Okay, so this is the beginning of (oh help) a predictive fic about Dragon Age III. Hopefully it doesn't suck too much. I'm experimenting with the unreliable narrator Varric in this chapter and it's just the set-up. Anyway, because it's a sequel there won't be the same party members (sorry) but the old ones WILL definitely appear as they did throughout DA2 from Origins. If you want to see a few of the party members that will be appearing in the next chapters, check the bottom of the page.
Warnings: Varric narration, language, sequel fic
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone from Dragon Age, nor any part of the world. I don't own Battlestar Galactica or even the name Dualla, but I do own the four original party members I invented for the sake of this fic.
This takes place about 2-3 years after the Kirkwall Chantry gets blown up.
When the Chantry's Seeker leaves, Varric waits in his chair, listening calmly to her exchange outside. He waits for an hour after the last clank of departing armor fades into the distance, just to be safe. After all, he'd put a tail on him if he were them.
If these Chantry folks knew Varric, they'd know that honesty and dishonesty go hand-in-hand with him. The small falsehoods he's peppered throughout the larger truths were accepted without question, so when the real lie came around, he dropped it with all his baldfaced skill. And they accepted that, too. Then again, that Seeker woman, one of those dragon-hunting Pentaghasts, yelled and threatened and called him a liar throughout the story, so he's not going to underestimate her. He can only hope she doesn't return the favor.
At last he gets to his feet, stretching sore limbs, and wanders outside. The Chantry folks caught him while he was asleep, so Bianca's safe at the Hanged Man where he left her. Thank the Ancestors for small graces, he thinks, as his sharp eyes flit around the street.
"It took you long enough, Dwarf," says a female voice behind him, that Nevarran voice that has become too familiar in the past few hours.
Varric sighs. "Son of a bitch," he mutters, wishing he had the lanky strength the broody elf did so he, too, could climb in and out of Hawke's bedroom window at will. Or that the bartender of the Hanged Man wasn't such a gossipy bitch. Or that the Chantry would just give up their idiot struggle to put things back the way they were and try to adapt to the changing times.
Pentaghast steps up beside him, folding her arms with a metallic clank. Like many of the dragon-hunting royalty of old, she wears an ornate shield and sword across her back, the hilt studded with rubies and wound in gold wires to create a handhold. "You are a fool if you think I believed your every word," she announces, amber eyes narrowing at him. "Take me to her."
"To who? Isabela? She's probably hungover in a brothel in Llomeryn right now," he answers, feigning stupidity.
Her metal-gauntleted hand cuffs the side of his head in a sharp motion, making him wince and clutch the boxed ear as it rings and pops. "Do not play coy with me, Dwarf," she snarls. "You know where she is, or you would not have waited for us to leave."
He sighs again. Damn perceptive women like Pentaghast, Aveline, and Hawke. They all knew how to get him into trouble, didn't they?
"Fine," he scowls at her, still rubbing his ear. "Just leave your armed lunatics behind, because I promise you that Hawke's armed lunatics are better than them." He fixes a faint smirk on her smooth face. "Then again, I wouldn't object to shooting a few of them. Like the guys who dragged me out of bed before dawn."
"I sent them away already," she replies with a wave of her hand that looks too like a noble dismissing a servant. "I knew you wouldn't come out of the Estate until they left."
"Clever girl," he mutters, eyeing her as he stalks over the bridge to Lowtown, wishing his dwarven legs could outrun her. Even if she wasn't trying to strongarm him into setting up Hawke for some Chantry ambush, he wouldn't like her because she's so damn authoritarian, demanding that others obey even her beliefs. Religious types never sat well with him. They're all crazy zealots of some kind or another, all willing to betray anyone in the name of their unprovable faith, as Anders proved.
In the end, the reason he slings Bianca to his back and leads the woman out of Kirkwall because he's pretty sure that Pentaghast is going to get herself shot or stabbed by antagonizing Hawke. In fact, he's rather hoping she does.
As soon as they're through the gates, a slender red-haired woman dressed in the ornate leather armor of a Chantry guard steps from the shadows of the city gates. She gives him a sweet smile that doesn't burn away the sorrow hovering in the back of her eyes and falls in step beside the damnable Dragon Lady. He stops and turns around to scowl at the two of them with his arms crossed over his magnificent chest hair.
"I told you, I'm only taking you to see Hawke, Dragon Lady," he says, scowling at Pentaghast and then turning his fearsome glare toward the redhead. Something about her reminds him of Merrill, and he feels the scowl lessen a bit as he looks her over. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"
Her smile reappears. "Pleased to meet you, Ser Dwarf. I am Leliana," she says, extending a graceful hand. "We worked together once, a few years ago, in the Chantry. Before..." The sadness returns to her eyes full-force and her voice trails off as she looks past him into the distance. She clears her throat and shakes her head as if to ward away the chill mentioning the Kirkwall Chantry brings to the air. "I would be honored if you would allow me to accompany you."
