beta-read by brightspot149. Thank you!
The foot of Olgierd's bed dipped with a sudden weight, and he sat up, blinking hard in the dim, pre-dawn light. Cole blinked back, his pale, ghostly eyes nearly luminous beneath the ragged brim of his hat.
"What brings you here at this hour?" Olgierd asked with a yawn. He leaned over to the candle on the bedside table and summoned a flame to his fingertip to light the wick.
"You've bound demons before," Cole said. "A cat for her lap, a dog for her feet, and a caretaker for the manor."
Olgierd scrubbed roughly at his face. "Always a pleasure to be reminded of my sins before I'm fully awake."
"Oh." Cole hunched in on himself. "That wasn't a good memory. Let me try again."
"Cole," Olgierd said with patience he didn't feel, "it's not yet dawn. What's this about?"
He slipped out from under the covers and crossed to the table against the far wall where a large, shallow bowl of water sat, and he splashed his face with its frigid contents. Beard and loose hair dripping, he turned back to the spirit sitting cross-legged on the end of his bed.
Cole looked like he was thinking hard. After a moment, he perked up and said, "You could bind me!"
"Absolutely not."
"But you have to!" Cole insisted.
Olgierd cast a longing look at his pillow. Sleep would be a fine thing. He'd been having a perfectly nice dream of riding his old courser along the Yaruga, not a soul in sight save a few fishermen. Better a dream free of the spirit who'd replaced Vlod again than the abysmal nonsense Cole had brought him at this hour, stirring up ugly memories of things he'd put behind him.
"There's naught I need to tell you of my past, is there?" Olgierd asked. "You can pluck the thoughts right out of a man's head. You know where we're from, Ciri, Triss, and I."
Cole nodded silently.
"Well then." Olgierd sat beside Cole. The cold water trickled down the front of his nightshirt unpleasantly. "Let's set aside that goetia may not even work on the spirits and demons here in Thedas. I'll not bend your will to my own. You belong to yourself."
"Not if they do it!" Cole cried. "The demons at Adamant belonged to themselves before the binding. Spells that smother, silencing thought, making us into weapons. They could do it to me, too, use me to hurt you!"
"Ah."
Olgierd understood him now. The blood magic that the Warden mages had used to summon and bind demons must have frightened Cole badly.
"Why not mention this to Ciri when you first learned of it?" he asked. "Or on our journey back from Adamant?"
Cole dug his fingers into the blanket, twisting and pulling anxiously. "I didn't see them then," he said, his eyes wide and worried. "You were too sad to talk before. Dark and desolate, 'How many more losses must I suffer?' You're better now. I can ask."
Olgierd took a moment to let the sting of Cole's words ease. 'How many losses,' indeed. The spirit was right. He was better, and for Cole's sake, he'd have patience for this folly.
"I understand you're frightened," Olgierd told Cole. "But asking a friend to suborn your will just so an enemy might not get the chance is a foolish thought."
Cole's fingers left the blanket and snuck into his hair to make messy fists beneath his hat. "I can't – I – walls around what I want. Blocking, bleeding, making me a monster –"
"Cole!" Olgierd set his hand on the spirit's thin shoulder. "No one will make you a monster."
"It will work," Cole said, looking at him beseechingly. "Summoning circles, focused magic, ritual intent. Different demons, same Art. You could."
"Yes, but I won't. Come now, surely there's another option. Would Solas know of a solution?"
"Solas knows a lot of things," Cole said. "Maybe?"
"Then why don't we see to it that someone else suffers this miserable hour with us, and seek him out?" Olgierd suggested as he stood again. He looked down at his nightshirt and frowned. "Would you care to wait outside for me?"
"…No?" Cole said, a note of uncertainty in his voice. "I wouldn't care."
And now he'd gone and confused the boy. "Suit yourself," he sighed. "I'll need a moment to put myself to rights."
He pulled his walnut brown robe and cream under-robe from the wardrobe and knelt to get underclothes and his dark gray sash and trousers from the drawer below. Cole made a soft sound of surprise as he drew his nightshirt over his head.
