And the Path is Dark
II.
Those who bring harm
Without provocation to the least of His children
Are hated and accursed by the Maker.
Varric knows something is up.
Well, other than the hole in the very sky, of course. It's absolutely remarkable how something so impossible can become ordinary after a few days of constant screaming and killing demons. No, the sky doesn't interest him. What interests him is the way everyone except him seems to be holding their breaths.
Pentaghast has been beyond tense these past few days. Something has had her attention so firmly that nothing he does seems to annoy her. And he's tried. Maker, how he's tried. Singing bawdy tavern songs outside her door while she naps, making thinly veiled allusions to her frozen heart, inquiring after the health of the stick up her ass. Instead of snapping at him and threatening to throw him in the stocks, as he has come to expect and, indeed, appreciate as part of his daily routine, she had simply grunted at him and brushed by him. Which practically screamed there was something rotten in the state of Haven.
That Nightingale lady and the Antivan were acting equally strangely. They redhead had always been, well, off, but the Antivan had previously had a calm that seemed nigh unshakable. Now the two were constantly cloistered behind closed doors, and spent their time around the camp whispering to one another. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought they were fooling around, but he had it on good authority that that ship had already come and sailed away.
The final tile in this mosaic of strange was the apostate mage. He had oh-so conveniently been in the mountains when the temple went "boom" and appeared in Haven to help. He also just so happened to be an expert on the Fade and all things in it. What crazy, random happenstance! Cassandra was acting even more stupid than usual when she allowed him to stay. Could the cryptic elf with impossible knowledge possibly be behind the impossible events going on? Nah, of course not. That would make far too much sense. Varric is, of course, not supposed to know this Solas guy has been doing something for Cassandra. Fortunately for Varric, Cassandra greatly overestimates the thickness of the walls and greatly underestimates Varric's determination to sniff out things she wants to keep from him. However, despite all his efforts, she and the other leaders of the motley mess of survivors had managed to keep a few things from him. Namely, whatever they had hidden in the basement of the Chantry.
If the commander, Cullen, had been around Varric may have been able to weasel some hints out of the had learned quite a bit about the former-templar over a few "friendly drinks." He was entirely incapable of lying and had the useful habit of stuttering when surprised or put on edge. Unfortunately, he came running out of the Chantry three days previous as if someone had set fire to his big furry cloak and had been hiding at the forward camps since. Varric knew it was unreasonable to think the man was hiding from him, but considering the few times he had managed the trek down there only to find the Commander off somewhere on "important business…" Well, it made a man wonder.
Varric can guess that whatever they're hiding has something to do with the Breach. From their few conversations Varric has gathered that Solas disdains the Chantry and everything Andrastian. Yet, the elf has been spending every waking moment in the building, looking completely drained every time he emerges. Maybe it's some form of magical artifact that requires the apostate's suspicious expertise.
There have been a few quiet whispers amongst the scouts that Varric's hired ears have picked up. His contact had overheard a group of scouts muttering amongst themselves. They had said something about a prisoner being recovered, possibly from the Temple of Sacred Ashes. His contact hadn't been able to catch any more of their conversation before a messenger called them away on something or other. The group had been sent on a long-range scouting mission to the south the very next morning. Which was very suspicious, but didn't explain why Solas would be needed to interrogate a prisoner. Besides, no additional meals were being delivered to the Chantry (he had to bribe several kitchen helpers more than he would have liked to check), so that ruled out the possibility of some prisoner being held in the basement. Unless, of course, they were denying the prisoner meals…
Bah! The situation is all such a tangled mess of maybes and could-bes. And now, in the midst of fighting demons with two-foot-long claws for hands, is not the best time to be examining ideas.
The fighting doesn't calm Varric like it should, like it had back in Kirkwall. The flow that there had always been alongside Hawke is gone. Yeah, the bald elf is a plenty good mage, but he doesn't laugh when an enemy falls like Hawke did. He doesn't call out marks for Varric to pick off. He doesn't stab demons with his staff just as often as he casts spells.
"Are you sure that's a good idea, Hawke?"
"What?" she pauses, looks up at Varric from across his table at the Hanged Man. She has a giant knife, halfway to being a sword, on the table next to her staff and is struggling to wrap a leather tie around the both of the weapons to hold the two together. He gestures at the mess of steel and wood, asking a question without having to say anything. She's indignant. "Having a staby bit on the end of this thing makes it easier to defend when something gets too close."
"I would think with the number of times you drop that thing on your foot you would avoid putting sharp things on it." The tenuous knot holding the hilt of the knife to the bottom of the staff falls apart. Hawke, unfazed, picks up the knife to try again. She always was one to take the skull-versus-wall approach to problems.
