grip on the fabric between his hands, he tugged, reinforcing the makeshift tourniquet he'd just tied around Khari's leg. The plate armor on that side was gone already, the pieces discarded to his left. "Anyone have a potion in the meantime?"
The question overlapped with Khari's loud âFuck!" Her grip flexed on one of the wooden supports of the cot he'd put her on. Her face screwed up into a grimace; she forced herself to breathe through her nose.
"I've got one." The little elf, Brand, had slipped in the tent behind MichÀel, and he approached Khari now, offering a potion with a distinctly Orlesian label.
"Let me see that," Rom grabbed it from his hand, inspecting the bottle. He popped the cork and sniffed. The Inquisitor had been in the tent ever since Khari's match had concluded, staying close but out of the way. He'd been staying quiet as well.
"I know my potions, too, ser," Brand objected. "I got a good one." Rom was apparently satisfied, as he relinquished the potion to Khari. Brand backed away from the cot, glancing at the more senior members present. "I'll be outside. Keeping an eye out."
"Not to cause further problems," Estella said, breaking into the conversation from her spot a little further away, seated in one of the plain wooden chairs the tent was furnished with. "But... exactly what are we going to do about this? Even assuming you put the helmet back on, the healer will do a better job if they know you're an elf, and a clever one will probably be able to figure it out whether we tell them or not."
This thought did not seem to have occurred to Leon, at least not in the heat of the moment. He grimaced. "Well... we really only need them to stay quiet for the duration of the Tourney. Bribery is always a possibility."
"Marcy and I brought a decent purse with us," MichÀel said, stepping into the tent more fully, though careful to stay out of the way of more important personnel. He lingered near the mouth of the tent, arms crossed with a hand rubbing the beard at his chin. "Half now, half after the Tourney?" he offered. Marcy had thought to get some shopping done while in the city, but... Well, their need was elsewhere right now. He'd make it up to her somehow, but later. He glanced at Khari and then back to Leon, "We may need their... services later. It'd be convenient to have one in our pocket for the time being," he noted. He found himself wishing that they could use their own personnel for this, but that was too much of a stretch. Even if they'd come to Val Royeaux with them, their healers were rather unique.
Leon grimaced. "Assuming the idea even works, I can take care of it. No need to dip into personal funds here. Just... please be aware that we're going to have to negotiate something before the healer leaves the tent, and that something might involve a bit of strongarming." No doubt it was rather hard to plan when the most important element in the equation was entirely unknown to them.
Not that they had a choice, in this case.
Further discussion was precluded; the healer in question arrived not a few moments later, standing politely in front of the tent flap before admittance. Once it was pulled aside, his eyes swept the assembled before landing quite quickly on Khari. The way he froze allowed a tense moment of study for all involved.
He must have been Riviani or Antivan by heritage, given the mid-toned brown of his skin. His face was slightly weathered, though nothing about him suggested age over thirty, so a life in the sun was the most likely cause. He blinked, dark brows arching towards his hairline.
No immediate recognition was apparentâthe surprise could only be directed at Khari. The expression morphed to confusion, then suspicion, but in the end it settled on something a bit more difficult to place, his mouth a compressed line and brows knit together. "Excuse me, but if you could clear slightly more space around the patient, I'd appreciate the room to work." Antivan, then, from the accent. It rolled over the r's and lingered on vowels in a way that suggested a lifetime spent quite a ways north.
Leon didn't vacate immediately, instead keeping pressure on Khari's wound until the man had reached her and could immediately take over the work.
Khari made a sound somewhere between a grumble and a groan. âThe patient's got a name."
The healer was already crossing the remaining space, eyes down on the potions suspended from his belt by leather loops about their necks. "And I'm sure it's a lovely one. I'm equally sure it's better if I don't know what it is."
Rom wasn't quick to clear the space he was occupying, but he did so eventually, all while examining the healer unlucky enough to get sent to them. "Are you freelance?" he asked. "You're a long way from Antiva."