"It comes off?" he asked, and then, quieter, "A lot of people hurt you."
"I hurt them as well."
He dressed quickly while Cole looked on curiously. His leather hair tie dropped in his empty hand as soon as he finished tying his sash in place.
"It gets in your eyes," Cole said, peering at him through the pale blond strands that fell across his face.
Olgierd hid his smile and nodded to him in thanks. "That it does."
With his hair bound back and his feet shoved in his boots, he retrieved his belt from where it hung over the back of the room's sole wooden chair and secured it around his waist. Lastly, he draped his livery collar around his neck and affixed his handful of rings to his fingers.
Cole still stared in curiosity, so he spread his arms out to his sides, feeling a tinge of amusement. "How do I look?"
"Ciri thinks you look gentler than when she met you," Cole said. "Josephine thinks you're handsome. Her stomach flutters when you smile. 'Maker, his eyes are like the sea! How can a bearded face feel so soft? And his hands –'"
"That'll do, thanks," Olgierd interrupted. He ought to have known better than to ask Cole his opinion. "Come along, and blow the candle out, will you?"
The sky outside was the deep blue of early twilight. The horizon's edges were just barely turning a dim pink. They strode along the walkway toward the rooms nearer the gardens, their footsteps and the crickets down in the garden below the only sounds breaking the pre-dawn silence. Olgierd felt a faint pang of conscience as he knocked lightly on Solas' door. If he'd been enjoying his sleep, then Solas, as a Dreamer, would surely hate to be awakened.
No one answered, and he knocked again, slightly harder.
"Solas stirred from sleep already, pulled to paint," Cole said helpfully. "He's not in there."
Patience, Olgierd reminded himself. "Then we'll check the rotunda."
Solas was indeed down in the rotunda, standing on a footstool as he sketched out the next panel of his mural in faint lines. Olgierd could see a Grey Warden's shield lightly outlined, as well as the towers and crenellations of a fortress. Beside them, a line bisected the scene, and jagged cliffs covered the bottom half while a large orb filled the top.
"I see I'm not the only early riser today," Solas said in greeting. He stepped off the footstool and walked over to the table in the center of the room to set down his tools. "How can I be of service?"
"He won't bind me!" Cole said at once. "I asked, but he won't!"
Olgierd held up his hands defensively as Solas turned a narrow-eyed glare at him. "I'll not do it. We came to you for better options."
"Olgierd wouldn't make me hurt innocent people," Cole said, his hands reaching for his hair again. "I don't want to hurt innocent people again."
"Cole," Solas said firmly. "Calm yourself. I know that you are distressed, but can you not sense the emotions around you? How does Olgierd feel about your request?"
Cole stopped and slowly looked over at Olgierd with wide, unhappy eyes. "Oh. I hurt you. 'She called it monstrous, yet she forgave me nonetheless.' Peace in her presence, a monster no longer –'"
"Hush," Olgierd ordered him. He kept his voice gentle. "You didn't deal me a mortal wound. It was only a question, and I gave you my answer."
Cole still looked unhappy. "I can try again," he offered. "Make you forget." He paused. "I can help you forget what hurts."
Forget? Forget his sins against Vlod, against Iris and her family? Forget his marauding through helpless peasant villages at the head of the Wild Ones? Forget his decades with a heart of stone?
Forget what drove him to O'Dimm in the first place?
For just the briefest moment, temptation nearly overwhelmed him. To start anew…
And yet. He was not the same man he'd been before he'd met the Witcher at Lilvani's temple and regained his heart, nor yet the same man who'd drifted aimlessly for three and a half years after that in a haze of sorrow and loss. He was hardly even the same man who'd ventured through the abandoned portal with Ciri and Triss after Belleteyn.
He had no need to forget. Without his past, he'd not be the man he was now.
"Nay," he said when he found his voice. "It's a kind offer. But it's best that I remember my past. I earned those lessons, and they're not ones I'd easily relinquish."
Solas gave him a measured look. "You cannot help everyone forget their pain, Cole. Now, why did you wish to be bound?"