"Think again, my furry friend," Hawke says with a grin, gesturing at his copious chest hair with the knife. "I'm as graceful as a fucking swan with a spear. This will be just like one. Just… backwards. And terribly off balance."
Battle after Hawke is silent except for cries of pain and grunts of effort. There's no teasing, no taunts, no laughter. Varric feels a pang of something suspiciously like loneliness which he really doesn't need right now! before making a pin-cushion out of a shade.
The unwelcome influx of memories is thankfully interrupted by the arrival of two more people. Varric is forced to reevaluate his prisoner theory the moment the unfamiliar elf hops down into the fray and starts firing off spells. He doesn't miss that Cassandra is sticking to her side like a burr, cutting glances at her that can't decide if they're glares or not, or that Solas actually stops fighting to stare for a moment. Whoever the mage is, she's important. And she's likely what's been hiding in the Chantry basement. There will be time for introductions and prying questions later, Varric assures himself, and instead focuses on keeping the demons from making mincemeat of the mysterious new arrival.
When the last of the demons collapses to the ground with the most discomforting groan the rift above their heads begins to screech and sing. The shape changes, turning from sharp, jagged crystals of elsewhere to ribbons that threaten to coalesce into a door. Varric has seen this several times. Eventually the ribbons will weave together and make a portal large enough for the monsters to slip through yet again. Luckily, they have almost an hour to get clear before it happens again. Varric turns towards the pile of boards blocking the way down towards the forward camps, I'm either going to have to clamber over that thing or crawl under. It's so damned undignified being a dwarf here. No one makes anything the right size. but Solas yelling something over the screaming of the rift makes him turn back.
Solas grabs the other elf's wrist, and judging by that glare she does NOT like that, nonono, and forces her hand up and towards the rift. Light erupts from the woman's palm, streaming towards the rift and twining with the ribbons coming out of the tear in the world. The light spreads from her palm, spreading under her skin and lighting up each vein and artery. Varric is reminded of the way Fenris's marks would glow, how they would radiate something that was like nothing else. This, this is even more wild. More, well, magical.
With a gut-wrenching scream the elf collapses to her knees and the rift shatters. Varric flinches away from the burst of light and sound, hiding his face in his elbow. When the ringing in his ears finally fades he looks over at the thin figure struggling to her feet, Solas hovering at her side like a particularly worried bird. Mother hen, I think the phrase is. But who cares about Solas, the newcomer closed the rift. Closed. The. Rift. And lived!
This is the stuff of legends. His fingers itch to pick up a pen, to record this very moment for the world. Of course, the heroine slumped over in the snow will have to be changed. He twists the situation with his imagination, crafting it into a better story. The elf's pale, golden hair caught up in the breeze, standing tall with the faintest bit of haughtiness on her features and blood splattered across her face in the most badass of ways. She's every inch the hero. However, there are a few things his imagination can't top: the way the rift's dying shriek echoes off the surrounding cliffs; the way she had leapt into battle with zero hesitation. The elf is even fucking glowing! Even Hawke never managed to glow.
There's no way in hell Cassandra is going to keep him out of this. Whatever this is. And the best way to do that would be to go over her head, ingratiate himself to the hero herself. He tugs at the cuffs of his sleeves, straightening his coat before putting on his best charming-knave-swagger and strolling up to her.
"I don't know how the hell you managed that, but I'm glad you came along." He sticks out a hand, offering the shake. "Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong." He drops a condescending wink for Cassandra and relishes in the grimace she doesn't even bother to stamp down. Ah. There's the Seeker I know and despise.
The woman's hair covers her eyes, but Varric can practically feel her stare burning holes into his palm. He catches a glimpse of ink on chin through the wave of hair and feels like an idiot. Dalish. Of course. She has no idea what a handshake is. He remembers it took over an hour of trying to explain to Merril why anyone would want to hold a stranger's hand. Varric lets the hand fall to his side and notices the way the elf's shoulders relax a slight bit. After two more deep breaths the elf manages to choke out a greeting, if one can call it that. "Nice crossbow you have there."
Varric smiles in approval. This newcomer may just be an alright sort, if she can spot how special Bianca is. He begins to wax poetic about the weapon, but the woman has already turned towards Solas, her stare directed at him now. Varric feels a bit miffed, he's the one talking here, but forgives her when she starts asking the questions he wants the answers to.
"What did you do?" The elf is quiet, but Varric can still hear well enough. The accusation behind her words doesn't sound dangerous when masked with the lilting tone to her voice, reminiscent of Merril's rounded words.
"I did nothing. The credit is yours." Solas replies with a bit of a smile, still staring at her like she's some kind of miracle. And she is, Varric figures. If she can close the rifts, she's something truly special.
The woman pauses long enough that Solas begins to fidget. She hasn't moved her head at all, so Varric guesses she's staring a hole in Solas's big, bald head. "You mean the mark did this," she manages finally. The burr on her pronunciation of her rs betrays an association with Starkhaven. "I know I have never been able to do this before."
