Saga had immediately taken to her tower, climbed the ladder inside it and opened the hatch to its top. There she stood now, furiously throwing stones off the roof into the snowy landscape and cursing dwarves and elves alike. Having regained her practical knowledge now only seemed to contrast the lack of any personal memories, which now pained her so much more. She knew what she was, what she was good at, probably had earned her money with. But she still had no clue who she was. She remembered the name of her home, but still had no clue about her roots. And that was precisely how she felt. Uprooted. Transplanted. She had no idea how to live here. In the end, this broadened her emotional range in a way she would have liked to omit. She knew deep in her heart that this feeling of wrongness that accompanied her here wouldn't be there on Terra. Because that was where she belonged. The analyst was so kind to look up the word that went with that sinking feeling in her chest. Homesickness. Saga was nostalgic for a place she remembered nothing about but its name, its location relative to fourteen pulsars in the galaxy and its place in the order of planets.
A thought suddenly occurred to her that made tears tingle in her eyes.
Does anyone miss me?
Was there someone on that planet she had seen in her vision who had noticed she was gone? A father? A sister? A lover? Or was she just as alone in the world where she belonged as she was right here, in this foreign, alien land? Desperation threatened to overcome her as she let the tears stream down her face. She sobbed and sank against the cold stone balustrade, lost in herself.
„Where is everything?", she whispered. „Where am I?"
„In Skyhold, sweetheart."
She jumped up.
A head poked out of the hatch in the floor. A very pretty head. A shock of full, dark hair on top of a sun-kissed face adorned with a regal nose and a stately mustache that swirled around the arguably most kissable lips Saga had ever seen. Or second-most-kissable?, a tiny voice whispered in the back of her head that she quickly tried to silence by loudly speaking over it.
„Who the fuck are you?"
„Whoa!", the man laughed. „Someone's in a mood. May I come up?"
„First tell me who you are."
The man sighed.
„Very well. Though I strongly advise to get a look at the full package to get the proper impression with the name", the head said.
A growl escaped Saga's throat.
„Yes, alright, I heard you." The head harrumphed. „My name is Dorian of House Pavus, or, as some of the folk around here inexplicably call me: the good Tevinter. A horrific misunderstanding, of course, borne of naiveté and idiocy. But well. Dorian to you, sunshine."
Not another nickname. „My name… is Saga!", she grumbled.
„Yes, I know. But calling you the way you actually look right now would not be remotely as flattering. May I come up now?"
„What do you want?"
Dorian grunted.
„Please? Pretty please? I told you my name, you said I could come up after that. My legs are really starting to hurt."
She gave him a curt nod and with a rather excessive groan he climbed up the rest of the ladder and stood.
A package indeed.
Dorian Pavus was a fine specimen. Tall and muscular without being bulky, he was dressed impeccably. The air seemed to glitter all around him, so many shiny bits adorned his elegant outfit of smooth leather, fine cloth and metal clasps.
„That's much better."
His obtrusively good mood severely got on Saga's nerves. She was not inclined to be made fun of right now.
„What do you want, Mr. Dorian Pavus the maybe not so good Tevinter? Wanna be my chaperone, get in line…"
He smacked his lips. „Aren't you a darling. No, thank you, I was never good with cacti. Actually, I just followed the fowl air you dragged behind yourself when you stomped out of the Undercroft, unattended, I might add and decided to save your sorry self from more serious trouble should the Inquisitor get wind of you running around Skyhold without a watchdog."
„I thought you said you did not want to look after me. And apparently I look like a cactus to you."
„You're certainly prickly enough. And no, I have no intention of being your mother hen. You already have two of those. I came here to offer you some diversion from the drab company you've been keeping."
Despite her initial resolution to keep her dark mood, Saga couldn't help but be intrigued by this self-assured man. His sparkly personality seemed to pierce through the dark clouds that she had surrounded herself with like very determined, cocksure sun rays.
„And how would you go about that?", she asked.
„Like this!", he said and bowed down to loosen a piece of rope he had looped around his ankle. Saga's eyes followed it to the hatch, where it disappeared. Dorian stood, rope in hand, and walked back to the hatch, where he carefully began hoisting up whatever was attached to the other end of the cord. Saga heard bright clinking noises. Finally, a basket came into view, filled with two dark green bottles, a pair of clay cups, a loaf of golden baked white bread and some grapes nestled between the folds of a dark blue blanket lined with silver thread.
