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Signing on with Athenril and her smugglers was an opportunity they were lucky to have. It got them into the city and away from the Blight; it’s kept the templars off their back, so far. It’s a starting point, a useful tool, a means to an end.
Bethany hates it.
She has to constantly remind herself that it’s not forever. Every day she and Marian work is one day closer to the end of their servitude. This is the way it has to be, and Bethany’s made peace with it.
It’s just a little hard to be at peace with it when she’s splattered with spider guts after clearing out an infestation clogging Athenril’s contraband tunnels. She wipes ineffectually at her leggings, shuddering in disgust. Her hair will still be smelling of spider insides for weeks.
Somehow it makes it worse that Marian doesn’t seem to mind, or even notice. Right now, as Bethany’s miserably attempting to scrape off the worst of the goop, Marian’s cheerfully looting around in the cavern muck for coins and valuables, chattering as she does.
“Ooh, looky here!” she calls. Bethany hates her a little bit for being so chipper right now. “Isn’t this pretty! Clean it up a bit and this could fetch a pretty price in the Hightown market, wouldn’t you say, Bethany?”
“I don’t suppose we could just go home, now that we’re finished with the job?” Bethany says. It comes out whinier than she meant it to, but she’s tired and she smells, and under the circumstances she feels like she could be forgiven for channeling Carver, Andraste guide his soul.
Regardless, it gets Marian’s attention, and she crosses over to Bethany and puts an arm around her shoulders, tugging her close.
“Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss, Bethany! It doesn’t suit you,” Marian says. “You’ve got such a pretty smile, I miss it.”
Bethany rolls her eyes, but here, pulled close to Marian, with Marian’s face so close to hers as she practically radiates enthusiasm, Bethany really can’t keep herself from smiling just a little.
“There it is! And good thing, too, because the Hawke sisters have done it again!” Marian says, grinning like a fiend. “A job this well done calls for a celebration, wouldn’t you say?”
In Bethany’s opinion it calls for a long, hot bath, and then collapsing into bed and not moving for another twelve hours. The last thing she wants right now is to go to the Hanged Man where everyone is going to be loud and raucous and smelly and drunk, but, well. Bethany never could say no to Marian.
Although she might have tried a little harder if she’d realized Athenril and her lackeys were coming along.
At the bar, Marian’s in fine form, flushed and exhilarated with success; she’s got the crowd eating out of the palm of her hand, on the edge of their seats while she exaggerates and embellishes the finer details of their successes. And no one’s more enthralled than Athenril, who’s closer to Marian than she really needs to be, hand on the small of Marian’s back as she makes sure that Marian’s mug never empties. She’s smirking, too, and keeps calling Marian things like her “wisest investment,” and “secret weapon,” as if Marian’s nothing more than a tool to help Athenril claw her way to the top of Kirkwall’s undercity.
Not that Marian seems to mind.
Bethany frowns into her mug and tries not to sulk. Marian had bought her a drink when the two of them came in, winking as she did, telling her not to tell Mother. Then she proceeded to abandon Bethany entirely, since apparently Bethany isn’t as much fun as a good audience.
At least she has Corff’s swill to keep her company. It may not taste any better than the traces of spider goop, but the time will pass a little quicker if she’s drunk.
Bethany’s trying to choke down another mouthful of the stuff when Athenril leans forward and murmurs something into Marian’s ear. Whatever it is makes Marian shiver visibly and give an appreciative laugh. Bethany’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, her grip tightening involuntarily around her mug. Surely, she thinks, they aren’t going to...
But they’re standing up, Athenril’s arm snaking around Marian’s waist, unmistakably possessive. Marian leans into her, grinning, and if Bethany’d had doubts before about what Marian and Athenril were planning, they wither in the face of that smile.
“You lot can carry on without us, right?” Athenril says, prompting her gaggle of cronies to start up the obligatory show of hooting and catcalling. Marian laughs, hiding her face in Athenril’s shoulder. Somehow, Athenril’s expression gets even more smug, which is honestly pretty impressive. Bethany, for one, wouldn’t have thought it possible.
