Nearly three years since he was forced to flee.
Varric nursed his tankard of brandy-spiked cider, repeatedly dragging his forefinger across the wood. In the aftermath of Anders' moronic decision to blow up the chantry, the ever-climbing tensions between mages and templars had reached their boiling point. Anders' rebellion had become a full-blown war between the two groups. Kirkwall, being the birthplace of the incident, had seen an increase in the number of Seekers in the city.
He found their presence to be an acceptable compromise. Meredith's actions during her stint as Knight-Commander had pushed numerous mages towards blood magic; making pacts with demons to free themselves from their oppressors. Of course, she responded with even stricter measures against the mages, and in a vicious cycle, the situation spiraled out of control. The Gallows seemed better under Cullen's command. The man had rallied what remained of Kirkwall's templars and restored order to the city.
But just last week, Varric had heard rumors that Cullen would be taking up a new post. One that caused him concern.
Whispers of an Inquisition were everywhere. Varric knew their purpose, their goal. He also knew they were looking for a friend of his to head it. The last thing Champion needed was to be thrust right back into the middle of this war.
They had all scattered into the wind before the dust settled down. Aside from Merrill and Aveline, both of whom remained in Kirkwall. Varric hadn't heard from the rest of his companions in ages. Hawke, especially. Half a dozen letters since he had left, written mostly to reassure the dwarf that he was still alive.
So, when a squad of soldiers stormed the Hanged Man bearing the heraldry of the infamous Seekers of Truth, Varric knew his time had run out.
"No need to be rough fellas," he chuckled as they forcefully pushed him over the table. "Buy me a drink and I'll tell you anything you like."
The dwarf didn't fight when they blindfolded him. It was a paltry intimidation tactic. One that wasn't working because he had anticipated Seekers appearing on his doorstep as soon as they stepped foot in the City of Chains.
Arms behind his back, he was carried out of the tavern, following a path of turns that Varric recognized even blindfolded.
A heavy wooden door slammed open. They had reached their destination. The cloth over his eyes was none to gently pulled away, along with several of his magnificent hairs. His guards threw him into a stone chair. Varric had to bite down on the temptation to snort. This stone throne was not originally part of the estate, and the idea of the Chantry's special task force dragging it all the way to Kirkwall just for this interrogation was laughable.
He reached up to gently massage his nose. Not broken, which he wasn't complaining about, but definitely smarting from being pushed into a table. It was a wonder that the Seekers ever got invited to a party.
"I've had gentler invitations," he chuckled, finally raising his head to look at his interrogator.
He gave the woman that stepped out of the darkness points for effort. The room was shrouded in darkness apart from the circle of light around him.
"I am Cassandra Pentaghast," she announced, Nevarran accent distinct, "Seeker of the Chantry."
Severe and dramatic were the first two words that came to mind as he gazed upon her. Matching her accent, Cassandra had the bronze skin and dark hair he expected of a Nevarran. Narrow eyebrows, heart-shaped face, strong jaw, darker lips, and walnut hazel eyes. Slightly angular, but it only added to the beauty. The full body platemail armor, also emblazoned with the bright white symbol of her order, exuded power and authority.
A warning sign to others, perhaps. But not Varric Tethras.
With a nod of her head, the two goons that had manhandled him stepped forward.
"And just what are you seeking?"
Her eyes narrowed. "The Champion."
Varric pretended to study his fingernails, uncaring that he couldn't see them through his leather gloves. He twisted his wrist away, looking to the side. "Which one?"
It was a serious question. Kirkwall had two champions. One in action and another in name.
His blasé attitude angered her. She stalked forward, throwing a very familiar book in his face. And this time he couldn't ascertain the state of his nose, because the Seeker had drawn her dagger and currently had its tip tucked casually under his chin.
"You know exactly why I am here. Time to start talking, dwarf. They tell me you're good at it."
The dagger spun in her hand as she thrusts it down, lodging it in the pages of the open book in his lap. To himself, Varric cursed this woman's lack of appreciation for a delightful story. With a heavy sigh, he lifted the book, recognizing the part of the story depicted. He wondered how long she had to practice that trick, to get it to fall open at the end of the Kirkwall Rebellion.
Varric exhaled. "What do you want to know?" Maybe she just wanted clarification.
"Everything," Cassandra answered, turning to face him. "Start at the beginning."
The dwarf traced a gloved hand over the image of the Amell family crest, and launched into his story.
"Darkspawn everywhere. The champion and his sister and taken it upon themselves to be the front guard, dealing with the worst of the horde. They came across a group of scouts. The monsters fell under Hawke's blades. The siblings prepared to make their stand as the foul creatures surrounded them. Just when the Champion had turned to hoping their forces would run out, an ogre crested the path.
"I don't know if you've ever seen an ogre, Seeker, but let me tell you. They are terrifying. But Hawke was calm. With a flurry of sweeps, he scored the ogre's chest. With the beast offset by his ferociousness, Hawke leapt, stabbing Finesse in its throat. The ogre collapsed. Hawke's shining red steel dagger plunged down twice more to ensure its prey was dead.
"But there was no end to the darkspawn. The siblings put their backs to a cliff, wondering what miracle it would take to deliver them to safety.
"There was an animalistic roar. The Champion and his sister whirled, uncaring of turning their backs to the darkspawn. Atop the small cliff sat a purple dragon with five horns. The massive creature took flight, a line of flame raining down from its jaws as it cut a path through the horde."
"Bullshit," came the sharp cut off from the Seeker. "That's not what really happened."
Apparently, Cassandra's temper was a short as her hair.
Varric leaned back in the chair he was provided. "Does that not match the story you've heard, Seeker?"
She paced before him. "I'm not interested in stories. I came to hear the truth."
The dwarf was silent. No one wanted to hear the truth. They just wanted to criticize the choices Hawke was forced to make, to lay the blame for this insipid war at his feet. That was half the reason he wrote the book. There was more truth in there than Cassandra believed, hidden beneath fancy words and a little bit of exaggeration. Okay, a lot of exaggeration and a healthy dose of bullshit. Champion had agreed to the deception, as a matter of protecting family.
Varric laughed, bitter. "What makes you think I know the truth?"
"Don't lie to me!" the Seeker shouted, emphasized by pointing a gauntlet covered finger in his face. "You knew him even before he became the Champion!"
He raised his hands in supplication. So her target was Hawke. "Even if I did, I don't know where he is now."
"Do you have any idea what is at stake here?"
The words rang hollow to Varric's ears. Of course, he knew what was at stake. He was there when Kirkwall's circle fell. When its Chantry was destroyed in an act of revenge. "Let me guess," he drawled lowly, "your precious Chantry's fallen to pieces and put the entire world on the brink of war?"
He lowered the accusing finger he had pointed at the Seeker's back. "And you need the one person who could help you put it back together."
"The Champion was at the heart of it when it all began. If you can't point me to him, tell me everything you know."
"You aren't worried I'll just make it up as I go?"
"Not at all," she said, firmly.
Varric steeped his fingers. "You'll need to hear the whole story. And like all stories of this age, it begins with the Blight."
