Chapter Text
Kithya de Riva stood on one of the rooftops of Treviso, overlooking the caves that lined the shores in the port of the Drowned District and wrapped around the small area to conceal the sea beyond it. Although she could detect no movement or signs of activity, Kithya was certain it wouldn't be that way for long. Her instincts rarely led her in the wrong direction and she knew the information she had secured was good. Knew it even if her uncle Viago de Riva, Fifth Talon, refused to believe her.
Standing a few feet away on the same roof and silhouetted by the faint lights of the city behind them, Viago stood still, a slender but muscular statue against the buildings of Treviso. His short, black hair seemed to blend into the night sky, pale blue eyes stern, calculating, and the well-groomed goatee accented his sharp features, which appeared even more stark in the dim light. Kithya knew she would not change his mind tonight, the bitter truth that he had merely come to placate her sparking frustration as she spared a glance in his direction.
Still, she had to try to change his mind. Had to try to break through this clashing of wills that had emerged between them since she was initiated into the Crows. She was a de Riva, not just in status, but in name and blood, and the pride that came with it saturated every part of her. She craved Viago’s approval with the same intense fervor that pushed her to do the right thing.
Viago had been her hero since the day she had shown up in Treviso, her mother – Viago’s elder sister – towing along the scrawny 12-year-old as they fled the horrors that had befallen Kirkwall. Kithya’s father had been killed in the chaos. Her mother felt Kithya would be better suited to Antiva and the way of the Crows. It meant, however, that she would also need to become a Crow – one of the rules laid out by Kithya’s grandfather to his many bastard children. Join the protectors of the city or leave Antiva. Viago had been the only one to choose the path of the Crows, until his sister returned. As skilled a fighter as her mother had been, the life of an assassin was a dangerous one. When Kithya was 17, her mother was killed on a contract, leaving Viago the lone parental figure in her life.
From the first day of her training, Viago had quickly become an enigma to Kithya. That admiration only grew the more she trained with her uncle. Every bit of praise he gave her, every moment of careful correction aimed only at making her stronger, faster, deadlier, fueled her forward. Still, he would not allow her to take the final test to become a Crow.
“Just a little more training,” he had told her, “You are almost there.” Although the coolness of his expression had echoed his words, his eyes always betrayed that there was something more to his hesitation. What exactly that was, Kithya could not be sure.
When Teia, Seventh Talon, had moved in with them, his partner had taken over Kithya's training, much to her delight. Teia was the youngest person to ever be named Talon, and her skills were nearly unmatched. Viago often told his niece how proud he was of the way she picked up on Teia’s training, yet still denied her requests to take the tests. Teia had insisted it was Viago’s protectiveness that held him back and not her skills.
“Your uncle knows you are just as skilled as the rest of us, and that’s what scares him. That you’re going to get yourself into something big, and he’ll lose you like he lost your mother.”
But Teia’s reassurances did little to quell Kithya’s fears. Right up until the day Viago told her that she was too skilled to be kept out, and he’d rather her be a Crow than start putting herself out for hire as a mercenary. Her restlessness was becoming obvious to everyone, as were the extent of her skills, and even the First Talon, Caterina Dellamorte, had begun to inquire after her. The night Viago came home and told Kithya her initiation into the assassin’s guild would proceed, Teia revealed the First Talon had threatened to bring Kithya into House Dellamorte if Viago didn’t act soon.
Everything changed once Kithya was initiated, as if the mark of the Crows, represented by the armour she wore, the weapons she used, even the small tattoo behind her ear, had severed the bond between them. Suddenly, it seemed as though she could not get anything right. Viago criticized her methods, the results of her contracts, even the precision of her kills. Teia had tried to reassure Kithya that the criticisms were just the latest manifestation of Viago’s worry for her and not genuine, but it didn't take the edge off the impact of it.
Kithya mentally scolded herself for her drifting thoughts, shifting her attention back to her quarry. There was no mistaking the hulking creature leading several Antaam and a group of captives out of the gaping, dark caverns. Even in the darkness of night, the Antaam’s low growl echoed across the shallow port waters, and the jingle of chains and shackles followed like a slow, sad song crying out to be heard amidst the bustle of the city.
“I told you,” Kithya said, eyes flashing angrily as she turned to Viago. Her hair moved slightly with the night breeze, short bangs drifting across the face that mirrored similar features to her uncle’s. There was no denying they were related – Kithya had the same black hair, same piercing blue eyes, the same sharp features.
“It was never a matter of belief or disbelief, Kithya. There are things at stake here that you, as a newly sworn in Crow, are not privy to.”
Kithya clenched her fists. “That's not good enough Viago. Those are innocent people down there. People who will be sold into slavery or killed if we don't do anything.”
