AUTHOR'S NOTE: SHOUTOUTS GO OUT TO: narmoture, and all of our other awesome readers who have been with us on this wacky journey!
Chapter 19:
"Where are you?" Nimwen muttered as she scanned the market square. She'd read the note Mahvir left saying he would be at Dagna's. When she went to the Overcroft and found no trace of him, she became worried. Now, after searching the city for an hour, she was frantic. She knew there were people staring at her, but she didn't care. The roof of the Gnawed Noble Inn was proving to be a decent perch to look over the market, and she wasn't about to move.
"Inquisitor?!"
Nimwen looked down and saw Cullen staring up at her.
"Cullen."
"What in Andraste's name are you doing?"
"Mahvir never returned from working with Dagna and I'm worried."
"But, why are you on the roof?"
"I need the height!"
"What is going on?" Franne came outside to join her husband. "Cullen, what are you looking at-?" She tilted her head up and caught sight of Nimwen. "Nimwen?"
"Good morning, Franne."
"Yeah… it's too early for this. I'm going back inside." Immediately Franne retreated inside the inn.
"No, love help me get her-" Cullen groaned. "Your Worship, please get off the roof."
"Not until I find Mahvir."
"Inquisitor, people are staring."
"Let them stare."
"Nimwen, get off the blasted roof before I come up there!"
The elf blinked, as if brought back to reality. She looked down and noticed a small group of people watching her and pointing fingers. She sighed. "Very well." Carefully, she slid down the gutter and back to the ground. "Maybe I shouldn't do that again."
"I wouldn't recommend it," Cullen responded.
"I'm just so worried, what if something happened? What if he's hurt? He didn't even come home for dinner."
"He's a grown man, Inquisitor, I'm sure he's capable of handling himself."
"I know, but there's sometimes I feel…" Nimwen shook her head. "We need to find him. But I can't think of anywhere else to look-" It suddenly hit her, the one place she forgot to look. "I'm a fool!"
"Come again?"
"The alienage!"
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"No, no, it's fine, I can handle this myself." Also, Nimwen was certain the elves would be wary of a random human appearing in their midst. She bid Cullen farewell and set off towards the alienage gates. Those who saw her on the roof glanced her way, whispering as she passed, and she could feel a hint of a blush come to her cheeks. Perhaps perching atop the roof like an owl wasn't the smartest thing to do, but it felt right at the time. The last time she'd been that worried was the first time she couldn't find Lori. She'd torn Skyhold apart only to find the girl in the rookery with Leliana, but during that time it felt like the world was ending. She'd vowed afterwards to never lose sight of her children again.
She crossed the bridge into the alienage, where a few of the elves were already up and about. She started looking up, down, and around the dilapidated buildings for any signs of Mahvir, until she noticed some activity near the vhenadahl. Curious, she approached the colorful tree, only to pause at the scene.
"Happened next?" a child's voice begged.
Sure enough, a large group of elven children were gathered around one spot of the tree.
"Well, the People were granted a homeland by Andraste's sons," a familiar voice seemed to continue a story.
Another child moved forward in the group and then she stepped back, clutching a wooden doll to her small chest. Her eyes were just as wide as all the other children's. "You sound like you there," she whispered.
Nimwen observed the group quietly, a small smile on her face.
"That will be our little secret." The next moment, Mahvir stood, pulling himself up with his staff.
"Ah, don't go." The children moved towards him. One grabbed his tattered robes and looked up at him with pleading eyes. "'Nother story?"
"My apologies, Little one, I must be going. I promise I'll return and tell another for you." He winked. "I'll even have more toys if you're all good for your parents."
The children brightened at once.
Mahvir patted them on the heads before he limped from the crowd of children. He moved towards Nimwen. A few the little ones followed after him. "Morning, Nimwen," he greeted her with an almost apologetic smile.
"Don't go, mister! More story!" the children kept moving around him.
"Sorry, children, but storytime is over," Nimwen said. "And you." She pointed an accusing finger at Mahvir. "You had me worried sick! What was the point of leaving me a note if you're not even going to stay at the place in the note?" she scolded, wagging her finger for good measure. She looked to the group of elven children. "Some advice, kids. If you ever go somewhere, tell your mommy or daddy first, all right?"
