Chapter Text
9:40 Dragon, 24th of Wintermarch
She watched from shadow as the soldiers dragged the dwarf through the darkened hall. He was uninjured, but the ruffle of his garments and smear of dirt on his cheek told her he had been far from cooperative.
The Right Hand of the Divine was just heartbeats behind, sword in one hand and a large tome in the other. Leliana emerged from darkness enough to catch her companions attention. Cassandra halted abruptly, steel eyes flickering from her to the door through which the dwarf had just been pulled.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked.
Leliana shook her head. “I am assured of nothing, save that we are running out of time. And running low on options.”
Something in the other woman’s expression softened, if but a bit. “Then… there is no word…?”
She could not help but clench her fist around the parchment in her pocket. “No. There has been no word.”
“Leliana…” Cassandra started, but fumbled as she tried to find the right words. “I am sure he is simply preoccupied with his mission. Or… perhaps a raven got lost with his replies. Do not give up hope.”
Hope. It seemed in short supply, these days. “Well, you have better things to be doing, no? Terribly rude of you, Cassie, to keep our esteemed guest waiting so.”
“Yes, though I imagine that even without my tardiness he will regard me as a poor host. But it matters not. We will have our answers from him.” Cassandra said, twitching a shoulder and resuming her march down the hall.
Leliana watched her go, taking in the stillness of the Seeker’s wake. She heard raised voices not but moments later—Cassandra and the dwarf. The interrogation had begun. Varric Tethras had not been a particularly difficult man to find, and not a difficult man to make talk either. It was simply getting him to talk about what you wanted to know that was the trick. Hopefully the Seeker could apply the right kind of pressure.
In the quietness and solitude of that hall she pulled the letter from her coat pocket, tracing gentle fingers of the tidy script and folds in the parchment. The last correspondence she had received from her love, nearly half a year ago. As she read the words she could hear his voice in her ear, almost as if he were present and whispering to her.
My dearest Leli,
The weather has been absolutely foul and I find myself lacking of good company (notably yours). I wish I was writing with better news than that which I carry, but alas, I have not been very fortunate in my quest.
Amell continues to elude me.
None at Vigil’s Keep have seen him in years—and while I would not put it past them to lie if they thought it would protect him, I do believe they are being truthful. I hoped to find him perhaps amongst the rebel mages, but I was met with even less success. On a whim I returned to the Wilds and to Ostagar in search of clues. I found naught but bad memories.
The longer I search, the more I feel as if I am chasing a ghost. He is out there, I know it. But I am not the first to try and fail in locating him. Rosaya first attempted to find him and to hunt down Morrigan five years ago when the trail was far fresher. If the greatest tracker amongst the Dalish failed, then I continue to doubt what success an old soldier such as I could have.
But I do not only write with disappointments and broken leads—there is one last place I can think to try. I head now for the Frostback Mountains and the city of Orzammar. If Liri does not know where he has gone… well, I think if she doesn’t know where he is, no one will. And we’ll have to pull another hero out of our asses real quick.
I have a recommendation on that front, actually. Edmund isn’t the only one who might be able to bring sense to all this madness and peace to the people, though admittedly he’d be the best and first choice. I know Hawke hasn’t been seen since the uprising, but if Edmund is truly lost to us then she might be the rallying point we need. A wild card, but maybe the best bet we have if all else fails.
I pray you are faced with more success than I have found. If nothing else, I can trust that you will be brave and clever enough to find a creative solution. I have faith in you, my love. Say hello to Cassandra for me and give Justinia my regards.
With all the love in this world and the next,
Peter
P.S.
Lady says hello and would very much like some more of those expensive Orlesian dog treats when we get back to you.
The creases on the parchment were beginning to more resemble canyons from how many times she had un-folded and re-folded the letter. His correspondence stopped after this. None of her agents had seen him out at the field. No one from the court of Ferelden had any idea where he’d gone, nor any of their contacts in Orlais.
Only a month ago she had received a letter from Orzammar, written by the hand of another old friend. She did not have it with her, but she only had to read it once for the words to be burned into her brain.
Lady Nightingale,
First of all, it’s been far too long since your last visit. If you ever find yourself in the area, stop on by. We’ve got some specialty nug breeders developing domestic breeds you might be interested in adding to that small army you keep with you topside. Let me know what the buying interest is like—might look at selling them as luxury exotic pets to the Orlesian aristocrats if there’s enough popularity.
Second, no, we haven’t seen Ed around here in ages, so thanks for bringing that up. Bit of a sore spot with Liri, actually. I’m sure you don’t have to think too hard to imagine why.
And now to the actual reason why I’m sure you’re writing… no. Cousland never came to Orzammar. We haven’t seen him, but now that we know he was on his way we can at least keep an eye out for any signs. I’ll have Liri and her team keep tabs on the Deeps around here and Kal'Hirol just in case that idiot got it in his head to come that way. Who knows, maybe he found the damned mage and is on his way back to you now, dragging him by the scruff of his neck. Just like old times, no?
Take care, Leliana, and don’t get into too much trouble. The world’s crazy right now, and not just for you surfacers. I’ll let you know the moment I hear even a whisper about your prince charming.
May the Ancestors bless you and the Stone guide your steps (or your Maker, I suppose),
Aothor Aeducan
Dead end after dead end. She was tired of hope met with nothing. She turned to the door at the end of the hall, where the pitch of the voices within had lowered to something lower and more conversational.
It was time for answers.
“… a mighty roar shook the sky, and a high dragon swooped down out of nowhere in a flurry of fire and fangs—”
“Bullshit!” the book-stabbing human interrupted, and quite rudely at that. He’d just been getting to the good part. “That’s not what really happened.”
He leaned back in his chair—or rather the chair he’d been all but thrown into earlier. “Does that not match the story you’ve heard, Seeker?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I am not interested in stories. I came to hear the truth.”
Varric huffed a half-hearted laugh. The truth. Since when had the truth brought them anything but problems? “What makes you think I know the truth?”
“Don’t lie to me!” the Seeker all but growled, stalking forward. “You knew her even before she became the Champion.”
Varric raised his hands in a calming motion—or maybe to get ready to push the woman back in case she lunged at him “Even if I did, I don’t know where she is now.”
“Do you have any idea what is at stake here?” she asked, shaking her head down at him.
“Let me guess…” it wasn’t hard to see that the world had lost it’s mind. All you had to do to discover that was look out the window, most days. “Your precious Chantry’s fallen to pieces and put the entire world on the brink of war. And you need the one person who could help put it back together.”
“The Champion was at the heart of it when it all began,” said the Seeker. The door to the chamber cracked open and a familiar woman slipped into the room like a shadow. Ah. So that’s who he was really dealing with, then. “If you can’t point me to her, then tell me everything you know.”
He found himself leaning forwards nearly in spite of himself. “You aren’t worried I’ll just make it up as I go?”
The Seeker’s eyes slid to the side where the Lady Nightengale still loomed in the darkened corners of the room. When they refocused on him, there was a fire behind them. “Not at all.”
“You’ll need to hear the whole story.” Varric pulled back, settling into the chair and folding his hands in his lap. Might as well get comfortable, then. “The Blight had been released on Ferelden. Darkspawn poured out of the Wilds, clashing with the army at the ruin of Ostagar. The battle… was a disaster. And Hawke was right there to witness the fall.”