A/N:

Just as a general rule, I answer questions for clarification if it doesn't risk spoilers. Otherwise, I'll let you readers theorise together on your own ;)

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Varric tugged the leather string from his hair and collapsed into a chair in his suite, running a hand through his loose locks. Bartrand had been crazy by the time Varric, Garrett, and the others had finally reached him. One of the Tethras-invested mercenary groups had been guarding Bartrand's estate, far removed from the solemn temperance Varric had last known them by — yet compared to Bartrand, they had merely been raving mad.

Bartrand had lost it. The, muttering about songs and growing red lyrium in people like they were mushroom incubators level of insane. The once proud and eloquent businessman had been grovelling by the time Varric had physically knocked him back to reality, Bartrand scrabbling across the floor to grab Varric's very nice boots and peer up at him like he hung the stars.

"You'll help me, won't you, brother?" Bartrand had breathed.

The older Tethras had once been allergic to the word, and now Varric knew exactly what sort of help Bartrand was grasping for with the last fringes of his sanity.

Varric had heard of illnesses where one might hear voices where there were none, so upon Garrett's advice, Varric had sent Bartrand away to the family beet plantation with people practised in addressing such. With Bartrand's Rivaini contacts recently opening up to Varric, he could keep track of his brother there. Still, no amount of recompense could undo the damage suffered by Bartrand's servants and hired mercenaries. The ones with red lyrium visibly crystallising through their skin had either been unresponsive or begging for relief, there had been no in-between. The rest of the bodies found in Bartrand's estate had barely deserved the label.

Only Hugin had survived the ordeal with both his mind and body intact. As Bartrand's steward who had practically grown up with the older Tethras, Hugin had stepped forward as a witness to the Merchant's Guild, resulting in the complete erasure of doubt over who owned House Tethras' seat. Varric saw nothing to celebrate in the entire affair. He could only find brief peace in finally being able to sink into his cushions at the place he called home.

Varric had received no answers. Not why Bartrand had stabbed his brother in the back. Not where the lyrium idol, the subject and root of Bartrand's obsession, had vanished to. Not even if Charis was at one point Bartrand's spy — or even more wild, had still behaved as one while Bartrand had been slicing lyrium out of people. Could the inexplicable Charis have enabled Bartrand's deranged behaviour?

Behold, Kirkwall's most informed citizen whose resources amounted to nothing.

Hugin had left to recover with distant relatives in Wycome, no more able to clear Varric's confusion than his own. House Tethras' remaining presence in Kirkwall was now only professional connections, and Varric himself. He was grateful for Garrett's friendship, that he might feel less alone.

On that note, it was odd but relieving to hear that Bethany was prospering as much as one could in Kirkwall's Circle. Given the opportunity to socialise with others absent of fearfully concealing her magic, Bethany was evidently as friendly and outgoing as her brother, and amusedly more straightforward. She and a group of mages had dated the hand bones Emeric had found years ago, and conclusively lined up the bones' discovery with Ninette's disappearance. However, the bones couldn't be matched with Ninette specifically. Emeric's investigation was still denied official support. Varric saw no true loss on that matter, and the real highlight was the fact that Bethany had apparently developed pull in the Circle. To some degree, both mages and Templars listened to her.

The lack of momentum in Emeric's investigation affected only two people who cared enough: Gascard du Puis, who had broken out of jail at the news; and Charis, whose reaction Varric had yet to witness. At the very least, Charis was still raiding sewers.

Ah, speak of the demon, and it shall appear.

Charis passed under Varric's window with purpose in his strides, before faltering to a stop as the soldier deliberated split streets. The foundry district in Lowtown produced Kirkwall's locally-made tools, while the northern street eventually led to Hightown. Eventually, given the street amounted to endless steps punctuated with flat stretches where pedestrians could collapse on a bench or bemoan a wobbly wheel on their cart. Kirkwall benefited from sea trade, not land.

Varric leaned over his window sill. "Shiny!"

Charis' helmet tilted up. "Tethras."

"If you need a loo," Varric teased, "the Hanged Man has a hole."

"Are you free?" Charis asked.

Varric glanced aside at his crowded writing desk. "I could use a distraction."

Charis gestured to the northern street. "Use the hole and come down."

"Good afternoon to you too."

Varric briskly brushed and tied his hair, equipped Bianca, and descended from his room to greet Charis idling outside the Hanged Man. They strolled up Kirkwall's infamous calf-builder.

