A/N: I honestly did not think I would make it to chapter 100, and it feels like I should be throwing confetti or something. Thank you so much to all of you, both new and old readers! I wouldn't have written this much without you!

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Ancestors' hairy asses, Varric was about as fed up with saving the world as he could get.

The Fade had complicated his best and easily most worthwhile friendship. It had taken what he had considered the strongest, most secure relationship he'd ever had and shown him that his best friend in all existence had had so little faith in him that he'd lied.

It made him wonder about himself, if he might not be more like his father than he'd realized, and despite Hawke's assurance that that was the only thing that had ever been withheld, Varric couldn't help but wonder if that was true.

He wanted to believe it was. He did.

But…

But he couldn't stop the 'but's and 'what if's from popping up whenever he looked at his friend, or when he was lying in bed, trying to get some sleep.

If only they hadn't fallen into the Fade, he could have kept on believing that their friendship was the one true, uncomplicated thing in his life.

Though...then he'd have been living a lie.

It was hard to say which would have been better at this point.

But...it was a mess.

And then...just as he was grappling with that, Alistair had had to go and tell them…

That.

Hero was a fraud. Warden Blackwall was no warden.

In truth, an ugly little part of him was relieved to know it, because it was something he could think about that didn't directly involve him.

Or Hawke.

Motives aside, they really did need to find out what was going on with Hero.

Stardust was going to be crushed. She'd been looking up at the man since they'd met him—since she'd heard of him, really—and knowing that he'd lied about everything was going to leave her with one of those miserable empty looks she donned from time to time.

Whenever the world turned out to be a little darker than she'd thought.

However, as much as Varric wanted to feel bad for her, his own morbid curiosity kept getting in the way.

Who pretended to be a Grey Warden? What was his endgame? Was he a spy?

The thought that they could have had someone spying on them for so long...from the inner circle no less…

But then, if Hero had been a spy, why help Curly save Stardust after Haven? To the Void with it, he'd been the first to want to go back when they'd realized they'd left Stardust at the trebuchet.

And while he was pretty standoffish and didn't talk much about himself, he did seem like a good sort…too good. Varric had thought he'd been up there with Choir Boy, though he'd clearly misjudged him.

Unless Choir Boy was hiding a dark secret, too...well, that and a personality.

The night Varric's group had made it to Griffon Wing Keep, Varric had written a note to Nightingale the second he had the chance.

Then he'd read it over.

Then he'd stared at it.

Then he'd destroyed it.

He'd been hearing whispers since Skyhold of missives not reaching their destinations and this was one he didn't want falling into the wrong hands.

Even if it wasn't Corypheus' people who got it and instead just some prattish noble...

The last thing they needed was someone pointing to one of the inquisitor's most trusted friends and saying that he was a conman or, worse, a genuine monster.

And surely it would be better if Stardust heard about this from a friend.

Or maybe they could just confront Hero himself and have him tell her after? They could ask him warden questions, drop hints that they knew his secret, see what he did.

Or, knowing Hawke, they'd just openly ask him who he really was.

It was…

Something to think about, for sure.

And so, with the weight of a secret they couldn't send warning of bearing down on them, they'd headed back to Skyhold. Because of course no one important enough could have been at the Keep. The Seeker was supposed to have been there for a little while—or so Varric had heard—but she'd taken some templars off on a damned side quest.

Rivaini had teased that perhaps Seeker and her beau were moving forward with things—'things' had been accompanied with a brow waggle—but knowing the stuffy grouch, she was probably off stabbing mages or...something.

Bad ones, of course.

The plan had been to ride as hard as they could every day. They'd procured horses from the Keep—procured meaning they'd casually taken the horses when no one was looking after Knight-Captain Rylen had apologetically told them he couldn't spare any for them.

The first few days had gone according to plan. They hadn't even been chased down by a displeased inquisition party.

Things were going well, indeed.

Until they hit the end of the desert.

That was when they ran into trouble.

Not the spell—or even lyrium shard—flinging trouble that they could fight their way out of. No, of course they couldn't catch a break like that.

Instead, it had to be trouble that picked at good ol' Hawke and his morals.

His incessant need to help everyone he saw kicked in at the first village they came to, and because Varric was with him, Varric could pretend that he wouldn't have stopped himself to try to ease the suffering here.

They only stayed about a day—sometimes as many as three—but those days added up as they tried to help each village they came to, trying to make sure that the poor people of Orlais had at least a bit of a fighting chance.

Because the Orlesian nobility certainly didn't give a rat's ass. It was the Empress's and Grand Duke's armies that were causing more than half of the chaos. They were raiding their own people's farms, graineries, anything to keep their armies supplied so that they could try to figure out who would wear the shiny crown.

