Chapter 9 - Hidden Stories and Tainted Blood
AN: For the record, I'm aware that my timeline is a bit skewed. You'll see why in a couple chapters, but doing research for this chapter reminded me that I may have accidentally messed up when the HoF sends his letter in relation to other missions. Well, let's just say that Morrigan was eager for an excuse to get in contact with Aedan that she told the Inquisitor about him sooner than she does in the game. Yeah. That works.
Varric tossed his pen aside, frowning as splotches hit the table, but making no move to clean them up. It was one of of those rare moments that he had enough time to sit down and write. He was trying to get his political thriller written, but something wasn't working about the book. Using Vivienne as the antagonist was working perfectly. And he had his hero. But something was missing. It felt like the story in his head knew exactly what form it wanted to take, but it wasn't sharing any details as to what he was missing. He needed a break. Clear his mind, get a drink and relax maybe.
"What are you doing?"
Varric looked up, Lady Morrigan's son was standing by his table, looking at the paper, pens, pencils, and notebooks scattered over its surface. Varric had not had much of a chance to talk to the kid. He seemed to get around the fortress a lot, always popping up in strange places, but never really in the way. Seemed like a nice kid, innocent in a way that only children and Daisy could really be.
"I'm writing," he said. "Or trying to."
"Writing what?" Kieran asked, cocking his head to the side.
"An adventure book," Varric said, gesturing at the pile of papers covered in neat handwriting. It was significantly smaller than the pile of blank pages next to it.
"Oh," Kieran said. "Mother only lets me read books about magic. And history. Herbalism. Poison making. Useful things, she says."
"So no adventure stories or anything like that?" Varric asked, trying to ignore the park about poison making. "Every kid needs to read some adventure stories."
Kieran shook his head. "No. But Father would secretly read adventure stories to me."
"Oh?" Varric gestured to the empty chair at the other edge of the table. "Which books did he read you?"
"The last one he read to me was 'The Tale of the Champion'," Kieran said, sitting down in the chair.
"Really?" Varric chuckled nervously. "That doesn't seem all that appropriate."
"He skipped a lot of parts," Kieran said.
"I can imagine," Varric muttered. "You know, I wrote that book."
"You did?" Kieran frowned at him, as if deciding whether or not Varric was telling the truth.
"Yeah," Varric said. Kieran's expression brightened, as Varric assumed he was believing him now. Kieran leaned forward in his seat, eyes wide and taking Varric in. Varric couldn't help but chuckle, he'd heard from some of the others that there was something strange about the kid. But all he could see right now was a fan.
"Did everything you wrote in the book really happen?"
"It did," Varric said. "More or less, I may have tweaked some details here and there."
"Like what?" Kieran frowned.
"How many enemies there were, some of the dialogue I invented, but it was all in character. To make the story more interesting."
"Isn't life interesting enough?" Kieran asked.
"For some people it is," Varric chuckled. "But sometimes a good story needs some adjustment. Did you have any favorite parts?"
"The fight against the Arishok," Kieran said. "Father would act it out. One time he was too loud and Mother noticed. She wasn't happy. It took him three days to convince her to let him read it to me again."
Varric laughed. "Your mother sounds very strict."
Kieran nodded. "She is."
A thought occurred to Varric. Something about the topic of Lady Morrigan stirred the story he was working on in his mind. From the little he had interacted with her, she exuded mystery and intrigue. The way she carried herself carried a kind of raw sex appeal, she was a bit similar to Rivaini in that aspect. And yet, from everything he heard she was completely monogamous, which couldn't barely be said of Isabela even at her most infatuated with Hawke. Rivaini was lucky she enjoyed an open relationship with Hawke. Still, a mysterious witch from the wilds, seducing a hero, and then instead of the assumed ill intentions she started a family with said hero. There was something he could work with there.
Perhaps a side character, an ally of the hero of his political intrigue story, providing assistance. And the twist that despite her character archetype she is a family woman. Yeah, that could work.
"So," Varric said. "What's she like? Your mother."
Kieran frowned at the question, as if unsure what Varric meant. "What do you mean?"
"As a person, you must know her better than anyone."
"Why are you asking?"
"Well," Varric said. "I'm working on a book, and I think I'm missing a character. I think your mother might fit the spot."
"Oh," Kieran said, adopting an expression that he was deep in thought. "She's the inheritor of the next age."
"I…don't know what that means," Varric said.
"Change is coming," Kieran said. "She is working towards it. To prepare the world for the flames."