Saga gaped at the scene.
„Voilà!", Dorian exclaimed. „Straight out of the Inquisitor's stock. Just don't tell anybody, he'll give me hell for going around his back."
That was it. He had her. Saga broke into a lusty laugh. „You stole from the Inquisitor?!"
„You bet I did.", he said. „It's only the right thing to do. Those vintages are wasted on him. The guy is so inhibited, he wouldn't grant himself some unadulterated pleasure if his life depended on it." Dorian sat down the basket and pulled out its contents. „And you, my love, look like you seriously need a drink or two."
Saga sighed. She couldn't really argue with that. She felt like shit. „I don't even remember if I like wine."
„Of course you like wine!", Dorian said. „We just have to find the right one for you."
„But that could take a while", Saga said.
„Wonderful! We'll have time to talk at length about how it's even possible a man with the arrogance of a noble can dress himself in a potato sack."
Dorian had the rare ability to say insulting things about a person without actually coming across as unfriendly. He made Saga frown and smile at the same time. „Who are you talking about?", she asked.
Dorian looked at her as if he couldn't fathom she needed to ask. „Why, Solas, of course. Our beloved apostate Hobo."
Saga giggled at that. Dorian had been right. She had needed some diversion. A moment of respite, talking about something other than impending doom or reeling in a vortex of flashbacks that either left her puking her guts out, taking innocents hostage or suffocating in a suit she didn't remember how to use correctly. She felt her muscles relax and watched Dorian spread the blanket on the stone floor, sit down and open one of the bottles. He sniffed the cork, then wiggled it in her direction, wearing a conspiratorial grin on his lips.
Saga shook her head and grinned but relented in the end. „Ok, I'll bite." She walked over and sat on the blanket across from him.
„Of course you would. Who could say no to me?"
„Wow, you're sure of yourself", Saga said with a frown and a chuckle while Dorian poured the wine and handed her a filled cup.
„Wouldn't you be as well if you had hair like that?", he asked with a glint in his eye.
Saga marveled at his cockiness but couldn't help but like him. Under all this pomposity he had something ironic that made him attractive.
„Unbelievable", she said and shook her head.
„Oh, you better believe it, sunshine." He raised his cup. „To your finest day in Skyhold yet! The day you got to meet me!"
Saga burst into laughter.
„Hear, hear!"
They both sipped the wine. Saga grimaced. Also Dorian wore a rather critical expression.
„Oh… well. Interesting." He grabbed the bottle and turned it to read the tag. „Dragon's Piss."
Saga almost spluttered the wine across the floor. „Who the hell names their wine Dragon's Piss?!"
„Someone with a realistic assessment of their ability to make it. Try the other one?"
Saga nodded, her mouth still filled with a furry sensation. Dorian just threw the contents of his cup over the balustrade with a spirited motion. Saga followed suit.
„So, my dear…." Dorian opened the second bottle and poured the wine. "How do you like our little freak show so far?"
He clinked his cup to hers, plopped a grape into his mouth with his left hand and afterwards propped himself up on it. He took a sip of wine. „Ah, much better."
Saga thought about that question, grabbed the loaf of bread and broke it.
„Well, it's not like I could compare it to anything. But people have been very… patient. Solas and Varric helped me a great deal." A pang of guilt shot through her chest. She lowered her head. „I've been a total ass to them down there."
„What did happen to get you into a foul mood like that?", Dorian asked and picked another grape.
Of course he had wanted to know that from the start. But at least he had made an effort to cheer her up first. Saga decided to confide in him.
„Basically Solas told me that he believes I could help you with your demon problem. Devise a way to close the Rifts that have formed everywhere more quickly. Which then led Varric to accuse him of actually wanting the opposite, a way to slip through the Veil and into the Fade physically. And of trying to use me to that end." Dorian just listened with an indecipherable expression, part earnest, part amused. „The Inquisitor thinks I want his damn throne, Cassandra thinks I'm a demon or a spy trying to infiltrate their ranks, Solas thinks I have some sort of Fade-walker superpowers and Varric just has me down as some helpless pup he can protect from all the other guys." Saga stopped, shaking her head, picking at the piece of bread with her fingers and flicking the crumbs away. „I just… couldn't listen to it anymore. To what plans other people have for me, what motivations they ascribe to me. Without asking me what I want!"