"So I am." The healer smiled a bit crookedly and handed Khari a potion. "Drink this, please."
âWhat's it for?" The answer didn't appear to concern her too much; she was already uncorking the bottle.
"The pain. I'm not a spirit healer; this is going to hurt a bit." He was already inspecting the wound, wincing in what might have been sympathy when he got a better look at the gouge. His hands lit a soft green; he passed them over the injury a couple of times while Khari swallowed whatever he'd given her.
Whether by design or coincidence, she did visibly relax, some of the tension leaving her muscles. The cot creaked softly underneath her as she leaned back into it.
The magic in the man's hands flickered a couple of times before the color shifted towards the yellow end of the spectrum. "They had to scrape together most every decent healer in Orlais to cover this event. And some outsiders. And probably some healers that aren't even decent. I'm local for the moment, thoughâjust moved to Val Royeaux a little while ago, actually." Apparently, speaking did not detract from his work so much that he felt uncomfortable doing both at the same time.
"I'll not ask where any of you are from."
"That's... perhaps the wisest decision for the moment," MichÀel noted with a passing glance to Leon. The less information they gave the healer would perhaps be for the best-- for both parties.
It was unclear if Leon caught the glance; he was studying their unlucky mage with an unreadable expression. He didn't seem to disagree, though, and volunteered no information himself.
"I'm sure it's... quite an adjustment to move to," Estella said, probably to keep the conversation flowing. There would be an awful lot of tense silence, otherwise.
MichÀel's attention was drawn away from the conversation by Brand, who had reentered the tent quietly. The elf tugged subtly at his sleeve, looking at the healer work but with his attention split elsewhere. "Might have a problem," he said quietly, not even loud enough to be heard by Khari or the healer. In fact, the conversation there helped to mask his. "Mysterious hooded lurker outside, don't think he came with the healer. Definitely interested in our tent. Probably knows something he shouldn't by now."
"Ah dammit," MichÀel cursed under his breath. He looked up from Brand and shifted his head to try and catch Rom's eyes. Once he managed to catch his attention, MichÀel gestured for him to approach. He was never for the cloak and dagger, that was Marcy and Larissa's wheelhouse, and between all of them in the tent, Romulus was a much better resource to lean on than he was.
Once he was close enough, he leaned forward and spoke softly, so as to not interrupt the other conversation going on. "We have prying eyes," he said with an indicative nod towards Brand. "Think we should find out if they've seen something they're not supposed to?" He asked Brand and Rom. He couldn't do it on his own. He didn't have any delusions toward himself, he wasn't subtle like they were and this would require subtlety. However, he could still be useful, if used right.
Rom only responded with a nod, and was the first one out of the tent, leaving Brand to shrug at MichÀel. "This should be interesting." The others stayed behind with Khari, not needing to know what exactly was going on. The three of them could certainly handle one eavesdropper, and any more would draw more attention than they wanted.
The activity outside hadn't lessened any, the tournament still going strong and people still coming and going and passing by all of the other nearby tents. Rom waited in the street for them, peering at strangers from underneath his mask. Brand jerked his head sideways at him, indicating the left side of the tent.
The hooded man in question had noticed the exit of three people from the tent, no doubt, and by the time their eyes were on him he was already walking at a brisk pace away from the tent. Barely restraining the urge to break into a run by the looks of things.
MichÀel glanced at Brand first, then gestured toward Rom and hoped that they knew what to do from there. For himself he angled himself away and at their mystery man. He aimed to follow the man at his brisk pace and though he tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, it wasn't exactly his forte. However, it was for the other two with them, and hopefully while the man tried to avoid the obvious fellow following him, he wouldn't notice the other two.
The field was a chaotic mess of tents, colored canvas interrupting the landscape and their eyelines at various intervals. Knights, squires, servants and healers all moved about with purpose, the metallic clank of armor and occasional horse-noise giving the area a music MichÀel was long familiar with. It was a controlled sort of chaos, but more than enough for one person to get lost in.