"I passed the Qunari compound on my way out the tavern," Charis shared, undaunted by the climb, though he did remove his helmet to breathe. "The viscount's son converted to the Qun recently."

"Saemus Dumar," Varric recognised. "Yeah, he has always been drawn to the horny faith."

Charis briefly threw him a look. "When I passed by, Dumar had just left the compound to meet with his father in the Chantry, ostensibly by his father's invitation. Per my experience requesting an audience with Viscount Dumar regarding Sketch, the viscount can't have such plans at this hour."

Varric returned the look. "Well at this time, most people grab lunch."

"Most people aren't in charge of Kirkwall," Charis pointed out. "Seneschal Cavin has political lunches booked for the viscount up to the end of the year. Given the office's unstable influence in Knight-Commander Stannard's shadow, Viscount Dumar reserves longer hours for private matters as they deserve. Meaning if the Dumar family has heart-to-hearts, they would be at night. I suspect Dumar the younger of being misled."

"Another conspiracy," Varric chuckled. "Maybe the kid used his father as an excuse to dip out of the Qunari compound. They're not exactly known for their conversation."

Charis looked at him. "Do you honestly believe Dumar would leave for the Chantry so soon after his conversion to the Qun?"

"I can't speak on matters of faith." Varric shrugged, but his head twinged at the morsel of truth in Charis' words. "After we allay your sensitive nerves, you owe me ten more silver. Don't give me that look, my time is money!"

"You tried to shoot me," Charis deadpanned.

"It was the Fade," Varric defended. "Maybe what you experienced was just a dream."

Charis muttered intelligibly.

"Knight-Lieutenant Emeric's investigation has stagnated," Varric shared.

"I heard," Charis acknowledged. "If the mages had been requested to date the bones sooner, maybe things would've changed. As it is, I think I'm finally drawing close."

"How do you figure?"

"The smell."

Varric snorted.

"If the serial killer plays with his victims," Charis justified, "then his hideout would reek."

Varric nodded along. "His hideout in the sewers, you mean."

Charis exhaled deeply. "I've sacrificed a lot of things for these kinds of investigations. I can't wait to wash my hands of it. And my body. My clothes."

"You know, I've written you into my stories," Varric chuckled. "Guardsman Jevlan, a fresh recruit stumbling his way through a tricky murder."

Charis rose a brow. "Hard in Hightown is already into its third volume."

"I'm working on the fourth," Varric revealed. In a dramatic plot twist, Jevlan had been one of the protagonist's enemies all along. "You read my serials?"

"The dockworkers gossip about it," Charis dismissed.

"So what do you do in your free time?"

Charis blinked at the question.

"Maferath's trousers, Shiny," Varric denied. "What do you do at home in Ferelden? Do you have any siblings?"

Charis shrugged. "One older and one younger."

"Ah, the middle child," Varric said. "Often forgotten unless they screw up."

"I screw things up."

Varric snorted. "Who, you? I bet you sleep with a rule book under your pillow."

Charis shook his head. "I prioritise work above everything else. I haven't taken a holiday for myself since…hm, I was thirteen years old."

Varric nearly choked. "That's a long time to burn both ends of the candle."

"I've hurt my brother because of it," Charis stated. "I'm sure my mother and sister, too."

Varric chuckled. "This might be a bold move for you, but have you considered taking a break for yourself? Doing nothing for a week — or a month? Who knows, maybe you'll find a glowing personality."

Charis smirked. "Like yours?"

"Look at that, a smile!"

They eventually intercepted Saemus at a bench, catching his breath on his way to the Chantry. Indeed, the runaway noble had received a letter falsely signed by Marlowe Dumar, requesting a private audience in one of the Chantry's isolated chambers. The letter specified to leave the Qunari and their swords out of the meeting. Saemus explained that outside of war, qunari only drew their swords or spears for the sake of threatened viddathari – dwarves, elves, or humans who followed the Qun. When Varric, Charis, and Saemus approached the designated room in the Chantry, Charis' suspicions were validated with Mother Petrice's sudden ambush against Saemus.

In one move, Charis drew a dagger, pushed Saemus aside with the same arm, and blocked Petrice's jab. Varric shot Petrice in the leg, sending her crashing to the ground. A second bolt dissuaded her from snatching her dropped dagger. Drawn by the noise, Revered Mother Elthina walked in that moment and denounced Petrice, firmly subscribing her to the meditation of the ten candles. It was the equivalent to locking oneself up in a sparsely-furnished room to indefinitely fast and pray with only candles and the Maker for company.