She was baffled by her uncle's indifference to what was happening on the shores below. Viago hated slavery as much as she did. He had single handedly dismantled Venatori slave rings long before becoming Fifth Talon. Yet here he stood, a group of people whose lives would be over if they didn't act, refusing to help.
“Kithya,” Viago said, his tone a solid warning. “You will go back to the Canatori Diamond and wait for Teia and I there.”
Her blood boiled as Kithya found herself finally hitting the breaking point from all his criticism and condescension. She was not a child anymore in desperate need of protection by her uncle. She was 26-fucking-years old.
“No.”
“No?”
Viago raised an eyebrow at her, his facial expression calm, and cool, betraying nothing of what he might actually be feeling in the moment. Kithya wished he would do something, say something to help her understand, show he wasn't turning a blind eye, anything.
“You would refuse an order from your Talon?”
The rogue scoffed in response. “Only because he's my uncle.”
Viago’s expression shifted in surprise, concern, and then anger. There it was, finally, a reaction. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out to grab Kithya’s arm. But Kithya was already moving, had already made the decision to go regardless of his response. She stepped off the edge of the roof, her deep blue cape billowing as she disappeared into the shadows below. Cool air rushed past, sending the slightest of chills up her spine as the darkened ground rushed towards her. The roof she had chosen was too high off the ground for a straight drop, but she had already been calculating the best way down long before she had acted. Like most of Treviso, the sides of the buildings had platforms, ladders, and barely stable beams sticking out everywhere.
It took minimal expertise for Kithya to use these features to quietly navigate her way to the ground. Her feet connected with wet, hard soil, letting out only the slightest of thuds. Part of her was drawn to look up to the rooftop, to see if Viago would follow her, if he would help. But every moment would count if she was going to rescue those people. At least, that’s what she told herself as she tried to avoid the pain she knew would strike through her like a blade if he didn’t come. She took off towards the caves, keeping to the darkness wherever possible as she slipped past crates, debris, and fishing gear. The ground was slippery and it took extra effort to move without sliding, even with the grips on her finely crafted shoes.
***
Viago stared into the space his niece had stood moments before, realizing Kithya's response had merely been an acknowledgement of her intention to act, not a statement for discussion. For a brief moment, his expression faltered and he found himself wondering whether refusing to support her had been the wrong choice. But no – Kithya needed to be reminded that it was not her decision to make, that as a Crow, she was beholden to her superiors. Even when – maybe especially when – those superiors were her blood.
His expression returned to that unshaken state as he waited for a sign of her moving through the Drowned District.
“Mierda, Kithya!” he muttered, keeping his place on the roof.
A figure stepped out from underneath the overhang of one of the buildings, manifesting from the darkness as if appearing from thin air. Long, dark and curly hair framed the almost perfect face of the Seventh Talon, Teia, as she approached, an eyebrow raised in semi-amusement as she examined the expression on Viago’s face.
“You should have told her,” she said softly, placing a hand on Viago’s arm.
“She needs to learn to follow orders, to trust that there is a reason behind our actions… and our inaction,” Viago retorted. His tone was firm, but for a brief moment it cracked with a hint of tenderness.
“Kithya is your blood, Viago. She takes after you. And if I recall correctly, you disobeyed orders often.”
Viago was silent for a moment, his mind flashing back for a moment to some of his own choices in the past. He could not argue with her on this.
“She's going to put me in an early grave,” he finally grumbled, his gaze never shifting from the group of Antaam.
“Caterina thinks you’ve done well with her.” Teia stepped in closer, and Viago slipped his arm through hers. “She may have been born in the Free Marches, but like her mother – like you – she is Antivan. Treviso is tied to her soul, and she will do anything to protect it.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
It was a few minutes before he finally caught the slightest glimpse of Kithya moving effortlessly along, nearing the group of Antaam. Viago sighed. The other Talons were going to be furious, but there was nothing he could do now. The Crow hidden as one of the captives would be freed alongside the rest, and it was unlikely Kithya would have enough time to recognize one of her own before acting.
***
Kithya was closing in, keeping to anything she could find to hide herself as she drew near. The port in the Drowned District was less of an official harbour and more like a mishmash of debris and crumbling docks. Two properly constructed docks stood at the far end of the harbour, paid for by the wealthy traders in Treviso to accommodate larger ships. These were kept under lock and key, with round the clock guards hired by the traders. Of course, the Antaam would not be using those – they had no foothold in Treviso, and that meant no bargaining chips to control the wealthy with. It was most likely that they would be loading the captives into smaller boats to carry them out to a ship waiting behind the crests of the caves and stones that created a natural barrier between Treviso and the empty sea. Kithya crept forward, using the barrels, crates and other large debris as cover while she assessed the situation. She was close enough that any light shed on her would reveal her presence. Fortunately, even if that was a risk, the group of Antaam were too focused on their current task. By this point, the prisoners had been herded into three cages to be placed on the waiting boats.