Their eavesdropper took a sharp right, ducking behind someone's black-and-yellow tent; by the time MichÀel rounded the same corner, a flicker of dark fabric was all he could see around the next.
"Shit," MichÀel muttered under his breath, though he never dropped his pace. In fact, he quickened it toward the last place he'd see the cloak. As he proceeded, he tossed a glance around his shoulders in search of either Rom or Brand, but he couldn't find them either, which he found more comforting than not. Maybe one of them still had the man in their sights. Regardless, MichÀel ducked his head and took a hard step around the next tent, his eyes immediately scanning the next row.
"This way, ser!" The call came from Brand, on MichÀel's left, poking his shaggy head out from behind an olive green tent. He used the title without any trace of the teasing manner he'd used on Rom, and was already starting a backpedal, urging MichÀel towards him. "He's this way!"
With Rom out of sight, he could only assume that the Inquisitor was in pursuit of their fleeing eavesdropper. It wasn't as though Brand could say that out loud; they hadn't settled on any code names for Khari's mercenary help just yet, and yelling out a strongly Tevinter name in Val Royeaux wasn't the best approach.
They took off on Rom's trail, darting around mounted knights returning from their jousts, their squires and servants attending to them as they went. One horse was gargantuan enough for Brand to duck entirely under rather than run around. Before long they caught sight of the dirt kicked up at their heels. Rom was right on the eavesdropper's tail, arms outstretched to take him down. Quick though he was, he couldn't outrun the Inquisitor.
Unfortunately they went down in the midst of a group of servants at the front of another large tent, knocking down several people in the process. A chorus of angry and surprised shouts went up, and within seconds the chevalier inside had opened the tent flap to investigate the commotion. Rom struggled to pin the hooded man down, but an elbow thrown back caught him in the face.
It ripped his mask off, tossing it to the ground. Rom had enough awareness to abandon the eavesdropper in favor of the immediate problem. While the hooded man scrambled to his feet and tried to take off again, Rom rolled over and grabbed the mask, his hood concealing his features from the people all around him well enough while he struggled to put it back on. Brand skidded to a halt in front of the watching people, who shouted and swore in their native tongue at him and Rom still on the ground. That left it to MichÀel to snag the eavesdropper before he could get away again.
The commotion and ground fighting had let him close the distance, and by the time the hooded man found his feet, MichÀel was there. With his big paw, MichÀel seized a large handful of the strangers collar and cloak. He was by no means a small man, and what he lacked in subtlety more than enough made up for in strength, and it looked like delicacy had flown out of the window regardless. MichÀel growled low at the man in his hands before he quickly turned toward the chevalier who had just exited. "My apologies ser, just dealing with a troublemaker," was all that he offered before turning to start to drag the fellow in his grip away-- hopefully somewhere secluded.
"Very sorry," Brand added, tugging Rom up as soon as he had his mask on. "Very sorry, ser," he repeated. The pair of them followed in MichÀel's wake, Rom uttering a string of nearly silent curses on the way.
"Let go!" The man in MichĂ€el's grip thrashed, his hood falling down to reveal a head of curly auburn hair and pointed earsâhis slight stature made more sense now. He wasn't much bigger than Brand. "I've done nothing wrongâyou can't do this!"
The protestations drew several disapproving eyes, but as soon as the hood had fallen, most of the offense and concern in the surrounding populace had faded as well. Several of the most immediately involved outright scoffed. The chevalier scowled, opening his mouth as if to chastise someone, but closed it again with a shake of his head, waving them off with an inpatient gesture.
The reaction was no doubt disheartening to the eavesdropper, who didn't seem to struggle so much anymore. The sullen downturn of his mouth remained, and he breathed heavily through his nose, chest rising and falling more gradually as his breathing calmed. Though he walked well enough where steered, he certainly didn't go out of his way to accommodate MichÀel, dragging his feet as if to slow their passage as much as possible.
