Chapter Text
Anders pushed open the saloon doors to The Pearl. Honestly, he was already unhappy at being here. Everyone was staring at him, as usual. The light glinted off of his Sheriff’s badge, piercing the room.
He walked towards the table to settle this.
Both of the Tethras brothers were here. Varric was looking amused, but Bartrand was threatening a smirking stranger with a pistol. Anders knew he had to get involved, before the shooting started.
The stranger didn’t even seem concerned. His warm brown hand was casually holding his cards, his tattoos were beautiful, and his eyes were wicked. What the fuck was someone like that doing in a dead little town like this?
Couldn’t be anything good.
“Alright, you three. Isabela wants you to leave. So put the guns down and get out,” Anders said, irritably.
“He stole my hand!” Bartrand accused, pistol still aimed.
Varric said, “Come on, you know you suck at cards. Let’s just go.”
Thank fuck for that. Without Varric around, Bartrand would be one loose cannon. Still, Anders wasn’t sure Bartrand would back off this time. Everyone around here knew not to rattle the Tethras brothers, but this new guy just smiled at the gun pointed at him.
Seriously, who was he?
“Put the gun down, or I’ll have to arrest you,” Anders warned, putting his hand on the pistol at his hip.
“Dammit, Bartrand, he’s not kidding. Put the gun down,” Varric said, urgency plain in his voice.
Anders really didn’t want to shoot his brother today.
“Hmm, you could arrest me anytime,” the stranger said, in a surprisingly soft accent.
“Arrest him! He stole from me.”
“He did not,” Varric said, sounding angry.
“Stop threatening Zevran, or I’ll kill you myself, Bartrand,” said Isabela, from behind the counter.
Oh, this day just kept getting worse.
Varric put a hand on his brother’s arm, pleadingly. Bartrand lowered the pistol.
“I’ll kill you someday, spaniard. Count on it,” Bartrand said.
“Actually, I’m American. My mother was Spanish. And I’m a faster draw than you’ll ever be.”
Jesus Christ, did he have a death wish?
“Alright, give me your guns. All of you,” Anders said, feeling tired.
“I think I’d rather be arrested, Sheriff,” the stranger said, with a smirk. He set the cards down on the table, all aces and eights, as he held out his wrists.
What the fuck.