After walking Saemus back to the Qunari compound, Varric and Charis snuck into the latter's tavern, not eager to witness the viscount or the Qunari react to Elthina or Saemus' reports respectively. It was a political nightmare, but nothing beyond that for the Qunari, suspected Charis. The horned giants weren't going to seek bloody retribution due to their code. However, the City Guard was going to have their hands full with litigations trying to arrest a cleric for crimes against a citizen of the Qun and Kirkwall, committed in the politically neutral grounds of the Chantry.

Charis admitted he wasn't planning to step forward as a witness. He had only meant to rescue Saemus from a trap.

Varric placed a hand on his chest. "Why Shiny, here I thought you would seize this opportunity to beat three different groups over their heads with a rule book."

Charis snorted. "You know, thirteen year-old and fifteen year-old boys don't have stark visual differences."

Varric rose a brow. "Dumar is hardly in his teenage years anymore."

"I had taken advantage of it," Charis continued slowly, "to sneak into the king's army just under the legal age. By the time anyone deigned to verify my background, I was already completing difficult tasks for the army."

"Shit," Varric eloquently reacted. "Shiny."

Charis' lips twitched. "I've had goals for this life since I was a child. Joining the king's army is just one step. What I did to join isn't much of a secret, but it proves that I'm not always by the book, Tethras. When I have a target, I will hit it."

Varric groaned into his hand. "You're not giving up on the 'serial killer,' are you."

"Smart dwarf."

"Impossible human."

That was the last Varric saw Charis.

As if the sewers had abruptly swallowed the soldier, Charis had completely vanished with his tavern room paid up for the month but left untouched for the past two weeks. Aveline suggested that Charis had left town without grabbing his things in his room, opting to travel light. Isabela offered the idea that Charis had finally eloped with his Antivan beau from the Hightown market. The matter was so strange that Varric updated Garrett and the rest on his interactions with Charis, the inexplicably strange soldier whom Varric wouldn't be surprised to learn had disappeared to Orzammar.

Given Varric's suspicions about Charis before, no matter how light, the group resolved to search for Charis together. Garrett decided it for everyone when he expressed concern for Varric's safety. Thus, all of Garrett's friends ended up combing Kirkwall at night with Varric squarely in the middle of their party.

"This is my first time hearing of a Charis," Merrill commented. "Clan Sabrae has few friends outside the clan, and only one beyond the Dalish."

"Indeed," Sebastian remarked, "and we're travelling with him."

The Starkhaven prince didn't bat an eye at traversing the city's sewers. He leapt at any chance to do good, and around Garrett, one had many opportunities. Particularly taking down unsavoury characters.

Merrill made a negative sound in the back of her throat. "Alright, two beyond the Dalish. One is Hawke, the other is Carver."

Garrett stumbled as always at his brother's name. Unfortunately, the name was as common as the songs spilling out of taverns and brothels. Fenris wordlessly placed a hand on Garrett's shoulder in comfort. In contrast, Anders inexplicably groaned as if having been similarly ambushed. Justice purred from where the feline perched on the mage's shoulder.

"Hawke is more of my friend," Merrill finished with a mutter.

"What did this Carver do?" Isabela leaned in. "Steal away one of your clan's beloved members?"

Garrett choked, successfully cheered up. "That is not what I did with Merrill. She came on her own!"

"That's what she said," half of the party reacted.

Everyone grinned.

Even Sebastian, though he was likely simply happy that his friends were happy.

"That is what I said," Merrill continued, making Varric question once more if she was intentionally outwardly oblivious just to see everyone's reaction. Varric didn't want to stereotype outside of the pages of his books, but blood mages were devious. Varric wanted in on her humour. "Anyway, Carver was a human who risked his life to help our halla breeder, Theron, recover from his taint long enough to join the Grey Wardens in Ostagar. Keeper Marethari has been thankful ever since."

"Theron Mahariel?" Aveline asked. "The Champion of Ostagar? Your clan boasts impressive skill, Merrill."

"Why thank you."

"Regardless of attitude."

"They can be close-minded," Merrill purposefully misunderstood.