"There's witnesses now. Someone will notice if I disappear."
MichÀel cast a couple of glances around him, mostly at other individuals. While few spared looks their way, it was clear that their attentions were tied up elsewhere, and probably mostly only looked at them because of the oddity of it all. He grinned, though it was his usual half smirk. "Honestly, I think you're the least of their concerns at the moment," he answered with a half-hearted shrug. "But you're in luck, I'm not in the business of making people disappear." He didn't make it a habit of murdering strangers for no good reason. At worst, they'd just have to ensure that the elf kept his mouth quiet for couple of days.
"We do have a couple of questions though, and would enjoy honest answers," MichÀel answered, his smirk dropping into an inquisitive frown. They needed to know how much he knew, and how much of a danger he was to Khari's operation. There were many ways this could go wrong for her, and he'd hate for it to all fall apart because of a pair of loose lips. She'd put in too much work to be undone by chatter.
He steered them away from the congestion and activity of the proving grounds and into a secluded corner. He checked around him to make sure that no one was in their immediate vicinity and then asked, "So, why were you being suspicious around our tent?" he asked with an arched brow.
"Standing in public space is illegal now, is it?"
"Depends on where," MichÀel stated with a waggle of an eyebrow.
That earned him nothing but stony silence, the elf's glare baleful. This close, it was easy to tell that he was hardly more than a child, still gaunt in the manner of an adolescent whose growth up had outstripped his growth out. He couldn't have been more than fourteen.
"I know what a spy looks like," Brand added, quietly. "Or rather, a wannabe spy, or maybe someone who was asked to be a spy and didn't really have any choice. All of those things look a lot like you. Trust me, I've been doing this a lot longer than you." He gave the elf a pat on the back, as if to comfort him. "Question is, who's spying on us? Are they afraid to face Katriane GĂ©rin in a fair fight? Come on, who put you up to this?"
The softer approach seemed to mollify the youth somewhat, though his shoulders bunched up a bit, fingers curling into the rough fabric of his tunic. "It's notâit's not like that, okay? Just... I was supposed to walk around, see if I could hear anything interesting. There's dozens like me around, acting like stable-boys or servants or pages or all the other invisible people. You pick something up, make like you're bringing it somewhere all quick, and nobody looks twice at you." He had the grace to look a little ashamed. "Except this is my first time trying it. My, uhâmy friend said that sometimes if you hear something good, you can sell it to someone who cares. That's all I'm doing, I swear!"
MichÀel was inclined to believe him. It sounded like fairly typical tactics for the Game, and no matter how many times the emperor changed, the Game would remain. "And your friend, is he another invisible like yourself?" He asked, absently stroking his beard.
"No. She's justâ" He shrugged. "Just someone who gave me a tip, that's all. Hard to find work sometimes. Gotta take what you can get. Big event like thisâit just makes sense, right?" The elf dropped his eyes and shrugged, shifting his weight and curling his toes into the ground. "Didn't really count on being chased down by a bunch of crazy people. Er... no offense."
"None taken," MichÀel chuckled. He held no illusions that any of them looked especially sane chasing down a elf kid for apparently no reason. "Oh," he added, and began to fish through his pockets. "Ah, there. Here you go kid, for you to forget anything you may or may not have heard," he said, taking the boy's hand and depositing a handful of coins into it
"And if you hear anything that might interest us, try to remember us then," he said with a wink.
The erstwhile spy's eyes went wide; he closed his fingers over the coins, disappearing them into a pocket or up his sleeve or somewhere with surprising deftness for such a clumsy eavesdropper. "Uh, sure. You got it, ser."
It didn't take long with his quickened pace to reach Khari's tent. Instinctively he reached out to the tent flap before he hesitated. He tossed a cursory glance around him to ensure that there were no prying eyes before he poked his head in. He quickly scanned the inside before trying to catch the eyes of Leon in order to get some information. He'd seen that Khari was dripping blood, and for her to forfeit, it couldn't just have been skin deep. It'd take a lot for her to just give up, even if it was the wisest option at the moment.
