Chapter Text
"Port of Hercinia!" Isabela shouted across the deck, as the ship was towed into the docks and bound. "If you're heading for Wycome, Ostwick, Ansburg, or Markham, this is your stop! If you're tired of the sea, go have some stew in the port -- we set out again at dawn!"
The port town was definitely much smaller than Kirkwall, but most things were -- Anders had heard that even Starkhaven didn't have the population or the spread of the City of Chains. But, Hercinia seemed smaller and more comfortable. Not quite small enough that everyone knew everyone else's business, but definitely small enough that the people were probably heard when they spoke. He kept an arm around Cormac, who was dizzy and sweaty, still, as they stepped off the ship and crossed to the pier.
Cormac knelt and rested his head against the pier, patting the wood affectionately. "Anders, Anders, it's not moving. Andraste's blessing is upon us." His hair rose from the back of his head in tight curls, bound back with a cloth that looked almost like a Chantry altarcloth -- red with gold sunburst trim -- and after pressing a kiss to the ground, he raised his beardless face to take in the rest of the town. "We don't have to be back until morning," he enthused as he stood. "I can eat and sleep!"
"Hopefully not right on the pier." Anders tried not to look too amused, not when Cormac looked so wrung out. Really, they should have learned their lesson the last time they'd put Cormac on a boat. "I doubt that would please the pirates. No, wait, that would probably delight the pirates, after they've stolen your gold and, knowing Isabela, likely your pants." He sighed, helping Cormac back to his unsteady feet. "I've known cats with better sea-legs than you, you know."
"If your cats have better sea-legs than me, why am I here, while they're still in Kirkwall?" Cormac teased, wrapping an arm around Anders's waist and trying to remember how to walk. After a bit of a stumbling start, they made it to where the inns and taverns started, a long stretch of booze and vomit stench to face off the smell of the fish market on the sea-side.
He squinted down the road, considering the options. "I think we go into town and see what we can find. Dockside taverns are great, when you haven't just gotten off a boat."
"You just want to get as far away from the water as you can while you can," Anders replied, resting a scruffy -- scruffier than usual, that is -- cheek against Cormac's head. He didn't point out that they'd only been on the boat for a couple of days and that they had a longer trip than that ahead of them. If the Maker had any mercy, Cormac would find his sea-legs eventually. "But that sounds like a plan. At the risk of sounding like Fenris, I wouldn't mind getting away from the stink of fish."
Anders steered them down what passed for a main road, eyeing shops and windows as they went, checking reflective surfaces for Templars he knew wouldn't be there. He suspected they looked like a pair of drunken idiots, the stares lingering on Anders's staff and on Cormac's sunburst robes that marked them as a different set of idiots than the town was used to.
A guardsman stepped out from the shade of a shop, approaching the two of them. "Pardon me, messeres, but with the trouble in Kirkwall, we've got to be careful who comes into town. Maker, you could see that as far as Wildervale, I've heard. Who are you, where are you heading, and where have you come from?"
"Cumberland," Cormac managed, still clinging to Anders. "From Cumberland -- meeting of the College of Enchanters."
"Forgive my friend," Anders offered, with a heavy Tevinter accent. "He gets very sick, at sea. We are headed for Rivain to see the traditional festivities at Ayesleigh. I am Biggus Dickus of Carastes, and I have come to tour the magical centres of Southern Thedas, to bring our two cultures closer together."
The guard choked, but recovered quickly. "I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly. Could you say your name again, messere?"
"Biggus Dickus, of the Dickus family of Carastes. One of the few, proud families to make it through the Transfiguration, to see Tevinter rise again in the Maker's name." Anders tipped his chin up, proudly.
"Er... yes. Of course. A pleasure to have you visit us, here in Hercinia, Messere Dickus." The guard's eyes were wide and his lips tense, as he tried to hold off a laugh. "And your friend?"
"Brother Malkin Galore, of Hasmal," Cormac muttered, dizzily, eyes on the suspiciously unmoving cobbles of the road. "I'm with the Southern Outreach programme that works the border. Escorting, ah, Messere Dickus on his journey through the Marches to smooth any ... cultural misunderstandings."
Anders nodded sagely. "After what happened to my uncle, Tinius Dickus, we thought it wise."
The guard was holding his breath, face turning every shade of red as he fought not to laugh or sputter. "I see," he said, voice strained. "And where were you two... distinguished personages heading just now?"