Kithya took a moment to look over the cages of prisoners, hoping that someone amongst them might be capable of helping her against the Antaam once they were out. The cages were in rough condition – a few powerful hits could probably break some of the bars, but Kithya didn’t have enough brute force to try. Her best bet would be to find the keys and target whoever had those first. As she moved to shift away from her current spot, two dwarves caught her attention – a young woman with fiery orange hair and an older man with long, dark, greying hair, a scruffy beard, and chest hair for days. The man wore an amused smirk in contrast to his younger companion whose expression was a mix of worry and frustration.
One of the Antaam, a hulking figure with unnaturally large muscles and blood red markings distinct from the rest of the group began roaring orders to the rest, demanding they quicken their pace in packing up the rest of the supplies. His scarred face showed no fear, and he stood with the kind of arrogance displayed by someone who had never experienced a foe he couldn’t defeat. And there, jingling from his thick leather belt, was a large keyring, with enough keys for each of the cage locks, and then some.
That would be Kithya’s target. All she had to manage was taking out the leader and everything else should fall into disarray. She drew her shortsword, a narrow black blade with a matte finish and intricate patterns and whorls etched into it. With her free hand, she carefully pulled a small bottle from her belt, popping out its cork and coating the blade with poison before slipping the sword back into its sheath. It would give her an advantage among the much larger foe, and with a carefully aimed strike, combined with use of her dagger, she might just be able to take him down in a single attack.
With a steadying breath, Kithya crept further behind her cover, eyes sweeping the area for something that would give her the right vantage point for a swift attack. An aerial leap with the poisoned blade driven through him and a dagger across his throat would be the fastest way to dispose of the leader and cause enough chaos to draw attention away from the captives so they could escape. The port offered spots of various heights, but she would need something that was both hidden in enough darkness to allow a swift climb without being seen and would get her high enough. The wooden platform directly behind him wouldn’t do it. Too visible, and too low to get in quickly enough. Her eyes swept the area. Some stacks of crates nearby could work, but crates often crumbled or broke easily, a dead giveaway to her presence.
Several feet behind the Antaam leader, however, loomed a rock ledge, jagged and daunting, almost as if fate itself was offering her its hand in freeing the captives. Kithya assessed the formation of the natural stone ledges, ruts, and gaps, a small smirk playing across her lips. To the average, untrained person, getting to the top would be nothing short of a challenge, but for a Crow? It would be a simple task. The platform behind her quarry may not have been ideal for an attack, but it provided the right amount of cover to sneak across to the rocks. Dressed in her usual dark-blue Crow leathers, it was unlikely any of the Antaam would spot her moving upwards. Without a second thought, she scrambled across the sand and stone ground, reaching the rocks and beginning her ascension. The rocks were damp, and she had to focus more than she would have liked on not slipping, but her training paid off as she scaled the rocks quickly. Once on the top, she crouched low, creeping forward. The salty sea air blew past her, and Kithya glanced back towards the rooftops where she could make out the silhouette of Viago, joined by a second figure she could safely assume was Teia. This was it, the last moment to choose. Back off and follow Viago’s orders or follow her convictions. The weight of her extremely grey moral compass pulled her forward, and she knew this decision would be the one that would either damn her or define her.
“Sorry, Viago,” she muttered under breath, drawing both her blades.
Continuing to bark orders, the Antaam leader had barely passed a glance around the space, not anticipating anyone would be foolish enough to ambush them. Kithya knew what she was about to do was a major risk, but she would never forgive herself if she didn’t try. Taking one last deep breath to gather the rest of her courage, Kithya stood and ran towards the edge, feet silent on the rock beneath. As her left foot hit the ridge, she leapt into the air. Calculated correctly, she should land directly on top of the Antaam.
The firelight guiding the group was dim enough it didn’t show the Crow soaring through the air until it was too late. One of the warriors looked over just as Kithya dropped on top of his leader, his warning cry too late. Kithya’s poisoned blade pierced into the leader’s chest from just below his shoulder, eliciting a roar of pain from the hulking man. Before he could try to react, Kithya’s dagger was already at his throat cutting a deep line directly across as she wrapped her legs around his waist, straddling on his broad back with all her strength. Even through her leathers, Kithya could feel the hot blood shower her arm as the Antaam’s roar chortled out into a choking gurgle.
