Starling - A Dragon Age Fanfiction

Chapter 9

Starling slipped through the familiar corridors of the Crow Hall with ease, nodding to those she knew, ignoring those she didn’t, eyes always moving. Force of habit.

She checked the boards first, glancing over the list of open contracts. Nothing. Not even scraps.

She made her way out to the training yard, where sun-warmed stone glared bright against her eyes. Tenna was already out there, sharpening a knife with her boot pressed to the post. Starling joined her wordlessly, and like most of their games, it started with a grin and ended with blades. Juggling knives - six, seven, eight - until Tenna nicked her thumb and Starling crowed in triumph, only to nearly drop her own when Tenna lobbed an extra one into her rotation.

The clatter of steel on stone made some of the other trainees flinch. Starling just laughed.

But between the play and the practice, her thoughts kept drifting back to her room. Her room. That still felt strange to say. The bed hadn’t creaked. The walls hadn’t whispered secrets. There had been no one snoring beside her, no one coming in or out in the middle of the night.

It had been… quiet. Sort of.

She’d listened to the muffled rumble of voices below, tavern noise and laughter and slurred songs bleeding through the floorboards. But it had been distant. Not the kind of closeness that set her teeth on edge. She'd liked it.

She’d spent the night staring at the ceiling, trying to remember. Trying to think of people who might help her. Names. Places. Old faces with vague edges. It was hard to pull things from childhood when so much of it had blurred after her mother died. They had moved around so much after that—always on the run, always quiet.

There’d been a castle. She remembered it now. Towering walls and men in thick plated armour, a heavy banner snapping in the wind. They’d lived there for a time. Or maybe just stayed. She remembered going back at least once after her mother died. It had been safe then. Important. But she didn’t know where it was or who the people were.

Another thread to follow. Another question to ask once she had someone to ask.

Tenna’s voice pulled her back to the present. “Good night in your new place?”

Starling snorted softly, catching the knife and holding it balanced on a fingertip.

“It was quiet,” she said, after a pause. “Which is weird.”

Tenna grinned. “You’ll get used to it. Then you’ll hate coming back here.”

Starling smiled faintly, eyes on the blade. She already kind of did. The quiet of her new space had made Crow Hall feel even louder, more crowded, more watchful than usual.

A thump and a soft grunt of frustration pulled her attention to the far end of the yard. One of the younger recruits - no older than twelve, maybe eleven - was at the archery line, struggling with a bow that looked like it might outweigh him. His arrows veered off with stubborn disobedience, landing far from center. Still, he nocked another.

Tenna followed her gaze and nudged her. “Little one’s got perseverance.”

“He’s got terrible form,” Starling murmured, already moving.

They crossed the yard, and the boy’s back stiffened when he noticed them. He cast a wary glance over his shoulder, then went back to pretending he hadn’t. People didn’t help each other here, not really. Not unless they got something out of it. Especially not the young ones - they were temporary, half-grown things not worth investing in until they proved they might survive past the year.

Starling stopped beside him and said nothing for a beat, just watched as he released another arrow. It flew wide again.

“You’re fighting the bow,” she said eventually, voice low and even. “Don’t. Let it do the work.”

The boy stared at her like she’d just suggested he hand over his purse.

She stepped in slowly, hands lifted - not touching him, not unless he asked. “Draw with your back, not your arms. And plant your feet… here.”

After a moment of internal debate, he shifted. Grudgingly.

She nodded. “Better.”

He fired again. This one landed a little closer to the centre. Still rough, but not bad.

Starling smiled faintly and dug into her pocket, fishing out a crinkled bit of wax paper. She tossed it towards him. “Toffee.”

The boy caught it midair like he expected it to explode. His suspicion was so thick you could have chewed it.

So she pulled two more out - one for herself, one for Tenna - and unwrapped hers with a theatrical flourish. “See? Not poisoned.”

Tenna popped hers into her mouth with a satisfied hum. “You’re going soft.”

“I’m diversifying,” Starling muttered around hers. “Might need him one day.”

The boy eyed them both, then unwrapped his and bit down like someone testing a trap. But he didn’t spit it out. And he didn’t stop shooting.

They stood there beside him, eating sweets and tossing advice between chews - adjust your elbow, don’t squint so hard, drop your shoulders. The arrows slowly started finding their way toward the centre.

And for a while, it almost felt… normal. Quiet in a different way.

When they were done for the day, she moved toward the doors, boots scuffing faintly on stone. Practice had gone long. The sun was down now, streets shifting into their cooler hues, the courtyard quieting behind her. She liked this time of day, when things settled just enough to breathe, and she could head back to her little room above the tavern and pretend for a few hours that she wasn’t a Crow.