Leon was not typically difficult to find, though in this case, the number of people in the tent was not helping. As it happened, he was still beside Khari; he'd anxiously looked up when MichĂ€el half-entered, but his brows furrowedâobviously he was expecting someone else.
"They should be sending us a healer," he muttered, as much to himself as anyone else. Tightening his grip on the fabric between his hands, he tugged, reinforcing the makeshift tourniquet he'd just tied around Khari's leg. The plate armor on that side was gone already, the pieces discarded to his left. "Anyone have a potion in the meantime?"
The question overlapped with Khari's loud âFuck!" Her grip flexed on one of the wooden supports of the cot he'd put her on. Her face screwed up into a grimace; she forced herself to breathe through her nose.
"I've got one." The little elf, Brand, had slipped in the tent behind MichÀel, and he approached Khari now, offering a potion with a distinctly Orlesian label.
"Let me see that," Rom grabbed it from his hand, inspecting the bottle. He popped the cork and sniffed. The Inquisitor had been in the tent ever since Khari's match had concluded, staying close but out of the way. He'd been staying quiet as well.
"I know my potions, too, ser," Brand objected. "I got a good one." Rom was apparently satisfied, as he relinquished the potion to Khari. Brand backed away from the cot, glancing at the more senior members present. "I'll be outside. Keeping an eye out."
"Not to cause further problems," Estella said, breaking into the conversation from her spot a little further away, seated in one of the plain wooden chairs the tent was furnished with. "But... exactly what are we going to do about this? Even assuming you put the helmet back on, the healer will do a better job if they know you're an elf, and a clever one will probably be able to figure it out whether we tell them or not."
This thought did not seem to have occurred to Leon, at least not in the heat of the moment. He grimaced. "Well... we really only need them to stay quiet for the duration of the Tourney. Bribery is always a possibility."
"Marcy and I brought a decent purse with us," MichÀel said, stepping into the tent more fully, though careful to stay out of the way of more important personnel. He lingered near the mouth of the tent, arms crossed with a hand rubbing the beard at his chin. "Half now, half after the Tourney?" he offered. Marcy had thought to get some shopping done while in the city, but... Well, their need was elsewhere right now. He'd make it up to her somehow, but later. He glanced at Khari and then back to Leon, "We may need their... services later. It'd be convenient to have one in our pocket for the time being," he noted. He found himself wishing that they could use their own personnel for this, but that was too much of a stretch. Even if they'd come to Val Royeaux with them, their healers were rather unique.
Leon grimaced. "Assuming the idea even works, I can take care of it. No need to dip into personal funds here. Just... please be aware that we're going to have to negotiate something before the healer leaves the tent, and that something might involve a bit of strongarming." No doubt it was rather hard to plan when the most important element in the equation was entirely unknown to them.
Not that they had a choice, in this case.
Further discussion was precluded; the healer in question arrived not a few moments later, standing politely in front of the tent flap before admittance. Once it was pulled aside, his eyes swept the assembled before landing quite quickly on Khari. The way he froze allowed a tense moment of study for all involved.
He must have been Riviani or Antivan by heritage, given the mid-toned brown of his skin. His face was slightly weathered, though nothing about him suggested age over thirty, so a life in the sun was the most likely cause. He blinked, dark brows arching towards his hairline.
No immediate recognition was apparentâthe surprise could only be directed at Khari. The expression morphed to confusion, then suspicion, but in the end it settled on something a bit more difficult to place, his mouth a compressed line and brows knit together. "Excuse me, but if you could clear slightly more space around the patient, I'd appreciate the room to work." Antivan, then, from the accent. It rolled over the r's and lingered on vowels in a way that suggested a lifetime spent quite a ways north.
Leon didn't vacate immediately, instead keeping pressure on Khari's wound until the man had reached her and could immediately take over the work.
Khari made a sound somewhere between a grumble and a groan. âThe patient's got a name."