The kids blinked. The boy who had spoken before tugged Mahvir's robes. "She you wife?" he asked. "She bossy."
If Nimwen had a drink, she would have spat it out. Instead she felt her face turn beet red.
Mahvir chuckled. "No, just a friend. Now, off with you lot." He ushered them way.
The children grumbled a little before they raced off laughing, each comparing the toy they'd gotten.
Mahvir turned back to Nimwen. "I was at Dagna's until late last night. Coming here was a personal matter. My apologies for causing you distress."
"Well, I'll forgive you since it's apparent you made those children's day," Nimwen smiled. "That was very kind of you to do."
"I didn't get the nickname Toymaker because Valendrian thought it was funny," Mahvir stated, pain appeared in his eyes for a brief moment. It was gone in a blink. "Shall we? I believe Dagna wanted to see you after you found me." He gave her a soft smile and bowed, gesturing towards the bridge.
"Can I ask you something first?"
He straightened and cocked an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"When was the last time you ate?"
Mahvir shifted. "A topic for another time." He limped off towards the bridge.
"Oh, no, you don't." She grabbed the sleeve of his shirt. She had half a mind to hold him by his ear, but she refrained. "Come, the inn is serving pumpkin soup and you're having a bowl of it. Two if you don't cooperate."
Mahvir visibly made a face at the mention of pumpkin soup. "Fine, fine, then Dagna's shop."
Nimwen smiled. "Of course. Ready to go?"
Mahvir started off, using his staff for support. "Let's get the food out of the way."
"It's brunch, Mahvir, not getting the wrack," Nimwen teased.
Mahvir cocked an eyebrow at her, but didn't otherwise speak. His expression looked almost like one of Solas's. The two of them traveled back to the inn in silence.
They entered and claimed one of the tables by the door.
"What'll you two be havin'?" asked the middle aged waitress.
"Two bowls of pumpkin soup," Nimwen answered.
"All right, you two sit tight."
As the woman walked away, Nimwen turned to Mahvir. "I've been wanting to try it since we got here. I smelled some and was ready to steal the bowl away." She chuckled. "It's supposed to be quite good for you as well."
"Yes, well food is food." Mahvir leaned back in his seat. "Ir abelas for worrying you, Nimwen. It honestly wasn't my intention."
"It's fine. Honestly it's my fault for being such a worry-wart," she admitted.
"It was kind of you to be concerned. It's the first time in a long time someone has cared enough about my whereabouts to make a fool of themselves in front of a marketplace." He smiled and gave her a small wink.
Nimwen sputtered. "Hold on, how did you figure-oh, wait." Nimwen felt like a fool for forgetting Mahvir's visions. Of course he'd know. "The things you people make me do," she chuckled.
Mahvir bowed his head. "My apologies." He frowned. "Is Lorien with the commander and captain?" he asked.
"She was still asleep when I left the room, but Franne was with her," Nimwen said. "For how hard it is to get her to sleep, once she's out she's like a log."
"That is good to hear." His gaze clouded all of a sudden. "It seems Fear spotted one of Solas's people during the night," - he scowled - "though why the foolish bird is only just now telling me is a little odd."
"That's good," Nimwen said. She felt hope well in her chest. It was small, but this is one step closer to finding Solas. "Did he say where?"
"Edge of the city. We can look into later today."
"All right, we shall. But first," - Nimwen smiled at the approach of the waitress - "we feast."
"Two pumpkin soups," the woman said, placing the steaming bowls before the two elves.
"Thank you," Nimwen said.
The waitress nodded and went to another table.
"This smells delicious." Nimwen grinned, the sight of the gold-orange soup making her stomach rumble.
Dirthamen took a deep breath before he bent to the soup. For the first time since knowing him, Mahvir made a face as he swallowed the soup. He shuddered.
"You all right?" Nimwen asked. She wondered if perhaps the soup tasted off. She blew on her spoon and put it to her mouth. The creamy soup was a wondrous burst of flavor on her tongue. She had to restrain herself from making a noise at how good it was. "This is wonderful. Don't you like it?"
