AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey ya'll! It's been a hot minute and I just wanna say sorry. College apps have been wooping my ass, so I'm just trying to get my stuff together rn. That means that I won't be able to update as often as I originally planned. Thank ya'll for sticking with me, and enjoy this new chapter.
If there was one thing Evette was feeling right now, it would be annoyance. Well, annoyance and a slight bit of fear.
She rapped her fingers on the table before her and looked at the map like she wanted to burn it. Her hand unconsciously clenched and unclenched.
"What you're telling me is that the templar camp just… went up in flames?"
The scout nodded. "Just the other day, ser."
"Did you see any apostates?"
"No."
"Any bandits?" Another shake of the head. "Anyone?"
The scout stood as tall and proud as a magister's staff, but if the nervous glint in the man's eyes was anything to go by, he was anything but. "There was one."
"Who?"
"I couldn't tell you, ser— I couldn't get a look at their face. But they were the last ones to come in," a pause. "And the only one to leave."
"You saw them leave, yet you couldn't get a good look at their face?"
"It was about night, ser."
Evette gripped the desk harder. "You say this, and yet—"
"Let him off, feisty," said a voice from the entrance to the tent. Evette recognized it in an instant. A small groan threatened to escape her throat.
"Varric."
The dwarf smiled warmly in the face of her scowl. He gestured to the scout and then looked back at Evette, expectation in his eyes. She held his gaze for as long as she could manage before she sighed and ran a hand through her hair.
"Send a letter to commander Cullen that the rogue templar threat is dealt with. You are dismissed."
The scout nodded and dipped himself into a small bow. Then, he hauled ass out of the tent so quickly that all Evette could catch of him was the dust he left behind. Scary shemlen, she thought.
"Y'know, they'd tell you a lot more if you didn't threaten 'em."
Evette huffed and crossed her arms. Varric liked to appear in the oddest moments to offer his words of wisdom. And oddly enough, she took his interruptions better than she took to idle conversation with most in the Inquisition. "I don't think I did anything remotely like that."
"Of course, you didn't." Varric pulled up a chair and sat down. His arms hung off the back of it. "The guy was just running because he forgot to blow out his stove fire."
"If you dislike my methods, you can go home."
"Trust me, feisty." His smile flickered like a candle. "I would if I could."
Evette, not knowing how to respond to that and therefore not particularly caring to, went back to the map. She crossed out the now defunct templar camp. Her eyes drifted over to the area just underneath Redcliffe city. Witchwood forest. A funny coincidence.
A hiss escaped from her mouth as her right palm flared up. The chalk dropped onto the table as she used her other to grip her wrist. Varric jumped up.
"You okay there, Feisty?"
She gritted her teeth. "Stop calling me that," she practically strangled her wrist. The pain began to lessen with the added pressure, the tension between her brows lifting along with it. Finally, she dropped her right hand and sighed. "I'm fine."
Varric looked at her as though she were a wounded animal. "You sure?"
"Positive. Now," she waved her right hand and picked up the chalk. She circled the area with her piece of chalk. "Since the rebel templars are no more, we're changing course to Witchwood. Are you up for it?"
"Apostates that can shoot fireballs out their ass." The dwarf sighed. "Do I have a choice?"
"I could distract Cassandra long enough to let you get on the next wagon to Haven. Of course, I can't guarantee your safety when we get back, though." Varric laughed, and Evette had to bite her lip from doing the same. She pointed to a cave system and traced it with her finger. "The scouts have said that the apostates are held up in a cave with a large magic barrier to keep them from harm. They said it won't be hard to spot."
"I don't think spotting is the hard part," Varric muttered.
"Then we'll have to deal with it as it comes." It was a small saying from Deshanna. One she held close to her heart.
Mindlessly, her hand went to her chest and fiddled with her amulet. It was shoddy, certainly nothing of note. And yet every time she touched it, she was vaguely filled with the comfort of home.
She shook her head. There would be time. Not now.
"What we have to mind is the 'Demon.'" She remembered the endless reports and ever-changing rumors that seemed to buzz like flies around the Hinterlands. No one could truly figure the woman out. "I don't know what she'll do now that the templars are gone."