Dorian laughed. „What do you want, sunshine? Do you even know?"
Saga sipped her wine. The taste agreed with her. Dry, yet light. She rocked the cup gently and watched the liquid swirl around. A black hole of blood red wine, sucking her in. She downed the wine in one gulp. When she looked up at Dorian he met her gaze straight, a provocative smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, daring her to answer.
„I want to go home", she said.
He eyed her intensely. „And where is home?"
Now it was Saga to grin at him in roguish anticipation. She said nothing and held out her cup to him. He filled it without a word.
„Well?"
Saga drank, looking straight at him over the rim of her cup, still grinning. She put down the cup and simply raised her hand, her index finger pointing up into the sky.
For a second, Dorian just stared at her in wide-eyed disbelief, then threw his head back in a bellowing laugh.
„Haha! You almost had me there, love! Not bad! Not bad indeed", he said, wiping away tears.
Saga was not amused.
„I'm serious."
„Yes, of course you are, sunshine", he said and raised the mug to his lips.
But when he met her eyes, his countenance froze.
„You're serious."
„I'm serious."
„Ok", Dorian said and sat up straight. „Let's say for a moment I don't believe you're insane. Which you obviously are. How do you think you are going to get up there? You're not a mage, you can't levitate. And I've never heard of anyone, mage or not, who has achieved such a feat, no matter how powerful."
„Who's the one who keeps drab company now?", Saga teased him.
„Still you", Dorian plainly stated. „Honestly, Saga, it seems indeed easier to tear up the Veil and enter the Fade. At least we know two people who have actually, definitely done that. Not counting of course that nonsense about ancient Tevinter magisters creating the Blight by entering the Golden City", Dorian said and began to empty his cup in large gulps.
„Which is why I will get home not by flying up into the sky but exactly the way I came. Through the Fade."
Dorian spluttered the wine all over the floor only to erupt in a coughing fit. Saga felt a few wet drops hit her cheek and simply wiped them away with her sleeve. Patiently she waited for the man to regain his composure.
„You have got to be joking!"
„I'm not."
„Wait— you… you are not Corypheus having mastered the art of shapeshifting, have you? Because by Andraste's perky tits, that would be a hell of a convincing—"
„No."
Dorian groaned at her humorless response and tried again, more sincere this time.
„Saga, there is a reason the whole of Thedas is in uproar because there are holes in the Veil everywhere. Several reasons actually. They're called Rage, Despair and Pride. Hunger and Terror. Sloth and Fear. Demons, Saga! The stuff of nightmares. Literally!"
Without being able to consciously explain it, Dorian's words made Saga uneasy, irritated her even. „I think there has to be a more rational explanation of those phenomena. I think Solas might be right. I might be able to enter the Fade without any magic tricks. How else should I have landed here? As you've said, I'm not a mage. I'm a scientist. Maybe I experimented on the Veil and found a way to open it."
„Yes, well, how has that experiment of yours worked out for you so far?"
This shut Saga up. Dorian immediately felt bad for her.
„Listen, Saga. I'm sorry you have lost your memory. Losing it completely must be terrible. I wish you'd have lost only the embarrassing bits, I do. And I will try to help you recover it if that's what you want, if only because I shall not abandon a precious little thing like you to the care of an anhedonic walking fashion disaster and a professional liar too scared of the subject matter to be of any substantial help at all!"
Saga couldn't help but smile at his over-the-top language that went so well with his equally outrageous outward appearance.
„Thank you, Dorian. I guess."
„The pleasure is all mine. Glad to see that the clothes fit, by the well."
Sagas face lit up in surprise. „You picked them out? For me?"
„Why, did you think the potato sack on legs would have been capable of creating this perfect sonata of rich browns and juicy reds that complement your complexion like dusty red wine does aromatic bread?"
Saga was too stunned to speak for a moment.
„Wow. You do like your colorful superlatives, don't you?"
„Look at me and answer that for yourself", he smirked and flirtatiously cocked one eyebrow. It was simply too grotesque to be taken seriously.
Saga guffawed and shook her head, taking another sip of wine. It was starting to get to her head. A pleasant dizziness, making everything seem more colorful indeed.
„But jests aside", Dorian continued. „Please be careful what you're toying with. The Veil is all that stands between us and a demon army. It's not exactly something I like to think about all day every day, but it is the truth, plain and simple. Without the Veil, we're doomed. So don't tinker with it unless you're damn sure what you're doing."
