The Backwater Tavern was a place where trouble usually came to simmer, not boil over. Nestled in the muddy guts of a Free Marches backroad, it was a beacon for the tired, the rowdy, and occasionally, the downright stupid. Cooper had been running the place long enough to know when to step in—and when to let things sort themselves out. Tonight, though, the line had been crossed.
A trio of surly louts, friends of that no-good Bastien Frost, had been drinking deep and making pests of themselves since early evening. The tallest of the lot had knocked over one of Cooper’s tables, sending an earthen mug clattering to the floor. Another had decided the corner booth belonged to him, even though a trio of tired caravan guards was trying to enjoy their meal there. Words were exchanged, insults lobbed. It was when one of the bastards smacked the caravaner’s plate clean to the ground that Cooper finally decided enough was enough.
The broad-shouldered tavern keeper strode up from behind the bar, wiping his hands on a rag before tossing it aside. His boots thudded on the wooden floor as he approached, his stance that of a man who’d dealt with this sort of idiocy too many times to count.
You three want to drink, you drink,” he said, his voice gravelly and firm. You want to fight, you take it outside. Otherwise, you’re about to find yourselves on the wrong side of my temper.”
The taller one turned, a greasy smirk spreading across his face. Oh, look. The barkeep’s got bark. You gonna fetch too, old man?”
Cooper’s eyes narrowed. Last warning. Out. Now.”
Another of the trio, a stocky, red-faced brute, stepped forward and poked Cooper in the chest with a meaty finger. What are you gonna do, huh? Throw us out yourself?
Before Cooper could answer, a plate shattered against the far wall, launched by the third troublemaker. That was when the first punch was thrown—by the tall one, naturally. Cooper caught the swing on his forearm, the meaty impact making a satisfying thud. He followed up with a quick jab to the man’s gut, doubling him over.
Alright, you asked for it,” Cooper growled, stepping into the fray.
The stocky brute tried to grab him, but Cooper twisted out of the way, landing a solid punch across the man’s jaw that sent him staggering into a chair. The tavern erupted into chaos, patrons scrambling to get out of the way as fists flew.
No smashing up my place!” Cooper roared, grabbing a tankard off a nearby table and slamming it into the tall one’s head. The man went down with a grunt, clutching his temple. You break it, you pay for it, you bastards!”
Cassian was on his way back towards Kirkwall, the inn along the way had been suggested to him by someone in a bar over towards the prison, as a good place to stop for a meal, and maybe bed down for the night to let the horse you rode get a good nights rest before continuing the 40 or so miles down the road. Easy ground for a horse to travel in a day, not so much by food, so, he was glad to see the stone and wood come into view, leading his horse around to the side stable, he was met by a pretty little elf, silver haired and blue eyed, not normal coloring for an elf, by any stretch of the imagination and handed her over the reigns.
You're the stable hand?
"And cook, and soon to be ex-whore, and bouncer, and book keeper, Dad's inside handling some ... particularly overzealous customers, if you want to hang out here a few minutes, he'll have them cleared out in no time." Cass watched as she took his horse into the stable and lead her into a stall, talking in a hushed whisper to the animal the entire time. Think I'll go give him some help, he told the woman as he heard a plate shatter against the wall, before he was making long strides towards the side door that she had pointed towards. Once inside, he stood for a second, trying to figure out who was aggressor, and who was owner, the elf ... she was young, but that didn't mean anything, but he wasn't seeing any elves among the crowd that looked of an age to be her father, so, instead, he grabbed the nearest man, giving an older warrior back talk.
Time for you to leave asshole, I think the gentleman said to get. Then his words registered, his place, so the elf was adopted, that made the elder the owner, and Dad, and...
Dad?
Cassian caught one of the guys trying to make a charge at Cooper, and collared him, yanking him downward and kicking his feet out from under him. Sit your ass down or I'll put you down, got it? Once again glad he hadn't worn his armor for the ride, being in travel leathers made moving about the queueing bar fight easier to work through.
The Backwater Tavern's chaos had reached a crescendo, with fists flying and curses echoing off the walls. Cooper was in his element, dealing swift justice to the trio of louts who had pushed him past his considerable patience. His broad shoulders and quick fists made short work of the tall one and the stocky brute, but the third troublemaker had scrambled onto a table, brandishing a chair like a lion tamer gone rogue.