"Feed it to Solas when you get him back. He'll love it," Mahvir stated. He picked up the still hot soup and downed it as fast as possible. When he lowered the bowl he shuddered. "Ir abelas," he said through watering eyes. "Better to get it over with when it's something that rich and… sweet."
"Sorry you don't like it," Nimwen said, eating her soup at a much slower pace. "But it's good you ate it, you need to eat things with more nutrition in them. Have to put some meat on your bones, not to mention all the vitamins." Nimwen was used to dealing with picky eaters. If it wasn't for Nimwen's constant goading, Lori would have had a diet consisting of just cake and eggs. She prayed as Lori grew up her tastes who broaden. Mahvir would take a miracle, she feared.
Mahvir chuckled. "I don't eat because most of the time I forget food exists and I honestly don't care for it. Wine on the other hand," he started in teasing tones.
"Wine is good," Nimwen admitted. "But one can't live off it alone, so eat your vegetables, mister," she jested.
He smiled at her, dark eyes shining in the candle light. "Of course, mamae, I will do as you ask." He bowed to her.
She smiled warmly. "I can order us some wine, if you wish. A treat for eating all your soup."
Mahvir raised his hand in a gesture which said "no." "I fear my taste for wines would drive you to be copperless, Nimwen. It is best not to try to indulge me, but my thanks for offering. We should head to the Overcroft."
"All right-" Nimwen's eyes widened as she remembered what she'd planned to do that morning, before she discovered Mahvir's disappearance. "Give me a moment, all right? I'll meet you outside."
"I will head to the Overcroft, if that is all right? I need to help Dagna with a matter before you arrive as it is." He stood. "I will see you there, Nimwen."
"Very well." Nimwen stood and walked towards the hallway leading to their rooms. Upon entering she saw Franne braiding Lori's hair.
"Mamae," the girl smiled. "Lookit, aunt Franne give me fancy braid!"
"It's called a fishtail," Franne explained. "My mother used to give them to me all the time. Before I hacked off my hair at least," she chuckled, shaking her short bob.
"That's nice of you to do," Nimwen said as she went to her room. "Did you say 'thank you'?" she called back.
"Thanks, Auntie Franne!"
Nimwen smiled as she reached under her bed and grabbed the sack hidden beneath. She looked inside at the bag's contents, just to make sure nothing had happened to it. She felt pleased at the sight of over a month's secret labor. "He's going to love it," she said proudly. With the bag in hand, she left the room and headed for the door. "I'm going back out, keep an eye on her for me?"
"Can do," Franne saluted.
"But, mamae," Lori pouted. "We go 'splorin today!"
"We are going to see the sights tomorrow, da'len," Nimwen clarified.
Lori pouted. "We go today."
"We go when I say we do," Nimwen responded firmly.
Lori crossed her arms. "No fair, mamae."
"I am quite fair. Now, you behave for Aunt Franne, and if I hear you were naughty you won't get dessert. Have fun you two." Nimwen left the rooms and headed outside. She made the walk across the market to the Overcroft, eyeing the activity in the square with mild interest. She found she liked Denerim much more than Val Royeaux. Everything seemed so much simpler, and the toned down architecture and attitudes of the people made Nimwen feel much more relaxed than she did in the Orlesian capitol.
She pushed open the door to the Overcroft, and greeted Harret at the counter. "They in the back?" she asked.
"Just missed him, head on to the workshop," the blacksmith replied, nodding towards the back room.
Nimwen walked to the back and knocked. "Is it safe to come in?"
"Nothing will explode if you do," Mahvir's voice sounded from the other side of the door. His staff was leaning against the wall beside the door.
Nimwen opened the door. "I come in peace."
"Of course, why wouldn't-oh, you're joking," Dagna chuckled.
"So, what have you two been cooking up in here?" asked Nimwen.
"Would you like to do the honors, Arcanist Dagna?" Mahvir asked with a slight bow to the dwarf.
"It would be my pleasure," Dagna replied.
Nimwen's curiosity piqued when Dagna grabbed a small brown case. "Before I show you, I must give most of the credit to Mahvir here, it was mostly his designs." She adjusted her hold and then opened the case. "But, let me just say, collaboration or not, this is probably some of my best work."
Nimwen stared at the contents of the case. "It's a… gauntlet?"