The healer was already crossing the remaining space, eyes down on the potions suspended from his belt by leather loops about their necks. "And I'm sure it's a lovely one. I'm equally sure it's better if I don't know what it is."
Rom wasn't quick to clear the space he was occupying, but he did so eventually, all while examining the healer unlucky enough to get sent to them. "Are you freelance?" he asked. "You're a long way from Antiva."
"So I am." The healer smiled a bit crookedly and handed Khari a potion. "Drink this, please."
âWhat's it for?" The answer didn't appear to concern her too much; she was already uncorking the bottle.
"The pain. I'm not a spirit healer; this is going to hurt a bit." He was already inspecting the wound, wincing in what might have been sympathy when he got a better look at the gouge. His hands lit a soft green; he passed them over the injury a couple of times while Khari swallowed whatever he'd given her.
Whether by design or coincidence, she did visibly relax, some of the tension leaving her muscles. The cot creaked softly underneath her as she leaned back into it.
The magic in the man's hands flickered a couple of times before the color shifted towards the yellow end of the spectrum. "They had to scrape together most every decent healer in Orlais to cover this event. And some outsiders. And probably some healers that aren't even decent. I'm local for the moment, thoughâjust moved to Val Royeaux a little while ago, actually." Apparently, speaking did not detract from his work so much that he felt uncomfortable doing both at the same time.
"I'll not ask where any of you are from."
"That's... perhaps the wisest decision for the moment," MichÀel noted with a passing glance to Leon. The less information they gave the healer would perhaps be for the best-- for both parties.
It was unclear if Leon caught the glance; he was studying their unlucky mage with an unreadable expression. He didn't seem to disagree, though, and volunteered no information himself.
"I'm sure it's... quite an adjustment to move to," Estella said, probably to keep the conversation flowing. There would be an awful lot of tense silence, otherwise.
MichÀel's attention was drawn away from the conversation by Brand, who had reentered the tent quietly. The elf tugged subtly at his sleeve, looking at the healer work but with his attention split elsewhere. "Might have a problem," he said quietly, not even loud enough to be heard by Khari or the healer. In fact, the conversation there helped to mask his. "Mysterious hooded lurker outside, don't think he came with the healer. Definitely interested in our tent. Probably knows something he shouldn't by now."
"Ah dammit," MichÀel cursed under his breath. He looked up from Brand and shifted his head to try and catch Rom's eyes. Once he managed to catch his attention, MichÀel gestured for him to approach. He was never for the cloak and dagger, that was Marcy and Larissa's wheelhouse, and between all of them in the tent, Romulus was a much better resource to lean on than he was.
Once he was close enough, he leaned forward and spoke softly, so as to not interrupt the other conversation going on. "We have prying eyes," he said with an indicative nod towards Brand. "Think we should find out if they've seen something they're not supposed to?" He asked Brand and Rom. He couldn't do it on his own. He didn't have any delusions toward himself, he wasn't subtle like they were and this would require subtlety. However, he could still be useful, if used right.
Rom only responded with a nod, and was the first one out of the tent, leaving Brand to shrug at MichÀel. "This should be interesting." The others stayed behind with Khari, not needing to know what exactly was going on. The three of them could certainly handle one eavesdropper, and any more would draw more attention than they wanted.
The activity outside hadn't lessened any, the tournament still going strong and people still coming and going and passing by all of the other nearby tents. Rom waited in the street for them, peering at strangers from underneath his mask. Brand jerked his head sideways at him, indicating the left side of the tent.
The hooded man in question had noticed the exit of three people from the tent, no doubt, and by the time their eyes were on him he was already walking at a brisk pace away from the tent. Barely restraining the urge to break into a run by the looks of things.
MichÀel glanced at Brand first, then gestured toward Rom and hoped that they knew what to do from there. For himself he angled himself away and at their mystery man. He aimed to follow the man at his brisk pace and though he tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, it wasn't exactly his forte. However, it was for the other two with them, and hopefully while the man tried to avoid the obvious fellow following him, he wouldn't notice the other two.