"As if we didn't have enough magic-crazy maniacs running around."
"If it makes you feel any better, they say that the Chant of Light wards her off."
Varric laughed. "Then we're both fucked."
"Then let's hope that the Seeker is around if we do," she said as she pushed herself off the table. She tilted her head to look at Varric. "Walk with me?"
The dwarf nodded, and soon the two of them found themselves amid the Crossroads. There were people from all walks of life here. Evette herself didn't pay much attention to that fact, but Varric absolutely reveled in the diversity. "A melting pot of stories," he'd called it. Farmers who'd lost their homes due to the fighting and a few nobles who'd had a similar experience. Apostates and staunch supporters of the Circle gathered around a large gray pot and settled right next to ex-templars who'd abandoned their order after bearing witness to all the carnage. Flat ears roamed and weaved through houses, always in a hurry. Evette had yet to encounter one of her kind in the camp— she didn't know whether that was a blessing or a curse.
"Where do you think the Seeker has run off to?" she asked.
"Knowing her, probably the training dummies."
"Figures. And the apostate?"
Varric snorted. "Somewhere quiet. Y'know, it wouldn't kill you to use their names."
Evette shrugged. "I just didn't think of it."
"Sure," said Varric. "You don't think of it a lot."
"These days, I don't like to think of much at all," replied Evette. She made their course for the training grounds. She'd much rather deal with the Seeker right now. "It makes things more complicated than they need to be."
A sigh left the dwarf's lips. It grated harshly on Evette's already thin patience. "Would it kill you to play nice?"
"Yes, and by Mythal, are you my Keeper?" she spat.
"No, I'm your worried, handsome dwarven companion."
"You do love spinning tales."
"What do you mean? That one's completely true."
"Maybe the 'worried' part."
"Now you're trying to say I'm not a dwarf. Even I can take offense, Feisty."
"Fen'harel's nuts. Can you stop calling me that?"
Varric gave her the cheekiest grin he could muster. "What? I thought we hated names."
Evette scoured her brain for a response but met with the dwarf's look. She could only stalk forward and let out the most exasperated "ugh" known to man. She bet if the Seeker were here, she'd be immensely proud.
"When we find the apostates," Evette bit out. "I'm throwing you to them as a distraction."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
Thankfully, they reached the knight training ground quickly. (At least Evette did because she practically jogged over there after her tussle with Varric. Thank the gods that dwarfs have short legs.) True to his word, the Seeker was next to a training dummy. Surprisingly, she was accompanied by the old hermit, who leaned against his staff while they talked away about something probably related to the Inquisition. Evette got her wits about her and then walked forward with a silent determination to be in and out. Deshanna had taught her such a technique.
The hermit was the first of the pair to notice her arrival. He greeted her with a small smile and a little nod. "Andaran atish'an," he said. The elven flowed smoothly off of his tongue.
She returned her own polite nod. "Andaran atish'an, Solas," she said, and then she looked to the Seeker. "Greetings to you too, Cassandra."
"Herald," she said, and Evette couldn't tell if the woman noticed how she grimaced at the title. "Is something troubling you?"
"I'll cut to the chase. The rogue templars are dead."
The Seeker immediately straightened. Bewilderment flashed in her eyes. "What? Did Cullen send troops?"
Evette shook her head. "Nothing of the sort," she replied smoothly. "The situation isn't exactly clear, but according to the scouts' reports, this could possibly be the work of the Demon."
"What could she want with the templars?" asked the Seeker.
Evette shrugged. "Revenge, probably."
"Or fear," said the old hermit. Evette's eyes flashed over to meet his.
"That would make more sense if she hadn't actively sought out their camp," replied Evette.
"And the templars do not actively seek out the mages?"
"I never said they didn't—I'd argue that they're pretty similar in that regard. All of them."
"And so, they both fight out of revenge."
"You were there to see the aftermath of the Temple, correct?"
"What I am trying to say lethallin,—"
Evette cut him off. "I would much prefer it if you didn't call me that."