Dagna snorted. "No, no, it's an arm, your arm."
"Wait, what?"
"The idea of the arm came to me when you received your other one from the Arcanist here," Mahvir explained. "This one will, well, it will be an actual arm. It will move like a normal hand. The only drawback is that it fuses to you in order to get it to work," he trailed off.
"I…" Nimwen didn't know what to say. With this information, she looked at the object in a whole new light. It was beautiful, with a silvery sheen that could only be silverite. Flowery designs were etched into the metal, even wrapping around the fingers. "This is incredible, it must have cost you a fortune," she said to Dagna.
The dwarf waved her hand. "No, not really. Well, okay, yeah, it was, but after what you people paid me, I think I can splurge on some silverite."
"I… ma serannas." Nimwen grinned.
Mahvir smiled. "If you would like, we did convince Sera to get something to knock you out if you want the arm attached."
"Knock me out?"
"Yeah, we should probably warn you, without something strong to put you under, this would be painful to put on," Dagna said.
"I don't understand, wouldn't I just put it on like I would this one?" Nimwen asked, pointing to her hook.
"As I said, this one fuses with you for it to work. Remember the halla toy I gave you?" Mahvir asked.
"Yes?"
"Well, the enchantments I used on that reacted to the voice of whoever gave the commands for it to move. With this, the enchantments will interact with your mind. In other words, you can move this new arm the way you do your normal arm. For this to work, however, it will have to fuse with the tendons, bone, and skin of your arm. Otherwise, there is no way for the enchantments to communicate with your brain."
"I see." Nimwen glanced at the arm. "You're sure this will work?"
"I am ninety-two percent sure that this will work with no perceivable issues," Dagna assured the elf.
"And I am one hundred percent certain, if that is any consolation, Nimwen." Mahvir looked Nimwen in the eye. While his expression was calm, his dark eyes were soft.
"Well, if you both think it'll work… let's do it." Nimwen let out a laugh. "I'm actually getting my arm back… wow. I never thought it'd happen. I thought the hook was enough for me."
"Only the best for you, Inquisitor," Dagna smiled. "Oh, what do you have in that bag?"
"Huh?" Nimwen then remembered what she'd gone back to the room for. "Oh, this." She reached around and took the bag off her back. "This is for you, actually, Mahvir."
Mahvir shifted and pulled at one of his tattered sleeves. "My thanks, Nimwen, but you didn't have to make a sweater for me." He hadn't even taken the bag yet.
Nimwen pouted. She didn't even get to surprise him. Not that she would have been able to, in hindsight. "Well, I did, and you are going to at least take in my handiwork. And I do mean handiwork. You'd be surprised how difficult it is to knit with one hand." She reached in and pulled out the sweater. "Ta-dah." It was… very purple, and gloriously fluffy. It was made of Dales loden wool dyed a rich dark purple, with long sleeves and a cozy collar. But that wasn't all. On the front were what brought Nimwen the most challenge. Frolicking across the dark purple sweater were four lavender colored halla.
"So… what do you think?" she asked. On the inside she was hoping it wasn't too much or that he thought her ridiculous. Worst, she thought, was that making it with just one hand produced a shabby result. She hoped he couldn't see any mistakes.
Mahvir's ears were bright red and his eyes wide. "Ma serannas, Nimwen," he managed to say. "You didn't need to go through such effort on my account."
Nimwen snorted. "Of course I do," she insisted. "Family is all about doing ridiculous things if the end result is them being happy."
"I second that," Dagna added.
Nimwen placed the sweater in his arms. "It's the least I can do. You built me an arm for goodness' sake. It'll never measure up to that but… I hope you like it."
Mahvir traced the halla with one gloved figure. "It more than measure ups," he whispered.
Nimwen smiled and hugged him. "I'm glad you like it." She was also greatly pleased her gift was not seen as ludicrous.
Mahvir folded the sweater and, almost too carefully, placed it into his bag. He straightened and cleared his throat. "Would you like to be knocked out for when we attach the arm?" he asked, voice almost even, but still soft.
"Yes, please. I've had enough pain for one lifetime," Nimwen said. After the sensation of her arm melting off… Nimwen vowed to avoid unnecessary pain.