"To an inn that doesn't smell so much like ocean so Brother Galore can remember what solid ground feels like." Anders squeezed Cormac against his side, careful not to rattle him too much. He could do without more puke on his boots. "I don't suppose you could point us to such an establishment?"
The guard eyed Cormac, the fine sheen of sweat on his brow, the dazed way he stared at the ground. The guard shifted subtly to the side, just out of Cormac's line of fire, should he lose his lunch. Again. He tipped his head, indicating farther down the street. "That way, take a left at the tailor's. There's a place called the Mermaid's Tail, with the most garish sign you've ever seen. Watch out for the mermaid's tail. It swings, and Bessy didn't hang it properly. Almost took my eye out a few times."
"Sounds great," Cormac panted, as his stomach rolled again. "Sitting down on something that doesn't move. Maker's blessings, serah."
Anders shrugged at the guard with an apologetic smile. "He'll be all right in the morning. Just in time to get back on the boat."
Cormac groaned, loudly, at the thought of getting back on a boat ever again, never mind in only half a day, but he let Anders lead him down the street, and the guardsman shook his head at their passing.
"Chantry boy. Bad at boats," the guard said to a local who was also watching, curiously. "Poor bastard."
The sight of visitors stumbling in from the docks, wobbling and gagging, was a common one in most coastal settlements, and no one else gave them any trouble, as they passed, though a few were quick to dart out of their way, after a single glance at Cormac's face.
"Ah! The Mermaid's Tail! Just like the man said!" Anders gestured to the loosely-blowing sign with his staff, as they crossed the road.
Cormac reached for the door just in time to get clipped across the nose, as the sign swung back down. "Andraste's..." he paused, trying not to swear. "... eternal forgiveness!"
Anders fended off the sign, with his staff, and got Cormac inside with no further incidents. "A damp rag for my friend's bloody nose?" Anders asked, as they passed the bar, aiming for a table in a dim corner. "And two pints of ale and a shot of whiskey. He's had a go with the mermaid, and she won."
Cormac muttered something involving 'a public hazard', as he dropped into a seat and leaned back against the wall. Finally. Nothing was moving, unless he closed his eyes. And then everything was rolling like the ship he'd just got off. This was his punishment for leaving his family behind. Had to be it.
A barmaid hurried over with the wet rag, muttering swears under her breath. "Every night," she said to herself as she pressed the rag to Cormac's face. Anders took it from her with a grateful smile and started cleaning up the blood. "Every night someone bumps into that thing. Some professional advice, messeres. Don't let a dwarf hang your signs."
"It's good luck!" the barkeep called out from across the room, setting their drinks on the counter and snapping his fingers for the women. "Brandon got smacked by the sign last week. Next day he was engaged!"
The barmaid rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. "I don't think the mermaid had anything to do with that," she muttered, heading back to the counter for their drinks.
"Hear that?" Anders said, nudging Cormac. "Getting smacked in the face is lucky, here. Is that a Free Marches thing? It might have deterred Carver all those times he tried to punch you."
The barmaid slid their pints and their whiskey onto the table, checked to make sure Cormac wasn't bleeding on anything, and let them be.
Cormac reached for the whiskey first, tipping his head back and tossing it down his throat, which, in retrospect, might not have been the best idea he'd ever had. His stomach gurgled threateningly. "Carver couldn't land a hit. Never really mattered."
"Speaking of landing hits...?" Anders trailed off, leaving the rest of the dangerous question implied.
"It's like adding a river to the ocean. I just wanted it to stop for a while." Cormac sighed and rested his head on the table. "It'll come back as soon as I fall asleep. Always does."
"And that's why you sleep on the outside of the bunk," Anders said, with a too-cheerful smile. "I had wondered why it was worse when you were sleeping. I'd give you a potion to help with that, but I don't think you could keep it down."
Cormac muttered something about 'Tevinter rubbish', before he picked his head up. "What've you got that's mostly bread?" he called toward the bar.
"Landlubber special," the barmaid called back. "Whole loaf with a side of sweet gruel and a half pound of roast. Don't suggest getting into the roast until you keep the loaf down."
"That," Cormac decided. "I'd like that, please."
"And for me, your heaviest assortment of meats and cheeses," Anders said, with a smile. "Unlike my poor friend, I love the sea!"
"Fuck you," Cormac muttered, head coming to rest on the edge of the table, again.