"Fine, you can come," he grunts. Varric nods to hold in yet another sigh and turns around to walk down the switchback pass to the jagged half-trail that leads to the Wounded Coast. He hurries along the narrow path, sure-footed as a mountain goat from many years of practice. The two human women keep up without hesitation, much to his disappointment. It's already becoming one of the longest days of his life, and it's not even noon. If he's not careful, today will edge up to rank among The Big Ones: the day Anders blew up the Chantry, the day of the Qunari invasion, and the bloody nightless, dayless weeks in the Deep Roads after Bartrand's betrayal.
They're barely three miles out on the trail, deep in a scrappy, rocky forest, when he hears a familiar birdcall. Red hawk. A smirk crosses his lips and he hesitates, lifting a hand to still Pentaghast and Leliana behind him. He can feel Dragon Lady's glare against his back and waits, counting to ten in his head. Leaves rustle somewhere in the distance and he catches a whiff of leather and lyrium. That means the elf is close, probably rounding behind to flank them with his scary-ass sword.
"What's going on?" growls the Chantry Seeker, glaring around at the thick foliage. She draws her weapon and points the tip of the sword at him. "You've set us up to be ambushed!"
Leliana tilts her head to the side, calm blue eyes scanning the trees. A tiny smirk crosses her lips before she can hide it and he blinks. Her fingers remain at her side but they flex, rather like Hawke's often do just before she whips a weapon off her back. So maybe she's a little less Merrill and a little more her own person, Varric thinks to himself, raising his hands as the blade edges closer to his nose.
"Watch who you point that thing at, Seeker," snaps a new voice. A familiar voice that makes Varric grin in spite of the sword in his face. He glances over to see Hawke herself sauntering out of the bushes, daggers in hand. The ever-present pouches at her hips jingle with the poisons she carries and the famous red leather armor glints in the dappled light filtering through the trees. The fearsome smirk that crosses her face is the same one he saw her give an ogre once before she jumped on its chest and stabbed until she was up to her elbows in its throat- no shit. An entrance befitting the Champion of his tales.
"Good to see ya, Hawke," he says. He glances up at the branches over their heads as Dragon Lady lowers her weapon with trembling hands. "How many?" he asks.
She shrugs, eyes never leaving Pentaghast's face. "Only five," she answers with half her attention. She comes to a halt a few feet out of sword range and he notes that faint creak of her boots that indicates she's on the balls of her toes, ready to spring any moment. Ferocious eyes narrow on the Seeker and she points with one of her blades over the open space between them. Her smirk fades. "You have ten seconds to explain yourself. If I don't like what you have to say, you die."
"I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast," she announces in her haughty tone. "I come seeking your assistance, Champion, in preventing the outbreak of war." She doesn't even put her weapon away, though she lowers it. Of course there's no way old Dragon Lady has any idea that Hawke can clear the space between them in a single leap. Then again, few people have seen her do it and lived, not a one on the receiving end of such a leap. (Well maybe Broody has, but he won't tell Varric any good details.)
He makes the educated decision to start edging in gradual increments away from the two Chantry women and toward Hawke in case there's a fight.
It surprises him, then, when Leliana pulls the bow off her back and tosses it at Hawke's feet, lifting her hands over her head to indicate surrender. "We are not here to capture or kill you, Champion," she says in that soft Orlesian accent. She speaks like a courtier, even manages a graceful curtsey with her hands still aloft. "We come to ask your aid. And I would like to request that the handsome elf behind us does not decide to run us through with his... large sword." A knowing smirk crosses her lips.
Hawke glances at the redhead and one of her brows rises. "Sister Nightingale," she says with a touch of wry humor. "You've joined with the Seekers, then?"
Leliana gives her a short nod, but does not elaborate.
Hawke's gaze shifts beyond the small group in front of her and she purses her lips, lowering her knives without sheathing them. Varric scoots a bit more, grinning as he watches Fenris emerge behind the two women who followed him. The elf has messy hair and his greatsword drawn, spiky armor blending with the shadows cast by the trees. He has that death-sneer as well, the one that Varric still suspects brought him and Hawke together. Hey, if they won't give him details, he has to make shit up, right?
"Hi, Broody," he salutes the elf and grins, edging still further from the Seekers. He keeps talking to distract them, but Leliana's eyes flick over him and he has a feeling she knows his plan. Bloody perceptive women. "Sorry to interrupt you guys. How's the vacation been? I hear Antiva's pretty nice this time of year, if you're good at ducking stray blades. And aimed blades. Which you both are. Any good stories?"
Fenris snorts, sword lowering, and tosses white hair out of his eyes. Like Hawke and Pentaghast, he keeps his weapon out. "There are always good stories around Hawke," he answers, slouching the way he does before whipping into deadly motion. He gestures with his free hand, the muscles of the opposite forearm flexing against the weight of the blade. A wry smirk crosses his mouth as he comments, "I see you've made a few new lady friends."