"The Warden mages summoned spirits," Cole said. "Bound them in blood, took them and turned them. They could do it to me, too, make me hurt people! I don't want to hurt people!"
"I told him you'd have a better idea than me binding him to keep an enemy from doing it," Olgierd told Solas.
"And I do," Solas said. "The Rivaini seers to the north work with spirits and respect their personhood. There are amulets they give their spirit companions that can prevent them from being bound and abused. A spirit wearing such an amulet would have no cause to fear the magic the Warden mages wielded."
"You see?" Olgierd asked Cole. "Isn't that a better solution?"
Cole nodded hard, the wide brim of his ragged hat flopping up and down with the movement. "Yes. When can we get one?"
"Ciri will need to reach out with the Inquisition's contacts –" Solas began.
Cole disappeared with the tiniest puff of smoke, and Olgierd let his face drop into his hand as he chuckled.
"That's another to fall victim to his early morning enthusiasm. Let's hope she doesn't have her swain in her bed."
"His urgency is understandable," Solas said, but he too looked briefly amused before sobering. "It can be disconcerting to listen to your innermost thoughts being spoken aloud. I won't reveal what Cole said to anyone, though if you ever wish to speak of it…" He paused and met Olgierd's eyes. "Ciri wanted me to get to know you better. Should you like to discuss books or magic, or join me for chess sometime, I would enjoy the company."
Solas seemed much older for a moment, his eyes ancient in his unlined face. They were the eyes of a man who had regrets of his own, Olgierd thought. He would do him the courtesy of not prying.
"Josephine and I usually break our fast together, but she won't be awake for some time yet," he said. "There's a book on Avvar folklore I just finished reading before our journey to Adamant Fortress. Do you know much about their beliefs?"
Solas smiled and turned to walk to the low bench along the wall of the rotunda. He beckoned Olgierd to join him. "I'm familiar with their myths. Did the book go into much detail about any theories on the origins of their gods?"
"They were stories, nothing more," Olgierd said as he settled beside Solas. "I take it there's an interesting tale there?"
"Perhaps a few," Solas said. "I have some myself if you'd like to hear them."
"Gladly."
He smiled as Solas' eyes warmed, and the usually aloof elf began to speak with the tones of an enthusiastic Oxenfurt lecturer.
Perhaps he'd rather be abed. But a tentative new friend was a fine thing to find in place of an extra hour of sleep.
"Lady Ciri!" Raúl hailed her from his seat at the table in the main hall, comfortably ensconced next to Rona and across from Owain.
She joined the trio of former Templars with a cheerful greeting. Owain scooted down a bit to make room for her, and they both laughed a little as their eyes met, remembering their rude awakening at Cole's hands.
"Shouldn't you three be in the infirmary?" she asked.
"Tomorrow," Rona said. "Maker knows they'd keep working 'til they fell over if we didn't insist they take a break."
"It's work to be proud of, but when Evie's in the middle of a project she's not the best at judging when she needs sleep," Owain said. He grinned. "She and Maxwell would get in trouble as children for staying up late reading by candlelight."
"So did Clemence," Rona said. Her face took on a distant, unhappy cast. "Used to, anyway. Tranquil don't read for pleasure. But he doesn't take breaks if he's not reminded to, either."
Raúl clasped her on the shoulder in sympathy. "Maybe that can be the next miracle the three of them pull off? First a cure for lyrium addiction, next a cure for Tranquility? There were rumors of one a few years ago."
"Maybe." Rona seemed doubtful.
"On the bright side, you have him back," Owain said gently. "That's more than you had for years."
Rona hesitated, then nodded in grudging agreement.
Ciri slipped her hand into Owain's beneath the table and changed the subject slightly. "Did any of you see Cullen or Ser Rylen after they left the infirmary?"
"I did," Raúl volunteered. "They were weak as kittens, both of them, and paler than our dear Rona here, but they walked out on their own two feet. I think they're sleeping off the experience back in their quarters."
"Triss said it will go easier for the three of you since you stopped taking lyrium years ago," Ciri said.
"'Easier' does not mean 'easy,' bellissima," Raúl said dryly.