"I know little of how Charis understands the Qun as he does," Fenris added. "It isn't hard to learn of their ways peripherally through Tal-Vashoth, or by passing through land the Qunari have influence in. Besides Par Vollen and Seheron, there are a number of qunari east and south of the Imperium – yet, those are far from Ferelden. Is it possible your soldier has visited such places before?" At Varric's disclaimer, Fenris grunted. "Alternatively, he could be a Ben-Hassrath: a qunari spy. The Ariqun often sends viddathari Ben-Hassrath to southern assignments where they can be mistaken for a normal dwarf, elf, or human."

Isabela's blanched. "I'm sorry, I could have been spending the past few months with a qunari spy!? When did you want to share this, Fenris!?"

"When Tethras told me everything he knew of Charis," Fenris easily returned, "just now."

Varric raised his first finger. "Don't I have more of a right to panic?"

"This is your fault." Isabela threw her hands in the air. "Play Wicked Grace with the mysterious pretty boy, why don't you, try to learn all his secrets."

"Well," Varric admitted, "that was several weeks after I met him."

Garrett and the rest of the party deadpanned. "That wasn't very smart."

"In hindsight." Varric ran a hand down his face.

Anders sighed. "Does that mean we can leave the sewers, now?"

Everyone unanimously agreed. The stench had begun to grow unbearable. When they surfaced in a foundry alley, they stumbled into the middle of a fight. The very person Varric was searching for stood with his back to them, the streets' distant torchlight casting an orange halo around his black hair and illuminating the golden greatsword in his hands. At Charis' feet was a frazzled Leandra desperately untying twine binds around her wrists and ankles, and down the alley in front of Charis stood a grey-haired man stabbing himself with a bladed staff and summoning demons.

Varric spluttered, hands whipping for Bianca. "Shiny!?"

Charis turned at Varric's voice, shock splitting through his distracted expression. "What are you doing here?"

Garrett scoffed with equal shock. "I live here!?"

"I mean in this street, Garrett."

"I could ask you the same thing!"

Leandra finally freed her wrists, now working on her ankles. "Would you boys stop fighting?"

Garrett and Charis clicked their tongues in unison. "Sorry, Mother."

A bolt went flying from Bianca into a shade demon while Varric's jaw dropped in delayed reaction. "M-Mother!?"

The evident blood mage down the alley struck his staff on the ground, groaning. "You can't keep me from my beloved!"

Charis responded by catching a demon's body with his blade, which shone white before exploding the demon in half. The golden blade swung through the demon's remains and twirled to sever another demon's head. By the time Varric was firing Bianca at the demon past it, he realised that the man with him wasn't Ser Charis the errand boy, but Carver blighting Hawke.

Who was not, as the Hawkes remembered, a short soldier with an inferiority complex.

Aside from what Varric hadn't detected from Carver, how could anyone harbour a sense of inferiority while tearing through an army of demons like they were pap— Maker's Breath!

Varric ducked as the blood mage's arm sailed past him above. In quick succession, Carver swung his sword over his head through incoming demons behind him and stepped past the blood mage, momentum tugging his sword through his opponent's neck. The blood mage's headless body hit the floor at the same time as the staff that had been in its severed arm.

Carver flicked his sword once of blood.

Fenris knelt near Leandra and offered her a hand. "Lady Hawke."

"Thank you, Fenris." Leandra gratefully replied as she stood up shedding her restraints.

An arcane bolt suddenly shot down the alley. Varric turned to see Garrett deflect it with a wave of shields, twist his wrist, and jerk someone at the end of the alley by their ankles, swiftly dragging them to Garrett and Carver's feet by an invisible force.

Garrett and Carver pointed their weapons down at one frazzled Gascard du Puis.

Carver turned. "I was here first."

"He tried to kill me!" Garrett retorted.

"You lowered your guard."

Gascard clutched his staff, a length of laquered wood embedded with blood-red crystals. Hysterical Orlesian spilled out of the comte's lips. "You don't understand, who knows what secrets lie in that woman's body from the moment Quentin touched her!"

Garrett's brows furrowed. "What?"

Carver maintained his grip on his sword. "That blood mage was du Puis' necromancy teacher from Starkhaven's Circle. Quentin abducted Mother and tried to smuggle her into his lair where he could combine her with body parts from his other victims and resurrect his late wife."

Gascard stuttered. "How do you know that!?"

Garrett glowered at Gascard. "He tried to ruin Mother twice over?"