"Okay," Varric thought for a moment. "So, a mysterious, monumental goal. I can work with that. What's she like in private? With you?"
"She's my mother," Kieran said, providing no further explanation. Though Varric suspected that was all Kieran could answer. Kid was barely ten years old, to him Varric supposed that was all there was to it. Yeah, that was more than enough of an answer. Kids didn't think too deeply about what made their parents good parents. If a parent was bad, kids could think of many reasons why the parent was bad. But in the case of a good parent, a simple answer spoke volumes.
"Yeah," Varric said. "She definitely is."
Varric pulled out a notebook and made a few annotations with his pencil. When he looked up Kieran was watching him.
"I have a question," Kieran said.
"Yeah?"
"What happens when Isabela visits Hawke in his mansion. Father kept skipping over pages in those parts. I tried to find the book later, to read them, but he hid it."
"Uh…well," Varric thought desperately for an answer. There really was no safe answer here was there? "I think your parents would prefer if I didn't tell you that until you're older."
Kieran frowned. Then realization spread over his face. "Oh, it's like when Mother and Father locked the door to their room."
"Uh," Varric coughed. "Have they had that talk with you then?"
Kieran shook his head. "No. But they make a lot of noise then. I asked one time what they do. Mother blushed a lot, and Father couldn't stop laughing. They didn't make so much noise after that."
Varric laughed. The joys of trying to maintain an active sex life while raising a child. Not something he aspired to. But it could make for some good comedy.
"At the end of the book," Kieran said. "Why did so many mages become abominations? Mother taught me how to fight them off, why would the mages willingly take in spirits like that?"
Varric sighed. "Can't say I really know. They were forced into a corner by…everything that happened." A thought occurred to Varric. "Tell me, your father, he's the Warden Commander of Ferelden."
Kieran nodded.
"What did he think, when he got to the part at the end, with Anders?" Varric wasn't sure if he really wanted to know. He'd known Anders only after he had been possessed by Justice. But from everything he heard Anders used to be a great deal different before that. He didn't think he could ever forgive the mage for what he had done. But, part of him wanted to know, what of those that had known him before, but did not know what became of him afterwards?
"He…" Kieran hesitated. "He stopped reading the book for days. He didn't tell me why. He told other stories still. But, nothing about the book. One night, I heard him and mother talking. He told her he blamed himself for what happened."
"He blamed himself?" Varric couldn't imagine why the Hero of Ferelden would think himself responsible for what Anders and Justice did to the chantry. "Why?"
"I don't know. He told mother something about that he should have stopped Anders and Justice from joining together."
"Wait… He KNEW Justice?" Varric suddenly leaned forward in his chair.
"I think so?" Kieran said, taken aback. "It sounded like he did."
Varric leaned back in his chair. Beyond mentioning once that he knew the Hero of Ferelden in Amaranthine, Anders had not shared any details about his past as a Grey Warden. He'd never told anyone how he and Justice became one. But from what he was hearing now…
"Sounds like there's a story there," Varric muttered. "A lot of people I know would have some questions for your father."
"If they can get him to talk I want to hear too," Kieran said. "He never told much about the Blight. Mother told me not to ask him anymore."
"Yeah," Varric said. "I can imagine that wasn't a pleasant time in his life. Well, I had better get back to work." He smiled at Kieran. "Thanks, you helped me out of a slump there."
Kieran stood up. "You're welcome?" He then wandered off.
Varric had to admit, the story was starting to take the proper form. Now he knew where his B Story could go. Unexpected aid from a mysterious witch who also happened to be a doting mother. Yeah, he hadn't seen anyone else try that before. It should work.
He reached over to grab his pen, remembering the ink splotches on the table that had now dried into the wood. Varric cursed.
—-
The rocking horse was coming along nicely. Blackwall considered that all that was needed was a coating of varnish, to protect the delicate carvings, and it would be ready to play with. Who would receive it he had not yet decided. He put down his tools, and reached for the bucket of varnish. As he turned, he saw a young boy watching him, an intent expression on his face.
"Yes?" Blackwall asked.
"You're not a Grey Warden."
Blackwall froze. But he hadn't told anyone… "I… What are you talking about?"
The boy stepped closer. Blackwall recognized him. The Inquisition's arcane advisor's son, Kieran.
"You wear Grey Warden armor," Kieran said. "You say you're a Grey Warden. But you don't have the taint inside you."
"You…how do you know that?"
