Prologue:

"What in Andraste's name happened to her?"

"Did the Champion do it?"

"How? He's a Ferelden with a sword. He's good at killing, but he's no mage."

Templars continued to fill the Gallows. The sight of the petrified Knight-Commander was unavoidable. Knight-Captain Cullen had been clear that nobody was to pursue the Champion and his companions yet, not until the Circle was cleaned and the escaped blood mages had been tracked down.

"He keeps mages with him!" A templar piped up. "That little elf, the girl dressed like a Grey Warden. Had one of them do it!"

Cullen stared at the water outside the Gallows. When the battle was over, he'd simply allowed the Champion to leave. What could he do? Meredith had gone mad, her mind addled by lyrium, and was a danger to the entire city. Dangerous enough that Cullen himself had helped the Champion fight her. Garrett Hawke was not a criminal that day, simply a man trying to live up to his title. For what seemed like the fiftieth time, the man who some almost immediately began calling "Knight-Commander" turned to face his men, and order them back to their business. Kirkwall was safe from the madness of the blood mage Orsino, and the paranoid Meredith, but much more was coming. Deep down, Cullen believed it would soon envelope the entire world. But for that day, the sun was rising and there was much to be done.

Chapter 1: The Dwarf

"So, no shit, there I was down at the docks. We spent plenty of time there, don't get me wrong, but after the Qunari invasion, they built this statue."

"They have a lot of statues in Kirkwall," Vivienne said, finally lowering her cowl from her head."

"Yeah, but this one was special," said a notoriously talkative dwarf. He was resting against a boulder, holding a canteen in one hand, twirling a crossbow quarrel in the other. "This, well, for starters I fronted some of the coin for it-"

"Was it you?" Vivienne asked. She would not be surprised at all if it was.

"It was the Champion. I haven't told you about the statue before, really?" The dwarf leaned towards his mage companion. "Looking majestic, stomping the head of the Arishok, raising a sword of fire. So, subdued by his standards."

"Ah, the Champion. The Ferelden brigand who sparked a war and sent the Circles on a path to war.'

The dwarf groaned. Vivienne paused, realizing she had misspoken.

"The Circles consist of the mages, Bolty. The mages got exponentially more frustrated with the templars. What happened in Kirkwall was awful, but something was going to happen one way or another. And he cared not a bit for taking a side. He had a situation in front of him, he reacted in a way he thought was best. People were going to die either way. The mages and templars were going to fight either way. The way the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander carried on, the fighting was going to go on with or without Garrett Hawke, and it probably would have gotten a lot worse if he hadn't put down both instigators."

Vivienne nodded. As usual, she had a hard time reconciling her frustrations with the first-hand experiences her friend had with the man who, to most of Thedas, was the walking catalyst to the Mage-Templar War. A thought popped into her head.

"Varric," she asked, "why doesn't he fight now?"

"You're not the first person to ask," the dwarf said. He smiled, knowing how to spin this one easily. He'd been asked so many times before. "He'll pick up his sword again if it means protecting the people he cares about. A lot of people don't consider it, but it's the only thing that ever truly drove him to violence. Now, he was quite good at swording things-"

"Swording?"

"Don't worry about it. But look, he cut through darkspawn in the Deep Roads to make money for his family. He went after the Qunari to save a mischievous pirate he liked to get drunk with. When a certain idiotic blonde mage blew up the Chantry, he didn't really want to take sides. He was more reasonable than that, but his sister was a mage. A Grey Warden, it's true, but still a mage in a city where mages suddenly had giant targets on their backs. She could handle herself, but she was his baby sister, he always protected her. His father taught him to do that. Oh, and his father was a mage, too. The Champion may not have been connected to the Fade, but he was surrounded by loved ones who were."

"And there was the elf, of course. You've talked about her. "Daisy", right?"

"Daisy to me," Varric said. "Just to me, like I do. She was Dalish, never gave as much thought as she should to templars. But yeah, she'd still have been in danger, and he knew that. You should have seen the way they clung to each other the night we ran from the city. It's how I imagine the Seeker and the Inquisitor are going to look every night when they finally stop repressing themselves."

Vivienne laughed. Both glanced around, curious to see if either of their companions were actually nearby. Varric smirked when neither could be seen. He shrugged and smirked, then brought the canteen to his lips.

Varric did not sleep easily that night. He rarely did when he traveled like this. A small candle lit up his tent. Bianca, the crossbow he kept closer than most members of his family, rested next to his bedroll. On pleasant nights like this, most of the party preferred to sleep under the stars. Somebody would tell stories- stories not as interesting or finely crafted as his- the others would laugh and ask questions. Everyone would take the opportunity to take their minds off of the War. And the Tear. Tonight, Varric was thinking of names. Of a mad brother withering away in a cell. Of the old friends who he based most of his stories on. But mostly, the letter that triggered his brooding. A messenger at the Inquisitor's keep in Orlais had brought it to him as they were getting back to the road.

V,

I've heard that you're helping investigate the Tear. I think I can stop it. I can save us all. You helped me once, now I want to help you. But I'll need HIM to make this work. Please, can you find him? If you do, return with him to Kirkwall, and send for me.

All the best,

F

Months ago, the Orlesian Seeker Cassandra had come to Varric for help understanding the Champion's actions, and to try and locate him. He had told her that he couldn't help her, but that had been a lie. He was good at lies and exaggerations, rarely thought twice about them. But with all he had seen since deciding to follow her out of Kirkwall, he decided it was time admit the truth. And he did it by grabbing his quill and a stack of vellums. They were spread out now, that much was true, but he could find most of them. Or somebody who could find them. And that night, he wrote. This company was effective. They were trained warriors, and had a strong leader. But he'd done the greatest things he'd ever done with another group, and he didn't want to meet up with the sender of the letter without them.