A/N: This is the tale of the Champion of Kirkwall from the Stormbreaker Universe, no spoilers for the end of Stormbreaker, I promise, but I figured I might as well get this ball rolling. Look for some changes as we go along, because after all, if I didn't, things might get boring. Enjoy!
DG
The Coming Storm: Rise of the Champion
Chapter 1: The Storyteller
Kirkwall.
It was a place also known as the city of chains. Most people assumed that referred to the fact that its black cliffs had once been the center of the Tevinter slave trade, but that was not it at all.
Ask anyone who had spent any time there, and they would tell you about the chains of Kirkwall.
Those chains might be intangible, but that did not mean that they could not seize a person. That they could not pull a person's soul towards the darkness, that they could not break the best of people and leave them asking why them?
Why had this happened?
It was to this place that Divine Justinia V agents had come, they descended on the area known as Lowtown and dragged one of its most well-known…'citizens' out into the dark night.
The dwarf had not struggled much, he was too smart for that. Had these people wanted him dead they would not have been as…gentle as they were. Make not mistake, the grip they held him in still hurt like a bitch, but at least they did not seem interested in brutalizing him…yet.
They threw a bag over his head, and marched him up the steps to Hightown. He almost tripped twice, but that did not stop his captors in the least. They would just curse his clumsiness and keep on moving.
He did not even bother trying to call out for help, given the chaos of late, it was unlikely that anyone would respond, not to help anyway.
They dragged him over the cobblestones, he could smell the distant scent of the Viscount's garden, even through the heavy bag. He heard the sound of a door opening and was almost shoved inside.
Familiar smells greeted him, he now knew where it was they had brought him, even though it made little sense.
The people that lived here were long gone. The fact they had brought him here…?
Despite the situation, despite the pain in his arms, the dwarf smiled.
They wanted something of him, he should have known!
Suddenly, what had started as a kidnapping, had become a business transaction, and if there was one thing the dwarf was good at, it was recognizing what people wanted in a business transaction.
He resisted the urge to chuckle.
Now all that was needed was for them to introduce him to their boss, and…
His captors practically threw him into a large wooden arm chair, the force of it momentarily took his breath away. Before he could recover the hood was ripped from his head. He was sitting in a darkened room, only a single shaft of light burning above him.
To his left, almost out of view stood a figure in black armor, the curves suggested either a youth or a woman. The dwarf found himself hoping it was the latter.
He could be quite charming when he wanted to be,especially when it came to a member of the opposite sex, or so he had been told.
He looked down at his clothes and duster coat, he was little worse for wear, but what could someone expect when they had been kidnapped in the middle of the night.
He coughed and chuckled to himself.
"I," he said gruffly, "I've had…gentler invitations."
The woman, and yes, now he was sure it was a woman sighed, and closed a large book she had been leafing through. She stepped out of the shadows revealing an intense, yet exotic face. She might have been considered quite beautiful, if not for the scars on her chin and cheeks, and the cool intensity of her dark eyes.
She frowned at the dwarf, clearly not interested in exchanging pleasantries.
"You are Varric Tethras, yes?" she asked in a clipped accent, norther Orlesian perhaps, or maybe…Nevarran.
He nodded, still not sure how best to respond.
She pinned him with those cool dark eyes of hers.
"I am Cassandra Pentaghast," she said, "Seeker of the Chantry."
The dwarf, Varric Tethras arched an eyebrow.
Well, well, he thought, the Hero of Orlais herself…how interesting.
He had heard the story of course, who hadn't the girl who had brought down a dragon flight almost single handed about twenty years ago. She had barely been a woman then, maybe fifteen or sixteen.
The years had hardened her beauty, he thought, there was nothing soft about this woman, not anymore, too many years of doing the chantry's dirty work.
Still, he thought, no harm in playing the cards he had been dealt.
It was in his best interest to play along, after all.
He leaned back in his chair, and gave her a sly smile.
"And," he began, "just what is it that you are seeking…Seeker?"
She gave him a cold look. At first he thought she wasn't going to respond, but then…
"The champion," she said, "where is she?"
Varric did his best to hide his disgust.
I should have known, he thought.
It had always been only a matter of time.
Still he did not let his disdain shown, he maintained the bland poker face that had served him well at so many merchant's guild meetings.
He looked down at his fingers, inspecting them for dirt.
"Which one," he said blandly.
Seeker Pentaghast apparently did not like that. She sprang at him like a lioness. Before he could even blink her book was in his lap, her dagger at his throat.
Varric tried to lean back into the chair, but there was nowhere to go
He swallowed nervously.
The Seeker glared down at him.
"You know exactly why you are here," she snarled.
She paused for a moment, then sank the blade into the book. Varric fought the urge to jump, the blade did not pierce the hard cover, praise the Maker, but…
He looked down.
If it had, he would likely have lost a few things, things he would definitely have missed.
He dared a quick glance at the Seeker. She was still glaring at him.
"Time to start talking dwarf," she said, "they tell me you are good at that."
She stepped away, letting him get a good hard look at the page she had defiled while attempting to skewer, his genitals.
He swallowed hard again.
The page had a single picture on it, a family crest. It was a crest that anyone in Kirkwall would have recognized.
It was the sigil of House Amell.
It was the sigil of the Champion.
He shook his head.
It was Moira's sigil.
He shook his head.
Andraste's flaming ass, he thought.
Why can't these people just leave the poor girl alone!
Still, he kept his true emotions hidden. He had no desire to let the Seeker know just how much she had rattled him.
Moira should have been beyond the woman's reach now,but he dared not take any chances.
After everything she had done, for him especially, for what they had shared.
He knew he had to do his best to protect her.
He took a deep breath and gathered his wits.
Time to be the storyteller again, he thought, but that was okay.
He was good at that.
His fingers lightly brushed Hawke's family sigil.
"What do you want to know," he asked.
"Everything," the warrior woman growled…
"Start at that beginning."
He took a deep breath.
Where else could he begin, he thought.
He had to go back to where it all started.
Back to Lothering.
Back to…the Blight.
He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
He was centering himself, when he opened his eyes again…he was ready.
He slowly started speaking, telling the tale he had told before.
It was embellished of course, but what could one expect?
No one wanted to hear the truth, they wanted to hear about the legend, they wanted the dream.
He would not disappoint her.
He told her the tale of Moira Hawke.
He told her the tale of the Champion.