You wanna play King of the Hill, jackass? Cooper barked, dodging the chair as it came hurtling down. He grabbed the table's edge and tipped it, sending the man sprawling onto the floor with a satisfying thud.
Cooper, catching sight of Cassian’s intervention, arched a bushy eyebrow. Well, ain’t you just a shiny knight in leather armor? Between the two of them, there wasn’t a lot of fight left, pretty soon Cooper was catching his breath and headed towards the counter.
Maker’s breath… Cass? He squinted, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. What in the fade are you doing here? Thought you were off somewhere sticking your neck out for people who don’t deserve it.
He let out a sharp snort, grabbing a broom from behind the counter. You don’t write, don’t visit, but here you are, waltzing in like some damn hero. You think this is your grand comeback? Helping your old man knock a few heads together?
Cass had just finished throwing the last of the louts out the door, a hand ruffling through his hair as he swaggered towards the counter, Aww my old man keep up with what I was doing, that's good to know. Here? As in right here, or here in general, man? He offered Coop a handkerchief, a clean one, from inside the leather jerkin, another coming from his pocket to wipe his own brow off. Pretty hard to write when you don't leave a forwarding address, he finally added, as he stuffed the hanky back into his pocket, taking a moment to step aside for the smaller elven woman who had made her way back inside during the brawl, large grey eyes watching him even as he nodded to her.
Cass was pretty certain the woman was going to pull a knife on him, all the more those grey eyes were glaring daggers into him.
Well come here and let me get a hug on you, old man, how the hells have you been? I didn't know you were this close to the prison or I'd have been by sooner. They got me chasing an AWOL warden down, right bastard, but, you know how it is. He stepped closer to his father, and put his arms up for a quick hug -- after all, it had been nearly forty years since he had seen the man, but he was still his father, he wasn't going to miss the chance to have a good talk, and a good drink. Ma kept telling me you were dead when I'd get letter from her, and well, warden work doesn't let me exactly get out too much to go hunting.
Except, now he knew where his father was.
Now he could have a relationship with his father.
Now he could write his ma and tell her that she could stop worrying about him finding out the truth and that he knew now, and that he never had been sore about the whole ordeal. Sometimes people didn't work out well with one another. He had seen those who had tried the whole "for the kids" thing, and they usually turned out worse than he had. At least his had been an accidental murder, and he had spent the years since making up for it, as much as he could.
Where’d I get it from? Cooper snorted, tossing the broom aside with a clatter. Boy, it ain’t exactly complicated. Middle of nowhere, full of drifters, and smells like the ass-end of a swamp half the time. Figured I'd lean into the truth. He grabbed a bottle from behind the bar, pouring two solid fingers of whiskey into a pair of dented tin cups.
He slid one over to Cass, then folded his arms, giving his son a long, appraising look. Forty years, huh? Damn, kid. You trying to make a man feel old? His lips twitched, but he didn’t let the smile fully form. Instead, he took a slow sip of his drink, eyes still locked on Cassian.
So, let me get this straight. You’ve been chasing some warden-gone-wrong, finally land yourself in my sorry excuse for a tavern, and just now realize you got a long-lost father within spitting distance of your route? He huffed, shaking his head. I swear, kid, you got your mother’s brains.
The elven girl—his girl—moved past them again, sweeping up broken glass with an efficiency that told him this wasn’t her first bar brawl. Cooper flicked a glance her way, then back to Cassian.
And I don’t need to guess what you’re thinking. You ain't the first to do the math. Yeah, she’s mine. He set his cup down with a thunk. Not by blood, but that don’t make a damn bit of difference. She’s got more guts than half the bastards who come through here thinking they’re tough shit. And if you so much as think about giving her grief, I’ll personally plant you in the dirt, boy or no boy.
He leaned on the bar, rolling his shoulder with a grunt. So, what’s your plan, then? You just passing through? Or am I about to have my hands full keeping your ass alive? 'Cause I tell you now, Cassian, I ain’t in the business of burying family.