Saga nodded. She didn't want to endanger anyone. She had had enough of that after last night. She let out a sigh.
„Well… seems I'm stuck here for an indefinite amount of time. Might as well take to the bottle."
„What, giving up so easily?", Dorian asked in feigned surprise, but poured her another glass.
Saga bit off a piece of bread. „If I can't study the Veil I have nothing else to go on", she said, munching.
„Who said anything about not being allowed to study it?"
Confused, Saga stopped chewing.
„You said—"
„I said: don't tinker with it", Dorian interrupted her and chidingly shook his finger at her. „I never said you weren't allowed to analyze and learn about it. On the contrary, I think you should. Like you said, it's the only clue you've got."
„But how do I do that?", Saga asked, broadly gesturing with both hands, cup in one, bread in the other, spilling some of the wine onto the floor. „The Inquisitor has me on a short leash, I have no equipment, no way of conducting scans or experiments. I remember my skills, which is just great, because they're basically useless around here."
She let out a frustrated sigh, ripping off another chunk of bread. Dorian seemed to have fun, at least. His lips parted with a suggestive smile as he plucked another grape and rolled it around between his fingers.
„Oh, the resources are all there, sunshine! You just have to convince the Inquisitor he'd be better off allocating some of them to you."
Saga swallowed the bread and topped it up with a gulp of wine. „And how do I manage that?"
„Easy, give him something he wants! Make a deal!"
„I don't know what he wants."
Dorian sighed. „What do men in power want, Saga?", he asked while he casually examined the small green fruit between his thumb and index finger. „The Inquisitor will leave for a mission tonight and won't be back for about a week or so. You've got time to figure it out."
She looked at him, but her gaze was turned inward, hoping the analyst had something to say on the matter. But he stayed silent. That question required episodic information, personal experience, not declarative information and world knowledge about spaceflight. But Saga was able to reason. So she took an educated guess.
„More of it."
„Yes, exactly!", Dorian exclaimed, closing his hand to a fist and crushing the grape in the process. „So, what in that skillset of yours can be used to give the Inquisitor an edge? Think, sunshine! How can you make yourself essential to the Inquisition, rather than remain just another mouth to feed?"
Saga thought hard about that. It was more difficult than she had anticipated. Without access to her past experiences it felt like she had to conceive every single idea and thought from scratch as if nobody else had done it before. She couldn't rely on knowledge about other people's mistakes and experiences. All she had to address any problem were the tools of her scientific skills, her physics knowledge and her own wit. Luckily, being a scientist came with excellent deductive as well as inductive reasoning abilities. And the analyst provided her with a network she grew increasingly adept at navigating.
„Ok, so the Inquisition has an army, right? An army means soldiers. Primary weaponry consists of batons and stabbing weapons, making body armor a necessity." She remembered how baffled Dagna had been about her suit not offering any protection against the prevalent weapons.
„Don't forget magical attacks", Dorian said. „Body armor is almost useless when it's made brittle by frost spells and the like."
„What is it made of that cold has such a profound effect?", she asked.
„Well, leather and various metals, of course."
„Huh…" Saga's mind raced. The analyst got to work with amazing speed, looking up everything she remembered about temperature effects on various metallic substances. „How do you detect that an armor has been made brittle?"
„The next hit cuts through it like butter", Dorian said dryly. He wiped the grape juice off his fingers on his leg.
„But that's too late", Saga said.
Dorian smirked. „You are a scientist indeed, congratulations, that is excellent reasoning!"
But Saga didn't even hear his cutting remark, had forgotten all about the half finished bread and cup of wine in her hands. She was in another place, staring at a point somewhere in the air between Dorian and her. Hundreds of nodes lit up inside her mind, connections building between them, criss-crossing, piling on top of each other, building up meta networks of meaning, of knowledge, of correlation and causation. Saga's eyes began to jitter.
„…Saga?" Concern crept into Dorian's voice. „Is everyth—…"
She cut him off with a gesture.
From the maelstrom of thoughts that whirled through her brain, a structure began to emerge, visible only to her. A smile dawned on her face.
„Saga? Are you alright? You look a bit… mad. Please tell me in advance when you're about to become possessed?"
„I am", she said, resurfacing into the material world and looking into his eyes.
„You are?"
„Possessed by an idea."