"It's the chest hair," Varric replies without missing a beat, taking a step back into a pool of light. "See how it ripples and glints in the sunlight?"
"Seeker," says Leliana with a pleasant smile toward Pentaghast. Apparently she's correctly interpreted their banter, because she says in a calm voice, "I believe you ought to surrender your weapons before something... unpleasant occurs."
Dragon Lady looks from Varric, to Hawke, to Fenris with a puzzled expression. After a moment of what appears to be fierce internal struggle, she sets her sword on the ground and kicks it out of reach. "Very well. I prefer to speak about this in a civilized manner," she says, gaze drifting between them again and settling on the Champion. "And I am not so foolish as to believe myself capable of facing down the woman who killed the Arishok in single combat."
Hawke smirks that bloodthirsty smirk of hers and sheaths her weapons with a quick flourish. "Good choice," she says. "Start talking." She steps on the bow in such a way as to make it hop in the air and catches it, swinging it onto her back with ease. Fenris moves with a similar sweep to hook Pentaghast's sword into his free hand, now brandishing two full-sized weapons in a comedic large-scale version of Hawke's own dual-blade style.
Varric takes this as his cue to move to her side, pulling Bianca out and cradling her with his own fearsome grin. He doesn't need to look at Hawke's profile because he can imagine that smirk he just saw getting a bit more predatory, a bit toothy, a bit wider, while her eyes narrow and glitter.
Pentaghast blinks and her brows draw together. "As you well know, with the Divine on her deathbed, things have never been so tenuous in Thedas," she begins. "After what happened with the Kirkwall Circle and the ensuing mage revolts, the Divine's hold over the Faithful has slipped in the past two years. Now that the Templars have left the order to continue pursuing mages without Chantry approval, Tevinter has begun to aid escaped mages more and more openly. With every day there are more and more former Circle mages apprenticed to Magisters, learning the black art of blood magic."
Both Hawke and her elf draw a sharp breath at the mention of Tevinter, their eyes narrowing and darkening in unison as Varric looks between their faces. Understandable, considering Fenris' history with the Imperium.
"What do you need me to do?" Hawke asks sharply. A hardening of her jaw indicates some form of regret and for a moment her head inclines enough that her hair obscures her eyes. Varric watches, astounded. Could she actually regret preventing the Rite of Annulment? He's never doubted for a moment that she regrets having a role in this mess, but to regret helping the mages means things have changed, indeed.
Taking a breath, Pentaghast continues, "We need your help. The Seekers have been searching for you now for two years, since you disappeared from the Gallows that day. We must hurry to Val Royeaux before the Divine dies and ensure that her successor is willing to work with the Seekers to repair the Chantry and unite Thedas against the Imperium. If we do not prevent this, we will all end up slaves to the Magisters." Her sharp amber eyes take on a pleading expression and she spreads her hands in a benign gesture of goodwill. "Please, Champion. You are the only one who can possibly set things right."
Cast of new (and old) characters in order of appearance:
Cassandra Pentaghast: Yeah, there's hints she might have a major role in the next one and it makes sense to me, so I'm keeping her. According to Dragon Age wiki, she's descended from the Nevarran Royal dragon-hunters. Her backstory will come out more in upcoming chapters. Weapon and shield/tank warrior, human female.
Aiden Surana: One of the surviving apostates from the Kirkwall Circle, he's incredibly bitter not only at the Templars, but at his fellow blood-mages who justified the slaughter. Like Feynriel, he's originally from the Alienage and has never known anything but poverty and imprisonment. Healer/supporter mage, elven male.
Brogan Vorsha: A new dwarf! Because Varric won't be sticking it out for this whole thing (sorry). Brogan may or may not have pissed off the Carta. How he managed to piss off a whole guild of crazy dwarves and live remains a mystery, as well as how a rogue sucks at playing cards. Just wait for it. Dual-wielding/melee rogue, dwarf male.
Gayle: A former Magister who's fled Tevinter for reasons she prefers to keep vague. Young and hotheaded, her skill with deadly primal forces makes her a powerful ally, while her refusal to use blood magic makes her an enigma. Damager mage, human female.
Maraas: Also back from DA2, the Tal-Vashoth deserter who warned you of his fellows' ambush plans when you headed up the path in "Blackpowder Promise." Disillusioned with the Qun and disgusted with the Tal-Vashoth, Maraas has taken up the mantle of mercenary. And he's damn good at it. Two-handed/damager warrior, qunari male.
Dualla* Estanus: Her face plasters wanted posters for a series of petty crimes and the more serious crime of evading the city guard. With a severe Robin Hood complex, she spends her nights sneaking out of the crowded, dank Val Royeaux Alienage and stealing from merchants and nobles to provide for her people. Archer/ranged rogue, elf female.
*Yes, Battlestar RIS fans, her name is TOTALLY a reference.