Buttercup was going to be furious whenever they were finally 'let' into the country.

Worse still was that the soldiers couldn't just take what they needed. No, they had to raid towns 'owned' by nobles supporting the opposing side and ransack them. People were hurt, homes were burned down, everyone was starving.

And Hawke was bent out of shape because he had nothing he could give them to help—they'd headed to the first village to try to restock their own supplies and had ended up leaving with less than they'd started with.

Much to Rivaini's chagrin.

How a pirate queen had come to care for such an altruistic fool was hard to figure out sometimes, even if Varric did know the story behind it.

Even if he'd written the story behind it.

Regardless, they stayed at each village a day or so, helping to wrangle up lost farm animals or beat back angry wyvern, and then Hawke would promise them that the Inquisition would do what it could.

Varric had tried to get him to not repeat that too often, as just hearing that the Inquisition was using its time in southern Orlais to do more than march to fight an enemy might turn both civil war armies on them, but Hawke ignored him.

At one point, Hawke said that he himself would represent the Inquisition if they failed to come to the rescue, and keep the promises he'd made singlehandedly.

Andraste's tits, but it felt like Kirkwall all over.

And over and over and over.

Then, after three such promises, they reached a place that was better off. The villagers openly spoke of the raids that the Grand Duke's soldiers had done, taking their crops and livestock to feed the troops, but unlike the other places, here there was an air of...relief.

When Varric had seen the homemade—and not quite accurate—Inquisition banner in the town center, he'd asked about it and one of the poor bastards had looked at him and beamed.

"The Inquisitor came through. She mended who she could and helped with some of the new crops."

"They're growing better than they have in years," a little old man proclaimed. "She really is Andraste's chosen!" When someone scoffed that she was just a mage, the old man turned on them, scowling. "I've seen plenty of mages come and go. Never seen one fix a field like that before."

"Or a bone," the first man added, holding out his foot proudly. "Thought I'd be limping the rest of my life after that soldier clubbed me."

Varric had been at a loss for words, especially considering that Stardust was supposed to be with the soldiers who had to be nearly back to Skyhold by now...wasn't she?

Even if she wasn't, these people said she'd been traveling alone, and there was no way anyone would okay that…

At first he'd wondered if they didn't have an imposter on their hands, but...

The stories definitely sounded like Stardust.

Hawke and their group had helped with a bit of hunting there before heading to the next village, only to hear more of the same thing.

The same with the two villages after.

Apparently, they were traveling in the Inquisitor's footsteps.

As they rested for the night, figuring that they might get to Skyhold in another three days—mostly because there were no more settlements between them and the mountain road they planned to take—they sat in the local tavern, resigned to being regaled with their illustrious leader's latest adventures.

As good as the stories were, Varric wanted to go to bed. The sooner he slept, the sooner he'd wake up, and they could go and finally take care of the whole Fake Warden issue.

Hawke, however, seemed to have forgotten about it all together.

After a story about the inquisitor helping with crops and fixing a druffalo's lame leg, Varric set his hands on the table, ready to announce his departure for the evening, maybe a hint to get his companions to bed as well so that they could get a relatively early start.

However, a hearty laugh caught his attention before he could even stand up. Looking over, an Avvar woman came closer and invited herself to sit with Varric and his companions—which included more than a few of the locals.

He'd seen her come in earlier and take a seat a few tables over, but hadn't thought much of it after one of the locals had noticed his interest and explained that they were an occasional stop for the Avvar traders who headed into Val Royeaux.

She looked the group over and then motioned to them. "This inquisitor of yours, let me guess, flames in her eyes, tangled orange hair? Short enough to be an elf?" The woman held her hand up about Finley's height.

Varric narrowed his eyes. "What of it?"

"She has always been kind," the Avvar said, taking a sip from her mug—no. That was Varric's. He frowned, and not just at the hush that fell over the table—no, the room—as the woman made herself comfortable.

Finally, one of the locals leaned forward, appraising her. "You know the inquisitor?"

Not from the inquisition, that was for sure. Though, if it wasn't from there, did this mean this was someone from Stardust's past?

Varric wasn't sure if they should let the woman say any more to strangers, even if she had started off pleasant.

However, he could hardly press pause on real life, and as he'd considered the pros and cons of letting this newest member of their drinking party tell a story or two, she'd already confirmed that she knew Stardust.

Taking another swig of ale, she laughed. "Her title has certainly changed, though."

"What do you call her?" The villager who had told the story of the druffalo asked, head tilted in curiosity.