"I'm not looking forward to the process," Owain said. "But being free of the headaches and the muscle cramps? If they'd come to me two years ago and told me I had to crawl through hot coals to cure myself, I might have done it."
Raúl clutched his chest. "And scar up that handsome face?"
"Ass," Owain retorted with a laugh.
"This does put the Inquisition at an advantage," Rona said. She drummed her fingers on the table, her face thoughtful. "Even if the Circles come back, which I doubt, Templars can't be leashed again. Not by the Chantry, not by anyone. And we're the only ones with the cure. Those red Templars and the ones who stayed apart are stuck taking it or muddling through on their own."
"It makes me wonder if the red Templars can even be cured," Ciri said quietly. "They feel different to me, and the way their bodies react to red lyrium is…unnerving."
"We probably know some of those poor bastards," Raúl said. "Starkhaven sent their Templars everywhere when the Circle burned down, and Andraste only knows where the rest of the Markham Templars ended up."
"Don't waste your pity on them," Rona advised Ciri. "They could have done the right thing and left. Fuckwits stayed to hunt mages instead. Now they're paying for it."
Owain sighed. Ciri got the feeling this was a recurring argument. "I'm one of the last people who'd champion the Order, but that's a broad brush to tar them with. Some of them just stayed for the lyrium. Some were given to the Order as children and had nowhere else to go – and bought into the teachings since they were raised in them."
"And the rest?" Rona countered, crossing her arms.
"Fuckwits," Raúl agreed easily.
Rona laughed.
"Poor bastards," he said again, more seriously. "Whatever their reasons for staying, being turned into horrors is a high price to pay for loyalty." He nudged her with his shoulder. "If the Trevelyans hadn't opened their home to us and the mages, where would we be, do you think?"
"Not there!"
Owain squeezed Ciri's hand beneath the table and looked away from the argument. She watched him scan the hall, and she tilted her head in curiosity as his eyes caught on something closer to the doors.
"Tethras has a visitor I don't recognize," he said. "Looks like an intense conversation."
Ciri peered down the hall toward the table Varric had claimed by the fireplace. Sure enough, there was a stranger visiting, a dwarven woman. She was hooded and dressed fairly conservatively despite her trousers. What little Ciri could see of her face was pale, with a dramatically bright slash of lip color. As she watched, the woman's red lips curled into a coy smile, and her body curved toward Varric – half-invitation, half-tease.
Varric only seemed partially aware of the flirtation. He looked serious, uneasy, even.
"After all that mess with Josephine, I'm not sure I'm keen on strangers," Ciri said. "And by Varric's own account, most of the people he knows are trouble."
She pressed a quick kiss to Owain's cheek and stood again, bidding the others farewell.
"– Am the expendable one, after all," Varric was saying to the woman as Ciri walked up behind them.
"Aw, don't worry, I'll protect you," the woman teased. Her voice was as coy as her smile, rich and low. "We just have to –" She looked up as Ciri's shadow fell across them, and Ciri was the next recipient of her red smile. "My, what a surprise. No one ever needs to introduce you, I'd bet. Not with those looks. You're the Inquisitor."
Ciri gave her an equally pleasant smile. "Introduce me to your charming friend, Varric."
"No need, I can do the honors myself," the woman said. "Bianca Davri, at your service."
Ciri raised her eyebrows at that, and Varric rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. "What a lovely name."
"My parents did me a favor," Bianca said, still smiling. "I could have been a Helga like half the girls in the Merchants' Guild. I lucked out."
Bianca was a pretty woman, with fine features and big blue-green eyes. She had a deft hand with cosmetics, too, kohl on her eyelashes and soft rouge on her cheeks as well as the red staining her lips. She held herself with the confidence of a sorceress of the Continent.
And her name is Bianca. Most curious.
"It's a pleasure," Ciri said. She looked between the two and added, "Is something the matter? Your conversation looked more than a bit intense from where I was sitting."
"Tell her, Bianca," Varric said when Bianca stayed silent. To Ciri, he said, "She's risking a lot being here. Not just for herself. Maybe for both of us."
"The Merchants' Guild has bigger things to worry about than us," Bianca said, laughing lightly.
