#morrgan

M O R R I G A N

mage. apostate.  shapeshifter.

Gold

“We need to discuss our funds, Dermot,” Wynne was saying as they settled into camp that night. “We cannot live on red meat alone, and I cannot heal everyone of every injury they take. We need to find some way to afford potions and injury kits.”

Dermot sighed, nodding wearily.

“I know,” he agreed in a worried tone. “I know, it’s just ... Merchants see how travel-worn we are and won’t buy at a good price, even the rare wares we’re carrying. I won’t cheat them, even if they are cheating us. I don’t ... I don’t know what to do.”

“You could let me do the talking when we’re trading,” Elinar suggested, but Dermot was already shaking his head.

“What did I just say about not cheating them?” he pointed out to her, silently amused by her less-than-friendly grumble in reply.

“I do not see why we must pander to these fools with coin at all,” Morrigan interjected. “Take it from them by force and let them struggle to sell the goods we leave them with.”

“Yes, well, you would say that,” Alistair told the witch. “You’d happily steal from the easiest targets, I suppose?”

“Your obsession with coin and wealth in the south is impossible to understand,” Sten mused. “Your leaders should distribute all you need with no disparity between ranks. Leaving parts of your society to starve through lack of coin is inconceivable to the Qun.”

A leather coin pouch landed in the dirt at Dermot’s feet, jingling with the friction of gold and silver. He frowned in confusion, lifting it up as he looked over to Zevran, who had thrown it there.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

The Antivan Crow shrugged, utterly shameless.

“I may have recouped our losses from that last merchant,” he said, his warm voice somehow managing to soothe Dermot’s initial irritation. “He was most unflattering toward you. I felt the need to teach him a lesson.”

The two men stared at each other for a long moment, one calm and smiling, the other disbelieving and not quite as angry as he should have been. Then another thump of coin in leather made itself known, and another pouch appeared at Dermot’s feet. This one had come from Bryland.

The younger Cousland shrugged innocently.

“I may have picked Teagan’s pocket just to keep my hand in,” he admitted, flashing a brightly insincere smile to his siblings that earned him a snort from Dermot and a wooden spoon hurled at his head from Elinar.

“If we are confessing our transgressions ...” Leliana said quietly, producing a third pouch of coin and setting it down with the others. She met Dermot’s by-now amazed expression with a placid smile. “Avernus seems to have forgotten that there are reasons why you keep your coin concealed.”

Despite himself, Dermot burst out laughing. What was he supposed to do? He was surrounded by thieves - sweet thieves, cheeky thieves, sultrily tempting thieves - and not one of them had tried to keep their sticky fingers a secret. It was rather endearing on the whole.

CONFESSION: 

X

Character: Morrigan Aensland