Maybe Athenril senses Bethany’s disdain, or maybe Bethany’s just not as invisible as she thought, because she glances over her shoulder and catches Bethany staring. Bethany freezes, caught, and Athenril holds her gaze for a long moment.
And then, inexplicably, Athenril winks. Then she saunters out with Marian, and Bethany’s left watching them go, clutching her mug tightly as a hot flush burns across her face.
It takes Bethany awhile to regain her equilibrium, to do anything other than stare uselessly at the door. And then, without really thinking about it or deciding to do so, Bethany stands, drains her drink and follows them out.
She has half a mind to go check on Marian. Athenril can’t be trusted, and she and Marian had both had a bit to drink; Lowtown’s dangerous at night, and Athenril’s been making a lot of enemies lately. A quick peek couldn’t hurt, surely. Bethany could find them and look just enough to make sure that they haven’t been mobbed by Carta thugs, or impaled themselves on the rusty spikes lining the alleyways, or something.
But Marian can take care of herself, even tipsy, and whatever else Athenril might do, she’s not about to sabotage a good investment. And if Bethany’s honest with herself, sisterly concern isn’t why she wants to go after them. It’s something else entirely, a dark and twisting thing, ugly and self-flagellating curiosity. Bethany won’t make excuses for it, will not indulge it. That’s not who she is.
She’ll just head right back to Gamlen’s hovel. She’ll clean up as best she can, then settle into a quiet night like she originally wanted. Marian can have this fling, or whatever it is. It’s none of Bethany’s business, and Bethany would do well to remember that.
Satisfied, Bethany nods to herself, and turns the corner to go home.
Where she gets an eyeful of Athenril pushing Marian back up against the wall.
Bethany stumbles back out of sight, hand clapped over her mouth to keep noises from escaping, heart rabbiting in her ears. So much for going home, she thinks, hysterical.
She presses her back against the wall, closes her eyes and tries to get her breathing back to normal.
It doesn’t work. The image is seared onto the insides of her eyelids, taunting her no matter how tightly she squeezes them shut. Athenril’s hard, purposeful strides. The way Marian looked, slammed against the wall.
Go home, Bethany, she tells herself. She wants to. She should. She still can’t make herself walk away, can’t stop herself from peeking around the corner again.
They’re half in shadow, but Bethany can still see the way Athenril’s riding Marian’s thigh, the way Marian’s pale hands are running over Athenril’s back. If she strains, Bethany can hear the sloppy sounds of their kiss. As she watches, Marian’s hands slide down to Athenril’s ass, squeeze hard, guiding her so they can rock together.
Bethany shoves her hand harder against her mouth, desperate to hide the breathy noises she’s making, afraid that somehow they’ll hear her. They’ve started grinding in earnest. It should repulse her, but she can’t tear her eyes away. She’s hot and cold all over. Her boss is fucking her sister, and watching is making her dizzy with arousal.
She steadies herself against the wall. Her thighs keep clenching like they’re trying to relieve the pressure in her swollen clit. She’s throbbing, now, and she knows if she reached into her leggings her smalls would be soaked through.
Athenril breaks the kiss to bury her face in Marian’s neck. Marian lets out a loud, low groan, knuckles going white with the force of her grip on Athenril. Bethany can’t rip her eyes away. It’s easy, so easy, to imagine herself in Athenril’s place. She whimpers into her hand. Marian grabbing her hips instead of Athenril’s. Marian’s fingers filling her, crooking inside her--
Marian’s head lolls back against the wall. Her lids slip shut, and then snap open. Her eyes find Bethany’s across the alley.
The force of Marian’s gaze pins Bethany in place for half a moment. Her eyes seem to glow like a cat’s in the low light, intense and eerie. It has a magic Bethany could never match, petrifies her better than any spell ever could, and all she can think is that Marian is looking at her instead of out for her, for once in their lives.
Then, very deliberately, staring right into Bethany’s eyes, Marian bites her lower lip. Lets it slide back free, red and wet.
Bethany turns on her heel and flees.