The field was a chaotic mess of tents, colored canvas interrupting the landscape and their eyelines at various intervals. Knights, squires, servants and healers all moved about with purpose, the metallic clank of armor and occasional horse-noise giving the area a music MichÀel was long familiar with. It was a controlled sort of chaos, but more than enough for one person to get lost in.
Their eavesdropper took a sharp right, ducking behind someone's black-and-yellow tent; by the time MichÀel rounded the same corner, a flicker of dark fabric was all he could see around the next.
"Shit," MichÀel muttered under his breath, though he never dropped his pace. In fact, he quickened it toward the last place he'd see the cloak. As he proceeded, he tossed a glance around his shoulders in search of either Rom or Brand, but he couldn't find them either, which he found more comforting than not. Maybe one of them still had the man in their sights. Regardless, MichÀel ducked his head and took a hard step around the next tent, his eyes immediately scanning the next row.
"This way, ser!" The call came from Brand, on MichÀel's left, poking his shaggy head out from behind an olive green tent. He used the title without any trace of the teasing manner he'd used on Rom, and was already starting a backpedal, urging MichÀel towards him. "He's this way!"
With Rom out of sight, he could only assume that the Inquisitor was in pursuit of their fleeing eavesdropper. It wasn't as though Brand could say that out loud; they hadn't settled on any code names for Khari's mercenary help just yet, and yelling out a strongly Tevinter name in Val Royeaux wasn't the best approach.
They took off on Rom's trail, darting around mounted knights returning from their jousts, their squires and servants attending to them as they went. One horse was gargantuan enough for Brand to duck entirely under rather than run around. Before long they caught sight of the dirt kicked up at their heels. Rom was right on the eavesdropper's tail, arms outstretched to take him down. Quick though he was, he couldn't outrun the Inquisitor.
Unfortunately they went down in the midst of a group of servants at the front of another large tent, knocking down several people in the process. A chorus of angry and surprised shouts went up, and within seconds the chevalier inside had opened the tent flap to investigate the commotion. Rom struggled to pin the hooded man down, but an elbow thrown back caught him in the face.
It ripped his mask off, tossing it to the ground. Rom had enough awareness to abandon the eavesdropper in favor of the immediate problem. While the hooded man scrambled to his feet and tried to take off again, Rom rolled over and grabbed the mask, his hood concealing his features from the people all around him well enough while he struggled to put it back on. Brand skidded to a halt in front of the watching people, who shouted and swore in their native tongue at him and Rom still on the ground. That left it to MichÀel to snag the eavesdropper before he could get away again.
The commotion and ground fighting had let him close the distance, and by the time the hooded man found his feet, MichÀel was there. With his big paw, MichÀel seized a large handful of the strangers collar and cloak. He was by no means a small man, and what he lacked in subtlety more than enough made up for in strength, and it looked like delicacy had flown out of the window regardless. MichÀel growled low at the man in his hands before he quickly turned toward the chevalier who had just exited. "My apologies ser, just dealing with a troublemaker," was all that he offered before turning to start to drag the fellow in his grip away-- hopefully somewhere secluded.
"Very sorry," Brand added, tugging Rom up as soon as he had his mask on. "Very sorry, ser," he repeated. The pair of them followed in MichÀel's wake, Rom uttering a string of nearly silent curses on the way.
"Let go!" The man in MichĂ€el's grip thrashed, his hood falling down to reveal a head of curly auburn hair and pointed earsâhis slight stature made more sense now. He wasn't much bigger than Brand. "I've done nothing wrongâyou can't do this!"
The protestations drew several disapproving eyes, but as soon as the hood had fallen, most of the offense and concern in the surrounding populace had faded as well. Several of the most immediately involved outright scoffed. The chevalier scowled, opening his mouth as if to chastise someone, but closed it again with a shake of his head, waving them off with an inpatient gesture.