Solas simply shrugs. "Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark may be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake. And it seems I was correct."
That catches Cassandra's attention. She almost smiles as she takes her place by the newcomer's side. Cassandra, smiling. That just ain't right. "Meaning it could also close the Breach itself."
Solas seems reluctant to give an answer, but he gives one anyway. "Possibly." He glances at Cassandra just long enough to deliver the one word before looking back to the woman. More silence. More staring. Well, this is awkward.
"Just who are you, anyway?" the elf asks Solas, her tone abrupt. Not one for pleasantries, is she? Varric stifles a snort at the way Solas startles.
"My name is Solas." He offers a crooked smile. Varric curses the angle he's at and his inability to see the elf's face. He's sure her expression is priceless. "I am pleased to see you still live."
Cassandra leans towards the elf to mutter, no doubt trying to keep Varric from overhearing. Foolish Seeker, Tethrases have notoriously keen ears. "He kept the mark from spreading as you slept."
The newcomer makes no effort to keep her words secret, and Varric likes her even more for it. "You seem to know a great deal about it all." Her tone is careful, purposefully light, but it doesn't change the underlying message. She's suspicious. Smart.
Surprisingly, Solas seems to approve of her suspicion just as much as he does. Cassandra speaks up, abandoning her whispers. "Like you, Solas is an apostate."
"Technically, all mages are now apostates, Cassandra." Solas chastises. A distant scream echoes over the frozen river beside him, and Varric is familiar enough with rifts opening to recognize the sound. He tunes out Solas's next words blahblah walking the Fade blahblah strange magic blahblah. Good to know in favor of climbing over the pile of wood to get a better look down the river. He can sees the ghostly form of a wraith drift around the river bend. They're going to have a fight on their hands if they're going toward the forward camps. And it would only be proper for him to offer assistance. Yep, getting to see the hero in action is just a nice side benefit. I'm so selfless.
"Hey!" Varric calls over his shoulder, keeping an eye on the demons drifting over the ice. "You guys may want to get a move on before more demons show up. They are raining from the sky, you know."
"We must get to the forward camp quickly," Cassandra says from somewhere behind him. Footsteps crunch the snow underfoot.
"Whatever you say." Varric starts his way down the slope. A shade stands in the middle of the river a couple hundred yards away. It hasn't noticed him.
"What? Where are you going!" Cassandra's voice raises and her Nevarran accent gets thicker with each word. "You aren't coming with us!"
"Yes, I am. You need my help to get to the camps, don't deny it." Varric unslings Bianca, cranks back the string, and loads a bolt.
"No! No, I demand you turn around and go back to Haven. I command it!"
"Bite me," Varric calls back as he lines up his shot, grinning to himself.
This is going to be one hell of an adventure.
Author's Note:
Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed or favorited!
I debated on whether or not to publish this chapter. It doesn't advance the story much at all, but writing Varric's perspective was a ton of fun. I wanted to explore his reaction to the whole situation a bit. The next chapter will definitely be either Lavellan or Cullen's, though.
As you can tell, I've changed around some events. Several things about the opening didn't make sense to me, such as everyone in Haven knowing who you are, and that you tumbled out of a rift. That seems like the kind of information the advisors, Leliana in particular, would be desperate to keep quiet. Knowing that the Divine's supposed murderer lives seems like the kind of thing that could start a riot. When the whole "coming out of the Fade itself" bit is added in, it makes the situation only more volatile. I think the advisors (or at least my interpretation of them) would have tried to keep your existence as quiet as they could, at least until you woke up.
Following that line of thought, Varric wouldn't know who you are. Cassandra is the only one of the advisors who has reason to talk to him, and she certainly wouldn't tell him, considering their antagonistic relationship. That said, Varric has his own spy network and loves to piss off Cassandra, so he would have dug into it a bit, if only just to spite Cassandra, and thus would have some idea of what's going on. Hence this chapter.
I've also taken some rights with the dialogue in order to make the scene flow correctly and fit my interpretation of characters.
As always, feedback is welcome! If you think of a way to improve the chapter or my writing in general, please don't hesitate to point it out!
To my reviewers:
Juliet: Thanks! And I totally agree. I've been wanting to romance Cullen since he ran away from my Surana in flirt-induced fear in Origins. I was really surprised by how deep his story was. And hella adorable, of course. PurplePatherOfDoom: Oh my Maker, that ending. The moment I beat the game I freaked out for about fifteen minutes, then immediately rolled another elf to 'mance Solas. Expect a story/drabble incoming based on that. I don't know when that will be out, since I'm still working through that playthrough, but it will come out eventually. And if you want to write something, go for it! It's really rewarding.