Varric shook his head and looked at Ciri. "She has a lead on where the red lyrium's coming from."
"The thaig Varric found, Bartrand's Folly? The site has been leaked," Bianca said.
Ciri glanced at Varric, but he hadn't seemed to notice Bianca's carefully passive wording. She dismissed it after a moment, deciding it was nothing more than an over-active imagination.
"Go on," she said.
"There's a Deep Roads entrance in the Hinterlands stuffed with strange humans and Carta dwarves," Bianca continued. "They're hauling red lyrium out in buckets. Completely unprotected."
"The thaig from your book? I thought that entrance was closer to Kirkwall," Ciri said.
"That's the one we took to get there then, but it got blocked off from the inside," Varric said. "The Deep Roads are all connected, or they used to be. Cave-ins, darkspawn, and other hazards mean that when a safe path is found, people stick to it. The Hinterlands one might not be the only entrance, but it'll be the only one they're using."
Ciri nodded. "And who do you think leaked the location?"
Varric frowned. "It could have been one of the hirelings from the expedition. There's no way Hawke or Blondie would have breathed a word. Maybe Junior, by accident – the Wardens have gotten involved with Corypheus before."
"How they found out isn't important," Bianca asserted. "What matters is we know about it now."
Ciri's prickle of suspicion came back to itch at her again. "How did you know about it if it was so secret, Bianca?"
"I told her," Varric said, his voice subdued. "When Hawke, Blondie, and I got back to Kirkwall, I wrote to her and told her what we found down there. I'd picked up artifacts, and she had contacts to secure buyers for me. Besides, I owed her."
The look in Varric's eyes said he both understood the question and didn't want to acknowledge its implications. Bianca, on the other hand, stood calm and confident.
"I'm assuming this entrance is by Lake Luthias?" Ciri asked Bianca.
"It is." Bianca looked surprised. "You're a step ahead of me, Inquisitor. How did you know?"
"One of our mercenary companies saw Carta dwarves near there, and they cleared out a fortress with other mercenaries working with the Carta in Hafter's Woods. We didn't prioritize it, but we have the key to the entrance," Ciri said. "If that's where the red lyrium is coming from, we should address it as soon as possible."
There was something about this she distrusted, but the jagged spires and growths of red lyrium crystals that blotted the landscape in the Hinterlands and Crestwood, and that marred the caves in the Western Approach, were troubling. Who knew how far it would spread if she didn't act? If the red Templars were left with a steady supply, how much trouble would Thedas be in?
Of course, she'd take a few judicious precautions. Better to be prepared and not need to be than to be caught unawares, after all.
"You'll get no argument here," Varric said.
Bianca smiled once more. "I'll head back out to keep an eye on their operations. See you there, Varric."
She turned to leave, then stopped as the main hall's doors opened, allowing afternoon sunlight to stream through. The golden light silhouetted two figures, one instantly recognizable as the tall, rangy Hawke. The other was taller, leaner, half concealed in a shapeless cloak with a deep hood.
At Ciri's side, Varric breathed in sharply. "Oh, shit."
Hawke and her companion looked around the hall for a moment then headed in Varric's direction as his eyes widened.
"Shit," he muttered again. "Bianca, go. I'll see you soon."
Bianca looked between Varric and the approaching pair, raised her eyebrows, and walked off with a knowing look.
Without sunlight behind him, Ciri could see the man's face in the deep hood. He was attractive – tired and pale, but still handsome, with dark circles beneath his amber eyes and a prominent nose. He had a short, scruffy, reddish-gold beard that didn't do much to conceal his face.
"Hello, Varric," the man said softly. He had a pleasant voice, a warm tenor.
Varric swallowed hard, his hand twitching at his side like he couldn't decide whether to hit him or pull him in for a hug. "Anders."
One side of Anders' mouth tugged up in a sad smile. "Not 'Blondie'?"
"There are a lot of things I could call you," Varric said. "Don't push it."
Anders nodded. "I understand." He turned to Ciri, his eyes alight with tentative hope. "Inquisitor. We came to take you up on your offer."