Gascard huffed despite his position. "Quentin was going to achieve true reincarnation. The height of blood magic! I could have persuaded him to teach me – but instead I must study his victims and notes wherever I can find them!"

Carver shook his head. "You'll never find his lair. Next on my list is smiting that hole to oblivion."

Garrett's brows flicked up, not following the rapid exchange. "Hello?"

Gascard snapped. "I have nothing to say to either of you!"

A bolt suddenly sprouted in Gascard's throat.

Garrett and Carver slowly turned to look at Varric, who lowered Bianca. "What? You were going to do that, right?"

"Varric," Garrett remarked. He had mistakenly called Varric by his first name as a Ferelden fresh off the boat, and they hadn't minded since then.

"Tethras," Carver simultaneously deadpanned.

"That's my name," Varric grinned at the stereo, "don't wear it out."

"Well, well." Smooth baritone from the shadows suddenly sprung everyone to high alert, encircling Leandra with drawn weapons while Garrett and Carver peered ahead. From the alley's battered doors and windows spilled out toned men and women clad in ragged armour, a painted bear scarcely visible on their equipment. Down the alley, the source of the voice stepped into view. "If it isn't the little bird. You've been searching for us all the way from Denerim."

Carver murmured without looking at Garrett. "Take Mother and run."

Garrett sharply turned on him. "You better be joking."

The hostile crowd surrounding the party gripped their weapons with military ease. "Is this a family reunion we see?"

Carver frowned at the person coordinating them. "Let these people leave, Howe legion. They have nothing to do with this."

The leader snarled. "You killed Lord Thomas. We don't care who we kill getting to you."

Carver scoffed. "Rendon Howe sent Lord Thomas to his demise himself. If your master wants me dead, he should learn from the last two Antivan Crows who tried." Carver tilted his blade once, and the ambushers all flinched. "This is your only warning."

A legion member hesitantly puffed their chest. "Don't pretend. You're here under a different name, wearing someone else's armour. We all know you're not here on official business."

"You're right," Carver suddenly agreed. "If you hurt my family, I would ordinarily knock you all out and arrest you. But as you said…I'm off-duty."

As if on cue, Carver ducked at the same time Garrett whipped his staff out, slamming the strangers ahead together as if the air around them had suddenly sucked upwards. Carver darted forward with a low swing, and hot blood splashed against the walls.

Madness tore up the alley, then the streets around it. Varric barely kept track of his kill count while Garrett and Carver made short work of any obstacles in their way. The onslaught of enemies reminded Varric of the Deep Roads expedition where darkspawn and rock wraiths had flooded from all sides, stealing any moment to breathe. Isabela could be heard cackling. Merrill tossed words with her stone fists that vaguely resembled, "Defend yourselves" and "please." Varric sometimes glimpsed blue flashes of Fenris covering Garrett's back as always, and Anders doing what he did best: goading, fireballs, and occasional healing. Despite Justice's remarks, the feline could be trusted with Anders' blind spots and providing general emotional support.

Aveline, Sebastian, and Varric pressed together around Leandra in a tight defence or as long-range support for the party. Clouds eventually parted from the moon, revealing their quieted surroundings now streaked black with blood. Varric panted, catching his breath.

Ahead, Carver pointed his sword at a former Howe soldier near his feet. "Where is Rendon Howe?"

Spit flew. "Kill me."

"Your family is waiting for you in Amaranthine," Carver struck low. "Either say your farewells in Ferelden, or die in the slums of a foreign country."

The traitor flinched, her internal conflict filling the space of heartbeats. "…There's an Orlesian vacation home in the Vimmark Mountains."

"Château Haine," Carver deduced.

"It's a fortress," the fallen soldier spitefully added. "You'll never get in."

"Let me worry about that." Carver sheathed his sword and grabbed the woman's arm to haul her up to her feet.

Garrett interrupted, dazed by the night's revelations. "You're going to…arrest her?"

Aveline stepped in. "The City Guard will jail this criminal until she must stand trial in Ferelden. As the soldier said…he's off-duty." Meaning Carver wouldn't have to leave as soon as Garrett had seen him.

Garrett's conflicted gaze melted a notch. "Thanks, Aveline."

His last syllable was stolen by an eruption of fire from the direction of the docks.

;

A/N:

Poor Garrett. "Confused" is too mild a word to describe him, hee hee.

Next up, the Qunari invasion!