She was almost to the gates when he appeared. Lucanis stepped into her path like he’d materialised from shadow, all silent grace and unreadable eyes.

“Tonight, Starling.”

His voice was quiet, shaped like a secret. There was no one around to overhear, but he still said it like a whisper meant for only her.

She didn’t flinch. Not visibly. Her heart might’ve given one sharp kick against her ribs, but she kept her face loose and lazy. Gave him a two-fingered salute like a smartass. Not quite flippant. Not quite deferent either.

Then she stepped past him, cloak swaying at her heels, and didn’t look back.

Circuitous route tonight, definitely. Not just in case he followed - though he might not - but because Tenna was nosy and clever and had been asking too many questions. Starling had earned this sliver of privacy, and she was going to protect it with teeth and clever feet and backdoor alleys if she had to.

--

The table was set again, low flickering light, fruit sliced fine, a game hen carved and steaming, herbs perfuming the air. Another fine spread, another quiet trap laid. Feed her. Seduce her. Keep her.

Viago stood near the wine as the steward opened the door to admit her. And there she was.

Black skirt skimming her ankles, sandals laced up, and a tunic that left her shoulders bare, sleeves short, skin warm and golden in the candlelight. She moved with that same practised ease, steps light, posture loose, and a half-smile playing on her mouth - mischief and politeness braided together. Her eyes caught the light and glinted pale green-grey. Feral, maybe. A little too smart. Very pretty.

He gestured toward the seat across from him and poured her a glass of wine as she came in. “How are you finding your new home?”

“Quiet,” she said, tone light. “Peaceful.”

Lucanis tilted his head. “Is that why you left, is it?”

She didn’t flinch. Just looked at the table as he offered the bowl of candied almonds. Her eyes softened. She took the whole thing like it was a prize, sliding into the seat cross-legged, skirt folding around her. The bowl settled into her lap like it belonged there.

“No snoring,” she said between almonds. “No muttering. No people having s*x a few beds down.”

“And yet,” Lucanis drawled, “you always seemed so eager to leave here and get back to it.”

She shrugged one shoulder, entirely unbothered, popping another almond into her mouth like it didn’t matter at all. Like none of it touched her. It was irritating, while impressive.

Viago smiled faintly, resting his elbow on the table, watching her. They could keep doing this, circling, sparring with innuendo and glances, never actually getting her. Or…

He tried a different angle.

“You ever have a favourite place?” he asked, lightly. “Before all this. Not necessarily a home, just somewhere you liked being. Could be a tree, a stall in a market. A rooftop.”

Her chewing slowed, just a fraction. Her eyes flicked toward him. Still amused, still guarded, but slightly off-centre now. It wasn’t a hard question. Not really. But it was real, and she could feel that. One thread tugged loose. That was all he wanted.

A truth. Just one.

She opened her mouth, and he braced for it, the dodge, the wry little deflection. He could see it forming already, the quip perched on her tongue like a bird ready to take flight. But then she glanced down at the almond between her fingers and stilled.

It was subtle, the shift. Her shoulders didn’t drop, her face didn’t change much. But something in her eyes pulled inward, a tide pulling back from the shore.

“No,” she said softly, her voice barely brushing the candlelit air. “Nowhere.”

Truth. Not the whole of it, maybe. But truth all the same.

She looked up, and Viago saw it, the drawbridge coming back up, the gates locking. That careful, well-worn armour sliding back into place.

“Why?” she asked, popping the almond into her mouth. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Viago said, without missing a beat. “In you.”

The sound she made was half-scoff, half-shocked sputter, then a full-blown choking cough as almond went the wrong way. Viago chuckled, utterly unrepentant, and leaned over to clap her smartly on the back.

“Careful,” he murmured. “It would be terribly inconvenient to kill you just now.”

She glared at him between coughs, eyes narrowed, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her - curved upward, involuntarily amused. He’d take it.

“But,” he added with theatrical solemnity, “second favourite would have to be the greenhouse.”

That caught her off guard again. Her brows rose slightly, and she tilted her head, searching his face like she wasn’t sure if he was teasing. But he wasn’t. He meant it.

She turned then, looking to Lucanis, curiosity lighting her features. Viago followed her gaze.

Lucanis glanced between them, then nodded toward the glass-paned doors leading out to the balcony, the twilight beyond fading to dusky blue.

“The balcony,” he said. “Preferably at dusk. Once it’s cooled down.”

Simple. Steady. Viago smiled faintly, watching her watching Lucanis. It was moments like this - these quiet, slipping moments - where she wasn’t entirely unreachable. Where something about her cracked open, if only for a breath.

He wanted to pry it wide. Find out what else was in there. Who she was before the blades and poisons and the way she always vanished like a wisp of smoke. He wanted her truths.

And tonight, maybe he’d get another.