She didn't miss the way Solas subtly pressed his lips together. A small feeling of smug triumph swelled in her stomach, even if it was only a tiny crack in his mask of serenity. "What I am trying to say is while revenge is a strong motivator in this war, fear plays an even larger role. Perhaps that is also the case for this 'Demon.'"
"That may be true, Solas," The Seeker spoke this time. "But I shudder to think about the capabilities of such an apostate if that was her response to 'fear.'"
Footsteps came approaching, and a rough voice sounded. "Then let's hope we don't spook her if we see her."
Evette tilted her head, ready to say something, when the Seeker cut her off.
"Varric."
"Morning to you too, Seeker," he quipped and glanced at Evette. "You tell them about the mages yet, Feisty?"
"We got a bit sidetracked," Evette replied offhandedly, glancing at the hermit. "Since the rogue templars have been taken care of, I decided it's best we go after the apostates."
"And what of the 'Demon?" asked the Seeker.
"We'll just have to hope, I guess."
Something of a grin came to the old hermit's face. "A suitable plan, I suppose."
"If you have a better one, please spit it out."
Varric lightly elbowed her hip. "Now, now let's play nice."
Evette gave a quick glare to the dwarf but didn't offer any sort of direct reply. She instead focused her attention back on the task at hand. "Since we just got back from the farms, I'd say tomorrow's dawn would be the best time for us to set out," she paused and gave a pointed look to the old hermit. "Any objections?"
The Seeker nodded and the hermit soon followed suit. After some customary conversation about supplies and routes ("How long will this take?" bled into "How much supplies should we bring with us?" and such), they all resumed going about their own separate tasks.
Evette found herself sitting at a hearth with a knife in hand, mindlessly scraping away at a block of wood.
Carving was a hobby she'd picked up from the older hunters in her clan. There was one, in particular, Methordan was his name, that could carve the most intricate and lifelike statuettes she'd ever seen. He'd hand them out to the clan's children every time he returned from hunting trips, his bag full of works he'd made along the journey.
Evette lightly sliced the mark of the inner ear, angled her blade, and began chipping away at the rough brown outer shell of the log. Her feet unconsciously cozied up to the fire and dug into the dirt.
She could scarcely hear the world around her, moving and flowing like a stream. In her mind, she wasn't in the Crossroads but rather seated next to the pyre outside the Keeper's aravel. The younger children in the clan were running around near the hallas begging their Keeper to let them play with the younger ones. Her papae would be sitting not so far from the fire and telling stories about the exploits of Andruil, with a fire in his voice that could only be matched by the soft crackle of a pyre.
The wood chips fell onto the grass as she shaped the back and its fur. She didn't pay much attention to just what she was making, but she knew it would be something. Something of her own.
When the back was finished, she wedged her knife into the small space between where the animal's legs would be and worked with slow, methodical cuts. The small bits like this were arguably the hardest part of the process, at least to Evette. They required a slow and precise hand.
Methordan had always told her that was the most important part of animals, and that importance was something they had in common with the dalish. Without legs, how could the foxes give chase to rabbits, and how could the rabbits flee the wolves? How could the foxes flee from wolves? How could the wolves flee from the hunters? How could the hunters find quick cover under the shadows of trees?
Small strips fell to the floor in tune with the methodical hum of the carving knife with the wood. Tiny lines formed themselves along the belly of the beast and led a trail up to its neck.
She felt the log shift and quickly stopped in her process. Her lips pursed. She turned to the side, her mind already prepping for an unpleasant conversation when this newcomer spoke first.
"Whatcha making there, feisty?"
Of course, it was the damned dwarf.
There was a moment of hesitation. Evette then turned her head down and returned to her carving. The knife once again resumed its small cuts. "Something."
"As in?"
"Something," she repeated plainly.
The dwarf sighed long and hard but didn't press further. She felt some rusting beside her, and soon, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a wooden bowl filled to the brim with stew being presented to her.
Noticing her gaze, Varric explained. "I haven't seen you eat all day. Figured you could use it."