"Very well." Mahvir turned from her and lifted a bowl from the workbench. "We cleared a place for you to lay while the arm was attached." He pointed to one of the tables, a pillow had been placed on it. "When you're there and ready, drink this." He pointed to the bowl. "You'll be out for an hour at least."
"You two are prepared for this?" Nimwen asked.
"Yup, it'll be easy, I think," Dagna said. "But, really, it shouldn't be any harder than connecting a part to a machine. Except this time the machine is alive, and fleshy instead of metally."
"That is less than assuring, Arcanist." Mahvir looked from Dagna to Nimwen and smiled. "I've studied enough healing through herbs to know what I am doing, Nimwen. I won't let Dagna try to blow up the room or anything while you're asleep. You'll be quite safe."
'You both are not very assuring,' Nimwen thought to herself. However, if she had to trust anybody to attach a device to her, it would be those two. "Just do what you have to do," she said to them.
Mahvir bowed his head before he guided her to the table and passed her the bowl only once she was on the table. "Drink," he urged her.
Nimwen shortly examined the contents of the bowl and then quickly downed the concoction. "Got any more?" she joked, grimacing as the foul potion went down her throat.
Instead of replying, Mahvir helped her lay down.
"So, how long does this take to work?" she asked.
"Welcome back, Nimwen." Mahvir reappeared over her. "How do you feel?"
"Huh, what?" Nimwen asked. "How do I feel? You didn't do anything yet."
Mahvir smile and tapped something on her left. There was a soft feeling of his finger against her.
"What was that-" Her eyes widened. "Wait-wait, did you just-?" She was almost too afraid to look for herself. "Is it…?"
"You are fine." Mahvir helped her sit up. "The fact your felt my touch is a good sign. Can you flex your fingers?" he asked.
"I-I can try." Even though it hadn't even been a year since she'd lost her arm, Nimwen still feared she wouldn't know what to do. Hesitantly she attempted to do what she had been doing for twenty-one years. "Wiggle your fingers," she murmured to herself. There came the sound of light tapping on the table. "Did I do it?"
"You should see for yourself, Nimwen." Mahvir shot a look towards Dagna which said "don't speak."
Nimwen forced herself to look down at her arm. Her hook was gone, instead replaced by the silverite hand. "Oh, wow," she said. It really did look like her original hand, painted silver. She lifted it to her face, turning and inspecting it. She didn't move the hand or the fingers. Despite knowing otherwise, she couldn't help but fear any movement or bending would make the whole thing fall apart.
At this, Mahvir chuckled. "You're unlikely to break it, Nimwen. The casing is silverite and the gears ironbark. I assure you it will last you all of your natural life, if not longer."
"Nice to hear," Nimwen replied, regretting the shake in her voice. With a gulp, Nimwen attempted to bend her artificial fingers. To her amazement, she watched as the metal digits slowly curled. "They moved," Nimwen gasped. "Mahvir, I have fingers, and they moved!"
"Yes, you do and they did. Now, can you touch each finger to your thumb?" he asked.
"Let me try," Nimwen said. She attempted the task and at first it was tricky, but soon she got the hang of it.
"Ooh, I can't take it anymore!" Dagna squealed. "I know you said to be quiet, but I can't believe it. We did it! Real motor control and sensory from an artificial limb! This is a breakthrough!" The dwarf girl jumped up and down, clapping.
Mahvir chuckled at Dagna's enthusiasm. He looked at Nimwen. "Just take it easy with your hand, don't go punching any walls right away. While I am certain your hand would win that fight, it will still hurt." He held out his hand to her. "Otherwise, congratulations, you are the first one I know of to have a fully working artificial limb."
"I just… I can't even…" Mahvir became blurry as tears welled up in her eyes. "Ma serannas, Mahvir, Dagna. I will never be able to repay you two."
Suddenly the workshop door was thrown open.
"Inquisitor," a panting Cullen said.
"Cullen, what's wrong?" Nimwen asked, seeing the look on the commander's face.
"It's Lori, she's gone."
"What?!"
Mahvir closed his eyes as if someone had physically struck him.
"Are you okay?" Dagna asked him, going to his side.