The rest of the group froze, staring in momentary shock as their leader dropped to his knees then toppled over lifeless. Kithya had already sheathed her dagger, using her now free hand to snatch the keys before she leapt backwards off the body as it hit the ground.
“Hey kid!” the older dwarf she had spotted earlier called. Without hesitation, Kithya tossed him the keys and took back out her dagger, turning to face the rest of her adversaries.
Nine looming Antaam. Not the worst, she tried to convince herself. She heard the jingling of a lock behind her and the cage door slamming open as she ran forward into the group, dropping down to slide through the legs of the first Antaam charging towards her, slicing upwards into his groin with the poisoned blade as she passed underneath him. She barely had time to flip back up to her feet as a large axe smashed down beside her.
She cursed internally as she kept herself in a state of continuous motion, dagger and blade flying as she dodged, parried, and jumped around, her blade finding a mark with nearly every strike. The benefit to nine large Antaam warriors attacking her all at once was that they were far too large for each of them to strike at her at the same time. If she moved swiftly enough, she could keep it to three or four potential strikes at once. At this point, her movements were all instinctual. There was only so much calculation you could put into an attack when every motion had to be quicker than lightning. Faster and faster she sliced, stabbed and swirled, appearing as little more than blur to any watching. But even with her talents, Kithya could only account for so many of her opponents at once.
The Antaam had her surrounded and she could feel her movements becoming more desperate. The sound of one charging her from behind gave enough warning for Kithya to shove her shortsword backwards into their gut. Another attacking from the left met her dagger in the throat. But the movements left her open to the front, and before she could dodge or pull back from her dual attack, a blunt force hit her in the stomach. She stumbled backwards, tripping over the Antaam she had just killed and the breath was knocked out of her as she slammed into the hard ground. Her head rang and her vision was fuzzy as her body screamed, but she didn’t have time to stop and worry about it. The warrior’s weapon was bearing down on her, and she struggled to push herself away. Then, there was the sound of crunching bone and flesh as a large, gold tipped arrow burst through its chest, blood spraying Kithya again. As the body dropped, it revealed the older dwarf, grinning from ear to ear with the largest crossbow she had seen in her life.
“Thought we owed you one, kid,” he shouted, before turning his weapon on another Antaam. The dwarf with him had her own bow out and was firing arrows furiously.
Their activity was enough of a distraction that Kithya was able to scramble to her feet and resume her attacks. Her fire had returned and the blood and adrenaline pumped through her veins with renewed strength. The tides were turning back in her favour – in their favour – and not one of those assholes was going to walk away alive.
Between the three of them, they dispatched the remaining Antaam quickly. Kithya was relieved to see the captives, minus the dwarves and one other person, had fled upon their release. She hadn’t paid much attention to the individual who stood watching, didn’t have time to try and wonder why they weren’t running and why they weren’t joining the fray. Now, as she wiped her blade clean, Kithya took a moment to look over.
They met Kithya’s eyes with a cold glare as they began to strip off the shirt they were wearing, revealing Crow’s leather underneath. Kithya narrowed her eyes defiantly in response. So this was what Viago refused to tell her.
The other Crow sneered at her. “You fucked up royally, De Riva.” Without another word, they turned and stalked off.
“I’m not sure what that was all about,” the older dwarf said as he approached, “but I wouldn’t call freeing a group of people about to be shipped off as slaves fucking up.” He grinned at her. “The name’s Varric.”
Kithya nodded. “Kithya, House De Riva. Thanks for the hand back there – that was impressive.”
The dwarf had a weathered look about him, not one from age or illness, but the look of someone who had seen some shit, probably done some shit, and lived another day to do it all over again.
“I’ve been around a time or two.” That was obvious, both from his appearance and his skill. “Harding, too.” He nodded towards his companion.
Kithya realized the woman wasn’t quite as young as she had initially thought; in fact, Harding might even have a few years on her. The two were definitely not the kinds of captives Kithya had expected to find amongst the Antaam. Harding didn’t say anything but watched her with an assessing gaze.
Noting the curiosity on Kithya’s face, Varric flashed her a grin. “I’m sure you’re dying to know how we ended up in this situation. Well, kid, I’ll tell you what. You decide you need a drink, come and find me in the tavern down in the Grande Market.”
“I’ll consider it,” she replied. “I take it you can find your way from here?”
“I have the best scout in Thedas with me.” Varric nodded towards Harding. “With her, I could find my way anywhere.”
Kithya nodded, wished them well, and took off in a sprint back towards the shadows of the city. Viago’s silhouette had disappeared from the rooftops and Kithya knew he’d be waiting for her. Whatever her fate was, Kithya decided it could wait. She needed comfort, familiarity, and a way to take the edge off her frustration before dealing with her uncle. For that, there was only one place she could go.