"I can sense it," Kieran said, his right hand drifting up to the medallion across his chest. Blackwall started when he noticed the Silver Wings of Valor. "I could sense it in Father. It was always there, in the blood, lurking, waiting for the last song to begin. Slowly spreading corruption, heeding to the calls of the last Old Ones…"
"Enough!" Blackwall cried, startling Kieran, who had gone into a trance. "Maker's breath. Enough!"
Kieran frowned, shaking his head. Standing as if unsure how he had gotten so close to Blackwall.
"So," Blackwall said, looking around to make sure no one else was in the stables. "You know my secret then. What are you going to do?"
"I won't tell anyone," Kieran said. "You help a lot of people. Pretending to be a Warden is better for you than the truth. A warden isn't the taint. A warden is a promise, father said. You're lucky you don't have the taint. You can keep helping for much longer."
With that, Kieran turned and left, leaving a shaken Blackwall behind. He covered the varnish, and left the stables. His nerves were shot, he needed a drink.
In the tavern, sitting by himself in a corner, Blackwall was able to avoid Iron Bull because the Qunari and his chargers were having a drinking competition. Blackwall needed to think. How…a child that could sense the taint. How was that possible? He didn't know much about the boy, beyond the fact that he was the son of the witch Morrigan and the Hero of Ferelden, Aedan Cousland. A name that even a fake warden like himself held in high regards. He had done what no other warden had done, ended a Blight within a year. At best past Blights had lasted for years, and yet two wardens and a small group of allies had saved the whole world in the midst of political turmoil. Blackwall had always thought, if ever there was a Grey Warden to look up to, to aspire to be more like, Aedan Cousland was that warden.
And here his son was, claiming to be able to sense the taint. Knowing that Blackwall was not what he claimed to be. That shouldn't be possible, or was it? Blackwall knew relatively little about Grey Warden lore, not having ever been initiated into the order. He knew that Grey Wardens had a hard time conceiving children, that much was fairly well known. But perhaps the children of wardens inherited some kind of abilities from their parents? Could someone sense the taint without being infected by the taint? Perhaps the child of a warden inherited some of the warden benefits without the negative side effects? It made as much sense as anything else, and he had little to compare his theory to.
After several drinks Blackwall was able to distract himself from his speculating. Under the comfortable warm fuzz of alcohol it hardly seemed to matter, and his mind was able to drift to other thoughts. It occurred to him that the Hero of Ferelden was a Cousland. Important family in Ferelden. If he remember right. Most of them were killed by the former Arl of Amaranthine at the beginning of the Fifth Blight.
The thought caused Blackwall's stomach to freeze. The warm fuzz had fled as memories assaulted him. He tried to resist them.
I am not that man. I haven't been that man in years. He was only following orders. I was only following orders. I…
It had been years since the last time. He had thought of the event. He took deep breaths. Trying to stop his mind from spiraling out of control. Last time he had found himself repeating his mantra for an hour before someone had found him and unwittingly interrupted his train of thought.
He cursed his inebriated state. He shouldn't have. It was harder to keep his mind centered when he'd had too much to drink. He normally kept himself under his limit. Normally drank with friends, distractions from what lurked in his mind. But his secret coming out, he had been foolish. Just this once shouldn't have been a problem. But it was.
Voices at a nearby table broke through his self destructive concentration. His mind screamed at him to ignore them, enticed him, just one more time, just one more time and I'll believe what you say. Blackwall pushed the thought aside, and focused on the people talking.
"Have you heard," One of the voices, with a thick Orlesian accent, was saying. "They've found a lead on one of the men responsible for the Callier Massacre?"
Blackwall froze. He wanted to run. But…he had to hear what the news was.
"I hadn't," the second man said. "Did they say who it was?"
"No," the first man said. "My contact in the guards did not have the name. But he said it was one of the soldiers. Not their captain."
"A pity," the second man said. "That man deserves to hang. Wherever he is, it is too good a fate for him."
Blackwall stood. So they had not apprehended the man. He wondered which one it was. Montaigne? Du Lac? Mornay? How many of his men still lived? How many had been executed since he ran? He had lost count.
He left the tavern, ignoring Iron Bull who called out to him as he passed. His soldier had not been caught. Not yet at least. It was only a matter of time. Just one more. Then he could put it behind himself.
The treacherous part of his brain, in full effect thanks to the faculty numbing property of alcohol, whispered that he would never be free of this guilt. Even if he lived to be a hundred.