"Cailleach Duille." The Avvar woman grinned when he tried to repeat it. "Leaf Witch."

Shit..

Shit, shit, shit.

"The inquisitor isn't a witch," Varric said, almost mechanically.

The Avvar woman's brow pinched together, and she asked for descriptions of the inquisitor to be repeated, which more than a few people gladly provided. Then she nodded, motioning to the locals. "She's good with nature, less so with people, though she helps them anyway. I think some others in another town I go through call her the Green Witch? If I remember correctly, she has a few witch titles."

Silence fell over the whole tavern, that earlier excitement all but evaporated with a few simple words.

Fuck.

With a half laugh, Varric made a dismissive hand motion. "Seriously, Stardust—Inquisitor Finley isn't—"

"Stardust? I love it," the Avvar woman laughed. "I will have to send word back to my birthhold. They will love that. Only a few of my and my husband's hold have heard of her."

"Yes, well. Inquisitor Finley," Varric stressed the title, appraising their audience as best he could from the corner of his eye. "She's no witch."

"What are witches but powerful mages?" the Avvar asked, quirking a brow. When no one replied, she shrugged, seemingly oblivious of the tension that had replaced the earlier mirth. "Before I was married, back during the Blight, I met your inquisitor. Our holdbeast was injured fighting darkspawn, and we could not leave without him, but he could not travel. We'd have lost him—and likely the whole hold—as our head shaman had been slain, as well as most of the other more skilled shaman healers. Her replacement was not well versed with healing magics and things would have ended very poorly for us, but the Cailleach Duille appeared and healed our god. No mere mage could do something our shaman struggled with so."

Healing a god. This was getting worse by the minute. If that spread, expectations would be far beyond what any mage could do, 'witch' or no. It was a bit of a relief that Rivaini thought to ask about the god healed and for the Avvar woman to tell them it had been a sacred lion.

That was definitely a good step down from Gods in the Orlesians' eyes, especially if the expressions around them were any indication.

This could be salvaged. It could.

Varric scrambled for something to explain that witches weren't quite what the Avvar woman thought they were—it could be chalked up to a simple misunderstanding thanks to the language barrier. "Witch has negative connotations—"

The man on the other side of the Avvar woman, however, ignored him. "Then, if the Inquisitor is really the woman you knew...then...the Herald of Andraste...is a witch?"

"No—"

"As much as anyone can be," the Avvar woman assured before Varric or any of his group could even try for damage control. Then she took a long swig from Varric's ale and laughed. "The nicest one you'll ever meet, too. Most witches turn you into toads. Cailleach Duille—Stardust," she paused to point and grin at Varric, "turns you back."

Murmurs started, nothing that Varric could focus on in particular though. They hadn't announced themselves as Inquisition when they came into town and Hawke hadn't made any of his promises yet, so it wasn't as though they'd be damned by association, but…now more than before, they needed to get back to Skyhold.

They needed to tell Ruffles about this so that she could do damage control before the rumors could spread far.

Luckily the civil war would keep travels to a minimum, at least.

Right?

"I've heard of the Green Witch," one of the other patrons offered slowly. "My cousin lives east, near the Frostbacks. Says the Green Witch saved his apple trees a few years back. They had some nasty sickness in them, and she came along and healed the whole orchard. When they wanted to pay her, she would take no money, though. In the end, she only took a handful of seeds as payment, and only after my cousin insisted."

More murmurs.

"And she healed people in the town over." Varric was surprised to hear Rivaini's voice enter the din. She had her mug in hand and was pointing west. "Helped with some broken bones and everything. She's a good sort. Nothing like what you hear of Flemeth or her daughters."

"She did that here, too," a small boy offered, leaning his chin on the edge of a nearby table. "Papa's ribs were all wrong after the soldier's horse kicked him, and she fixed it like it was nothing. Even swore that the soldier had no business hurting people like that."

This time there were a few agreements, even a cheer or two among the murmurs.

Varric felt his stomach descending, painfully slow. Friendly as the atmosphere was now, this had the potential to be very, very bad. Even if people did seem to be approving of the stories going around, if word left this little village that Stardust was a witch…

Ruffles was going to be—

"But Andraste did chose her, didn't she?" someone asked.

Varric felt like he was watching a carriage accident happen in slow motion, knowing that the rumors were going to merge or something would go horribly wrong, but still being unable to do anything to actually stop it.

As a few people wondered aloud about that, noting that the sunburst was there in her eyes, the Avvar woman let out a sharp laugh and said, "Perhaps that makes her Andraste's Witch."