"I am fine." His eyes opened. "We need to find Lorien. Nimwen, I will start the search, you need to rest a little before you go running around. The effects of the medicine we gave you hasn't fully worn off."
"Forget that, I'm not lying around while my baby's off somewhere," Nimwen snapped. She turned to Cullen. "What in blazes happened? Franne was supposed to watch her!"
"She was. She put Lori down for a nap, then took one herself. She said when she went to check on her that the window was open and she was gone."
"No, no, no, this isn't happening," Nimwen groaned, clutching her forehead.
While the two of them had been talking, Mahvir limped over to his bag and put it on. "Calm down, Nimwen, I have been in your place before. The worst reaction is to rush off blindly. We will find Lorien." He limped towards the door. "Commander, is Sera in the main part of the shop?"
"I think she was talking to Harret," said Cullen.
"We will need her help." Mahvir turned to Nimwen. "Come." He limped from the room. The sound of his staff against the wood followed and his pace sounded faster.
Nimwen hopped off the table, pausing for a moment as she regained her balance. Soon after she was following Cullen and Mahvir out of the workshop and into the front of the shop.
"Sera, we need your aid," Mahvir said, interrupting Sera and Harret's conversation.
"Huh, what's it?" asked the rogue.
"Lori is gone," said Nimwen.
"What, Lil' Inky?" Sera gasped. "Oh, shite, well, what you need me for?"
"You have more people in the city," Mahvir stated. "And, from what I've heard of you, the sharpest sight of any archer." Without waiting for a response from Sera, Mahvir limped out of the shop.
"You coming?" Nimwen asked for him.
"Fuck, yeah, I'm not sittin' here while Inky's out there," Sera said.
"Thank you." Nimwen turned to Dagna and Harret. "You two should stay here. If you see Lori, grab her and bring her here, all right?"
"Gladly." Dagna nodded.
"Don't worry, Inquisitor, you'll find your girl," Harret said.
"I hope you're right," Nimwen sighed. She and Sera joined Mahvir outside.
Mahvir was already partway down the street, though his pace made it easy to catch up with him. "You two go on ahead, I will only slow you down."
"All right." Nimwen turned to Sera. "You have any idea where to start?"
The rogue grinned. "Just follow me. I have three drunks, a whore, and a maid who owe me favors."
* ~ x ~ *
Solas entered the city, wearing the robes he had when he left the Inquisition so as not to draw unneeded attention to himself. The only one of his companions who were in armor was the other male elf. He wore the gear of an agent of the Inquisition.
Solas had heard reports of Nimwen and Dirthamen in the city from his people. One of his spies in the alienage had told him of a shabby elf passing out toys earlier this morning. The description this spy had given him matched Dirthamen.
It took a lot of effort on Solas's part not to touch the wolf jaw around his neck. He still remembered the seven year old Dirthamen giving it to him. Solas shoved the thought away. That gentle boy was no more. Now was the time to start moving the pieces into place to capture Dirthamen and make certain his nephew could never again harm another.
"You look troubled, my lord," Melda said. She was dressed like an average elvhen peasant. For all intents and purposes, she was just like the girl she'd been when Solas first recruited her. Aside from the number of blades no doubt hidden on her person, that was.
Solas cocked an eyebrow at her. "I am just thinking."
"Thought is all well and good, sir, but-" the agent cut off, his eyes wide.
"Good doggy!"
"Little Lady Lorien!" The agent raced forward. "What in the holy Andraste's name are you doing out here? Where's your mother?"
Solas followed the agent's progress. His eyes fell over a small elvhen child. He stopped in his tracks and felt as his eyes widened. Familiar yellow hair was pulled into a fish-braid on the girl's head. Hair Solas remembered from his brother and from-from himself.
The girl stood on the tips of her toes, small hands petting the snout of a mabari statue. She turned around at the sound of the agent. "You mamae guy?" she asked pointing to his uniform.
"I am. Where is your mother?" the agent asked.
As Solas looked into the girl's face, he felt as if he had been struck. There was no denying those seed-shaped eyes or the small dimple on her chin. It felt as if ice was growing in his stomach even as his heart fluttered with warmth. For the first time ever, Solas was seeing his-his daughter.