She observed it curiously. The orange glow of the fire made the liquid inside look all the more attractive. Oddly enough, it also brought a bout of heat to her cheeks.
Setting down the carving, she quickly snatched the bowl from his hand. Her hands moved to bring it to her lips before she heard Deshanna's voice echo through her head. She looked at Varric and said, "Ma serannas."
She saw him grin from the corner of her eye. "You're welcome, feisty."
Evette paused. She looked at him in earnest now. "You know dalish?"
"I've got a buddy who's dalish," he replied. "I picked up a few phrases from her."
"What clan was she from?"
"Sabrae."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Merrill?"
It was Varric's turn to look surprised. "You know her?"
"Tales in passing, mostly," A fond smile came to Evette's face as she recounted her days traveling on the road. "I've heard that she was possessed by Fen'harel and murdered her Keeper through the use of demons. I've also heard that she's a keeper of city elves. It depended on who I asked, honestly."
"Well, I can give you the honest truth— she's both."
Evette shrugged and took a sip from her bowl. "That sounds the most accurate."
The pyre crackled softly, and the orange lick of the flames blended with the setting sun. As orange faded, giving way to purple, so did the fire die down, and the stew slowly seeped from the bowl. Varric didn't move and instead took the time to clean out the parts of his crossbow with some rag he'd stolen from the washer. Neither of them spoke.
Soon, when the food was finished, she went back to carving.
The antlers had finally started to emerge just as Varric spoke again.
"What're you gonna do after this, Feisty?"
Evette pursed her lips. "Didn't I tell you to stop with your nicknames?"
She heard him huff in amusement. "I'll stop if you answer the question."
"Is that a guarantee or?"
"Just do it."
"Fine," she carved lines down the length of the legs. "Go back to my clan."
"And?"
Evette scrunched her nose up in confusion. "I will also avoid shelmen cities for as long as I live. Other than that, no."
"No big plans, Herald?" she could practically feel the giant grin on his face as her jaw visibly clenched.
"None at all, dwarf," she spat. "What? You expect me to prance around with shem for the rest of my life?"
"Don't you wanna stick around and see the fallout?"
"Just because you're stuck doing it doesn't mean I have to," she sharpened the fine point of the antler. "I'm going to completely disappear."
"You think they'll let you do that?"
"I didn't say, 'I hope — I said, 'I'm going to.'" She blew off the wood chips and held it out in front of her. Varric whistled.
"A fine piece, Feisty."
"It's not finished yet. I've still got to carve the hooves," she traced the back with a lithe finger. "But thank you."
"You know, you never did tell me what it's supposed to be."
To Varric's surprise, Evette grinned. "I guess I'm not used to doing so, dwarf," she said. "Usually, people can recognize a Halla from a glance."
"You can't blame a simple dwarf for not seeing it."
"Correction, I can't blame one that lives underground. And I don't think Kirkwall is six-feet under stone."
"Some parts might as well be."
"Does that include yours?"
"Probably."
"Then I can't."
Evette brushed the woodchips off of her skirt. The Crossroads had quieted considerably with the arrival of the moon. With no more children to be seen, nugs skeeted out from their hiding holes, searching for food and mates. Evette moved to lean her head on her hand but paused when she realized which one she was using.
The scar seemed to smile at her almost, toothless and glowing with magic she'd never thought possible. She clenched her hand and used it to grab onto the log. No one thought any of this possible.
"Varric?"
"Yep?"
"Do you believe in the 'Maker?'"
There was a click as he dissembled a part from his crossbow. "To an extent."
"Do you think the Breach to be some sort of divine punishment, then?"
"I'm not in the mood to debate religion, Feisty."
"I'm not asking that," she said. "I'm asking about the Breach."
It didn't escape Evette's gaze how Varric shifted. He shrugged. "Look, I could give less of a damn about why it happened. That's all for Chuckles to figure out," he said. "But I do care about closing the thing, so let's focus on that."
Evette smiled. She ignored the strain of it. "I guess that's a good interpretation."
"The best there is, Feisty."
The night sky loomed over the pair, the mountains surrounding them on all sides.