The reaction was no doubt disheartening to the eavesdropper, who didn't seem to struggle so much anymore. The sullen downturn of his mouth remained, and he breathed heavily through his nose, chest rising and falling more gradually as his breathing calmed. Though he walked well enough where steered, he certainly didn't go out of his way to accommodate MichÀel, dragging his feet as if to slow their passage as much as possible.
"There's witnesses now. Someone will notice if I disappear."
MichÀel cast a couple of glances around him, mostly at other individuals. While few spared looks their way, it was clear that their attentions were tied up elsewhere, and probably mostly only looked at them because of the oddity of it all. He grinned, though it was his usual half smirk. "Honestly, I think you're the least of their concerns at the moment," he answered with a half-hearted shrug. "But you're in luck, I'm not in the business of making people disappear." He didn't make it a habit of murdering strangers for no good reason. At worst, they'd just have to ensure that the elf kept his mouth quiet for couple of days.
"We do have a couple of questions though, and would enjoy honest answers," MichÀel answered, his smirk dropping into an inquisitive frown. They needed to know how much he knew, and how much of a danger he was to Khari's operation. There were many ways this could go wrong for her, and he'd hate for it to all fall apart because of a pair of loose lips. She'd put in too much work to be undone by chatter.
He steered them away from the congestion and activity of the proving grounds and into a secluded corner. He checked around him to make sure that no one was in their immediate vicinity and then asked, "So, why were you being suspicious around our tent?" he asked with an arched brow.
"Standing in public space is illegal now, is it?"
"Depends on where," MichÀel stated with a waggle of an eyebrow.
That earned him nothing but stony silence, the elf's glare baleful. This close, it was easy to tell that he was hardly more than a child, still gaunt in the manner of an adolescent whose growth up had outstripped his growth out. He couldn't have been more than fourteen.
"I know what a spy looks like," Brand added, quietly. "Or rather, a wannabe spy, or maybe someone who was asked to be a spy and didn't really have any choice. All of those things look a lot like you. Trust me, I've been doing this a lot longer than you." He gave the elf a pat on the back, as if to comfort him. "Question is, who's spying on us? Are they afraid to face Katriane GĂ©rin in a fair fight? Come on, who put you up to this?"
The softer approach seemed to mollify the youth somewhat, though his shoulders bunched up a bit, fingers curling into the rough fabric of his tunic. "It's notâit's not like that, okay? Just... I was supposed to walk around, see if I could hear anything interesting. There's dozens like me around, acting like stable-boys or servants or pages or all the other invisible people. You pick something up, make like you're bringing it somewhere all quick, and nobody looks twice at you." He had the grace to look a little ashamed. "Except this is my first time trying it. My, uhâmy friend said that sometimes if you hear something good, you can sell it to someone who cares. That's all I'm doing, I swear!"
MichÀel was inclined to believe him. It sounded like fairly typical tactics for the Game, and no matter how many times the emperor changed, the Game would remain. "And your friend, is he another invisible like yourself?" He asked, absently stroking his beard.
"No. She's justâ" He shrugged. "Just someone who gave me a tip, that's all. Hard to find work sometimes. Gotta take what you can get. Big event like thisâit just makes sense, right?" The elf dropped his eyes and shrugged, shifting his weight and curling his toes into the ground. "Didn't really count on being chased down by a bunch of crazy people. Er... no offense."
"None taken," MichÀel chuckled. He held no illusions that any of them looked especially sane chasing down a elf kid for apparently no reason. "Oh," he added, and began to fish through his pockets. "Ah, there. Here you go kid, for you to forget anything you may or may not have heard," he said, taking the boy's hand and depositing a handful of coins into it
"And if you hear anything that might interest us, try to remember us then," he said with a wink.
The erstwhile spy's eyes went wide; he closed his fingers over the coins, disappearing them into a pocket or up his sleeve or somewhere with surprising deftness for such a clumsy eavesdropper. "Uh, sure. You got it, ser."