All Fall Down
By: SurreptitiousFox245
Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls or Dragon Age. All rights go towards their respective peoples. I only own my OCs and the plot. I also don't own Assassin's Creed. Since I used a quote from Unity, I figured I'd add that for safe measure.
Quick Author's Note: So. Sorry 'bout the wait. There's really no reason for it, other than the fact that I was hospitalized during the last week of August for depression and PTSD, got out, had to deal with outpatient stuff, then the holidays hit, and family problems, and this, that, and the other. Busy busy busy. On a good note, though, I got accepted to the college I reeeeeeaaally wanted to go to, and I received the scholarship that pays entirely for tuition! Only a few more months, and I'll be a college student. God, where has the time gone? I still remember my first day of Kindergarten _
Anyway, I'm not entirely proud of this chapter, considering I was fighting my way out of a block when I wrote it. It's also a lot of description of what Lys has been up to since I skipped a few years, but I did that for a reason. This is going to be set primarily during Inquisition, so I'm just glossing over the years in between before we get to the "good stuff". So, without further adieu, enjoy!
"In the end, only we can guard ourselves against our obsessions. Only we can decide whether the road we walk carries too high a toll."
~ Arno Dorian "Assassin's Creed: Unity"
Chapter 3 (Amaryllis)
~Thedas – 9:34 Dragon~
You glowered down at the mug of ale clenched in your hands fruitlessly. Around you, the bawdy sounds of a tavern song accompanied by boisterous chatter of said tavern's patrons echoed joyfully, but the utter elation of the late evening crowd was the polar opposite of the sour mood in which you were currently immersed. You had been waiting at the small table for over three hours for your contact to show, and there had been not even a sign of the man since he was supposed to have arrived. To say you were frustrated would have been an understatement.
You would remain patient, however. Patience was a trait that you had quickly learned in your line of work was quite coveted, and keeping a level head had helped you out more often than not. You reached a slim hand swathed in a black leather glove up to shift the ironbark mask affixed to your face, a nervous habit you had developed since you had taken to wearing the thing. You hadn't become such a successful information broker by losing your temper.
A small, emotionless smile crept up on your hidden face as your hand dropped back down to rest upon the table. Becoming a trader of information hadn't been intended, but you couldn't deny that you liked the path you had accidentally carved for yourself. In retrospect, it made perfect sense. All while you had been…recuperating among the hospitality of the Sabrae clan, you had been itching to not only learn more about the world you found yourself in, but of how you had come to be there in the first place. Marethari only had so many books and scrolls and oral traditions to pass down, and even then, most of those were simply cultural stories. In fact, it had been the Keeper who had planted the idea of leaving the clan into your head. You hadn't liked it at first. How would you blend in? Your distinctly Altmeri face obviously stood out in a crowd, and you and Marethari couldn't fathom a Chantry or Circle allowing you, some mysterious stranger, access to their libraries and records.
That was where the mask had come in. After figuring out that you acquired a very limited field of vision based on skin contact, the first thing that had been done had been a test to see if the "pseudo-vision", as you had taken to calling it, worked if your eyes were blocked. When the results had been positive, you had quickly decided that wearing a mask to obstruct your face was the best idea. You'd sneak around if you had to – after all, you had never had problems skulking about where you didn't really belong. The mask was merely a precaution on the unavoidable occasions where you were glimpsed.
Throughout the year that you had remained with the clan, you had taken to the craftsman who had repaired your daggers, Ilen. While you hadn't a talent for making weapons, armor, and other various trinkets like the older Dalish, the two of you had found a sort of kindred spirit in the nature of exchanging various stories and tales while he worked. When Marethari wasn't available to do so, Ilen would teach you various aspects of Dalish culture, and in return, you would regale him with muted stories of some of your more mellow escapades in Skyrim. One of the ones you had told him, despite your better judgment, had been about your accidental run-in with a Dragon Priest while scouring an old Nordic ruin for Jarl Idgrod. You hadn't thought much of his questioning about the resurrected priest's mask until you were presented with what felt to be a nearly exact Ironbark replica of the thing the morning you were to depart the Clan for the nearby city of Kirkwall.
You had been touched by the sentiment behind the gift, as well as gracious. It was sturdy, much less likely to slip from your face than the winding cloths you had originally intended to use. You allowed yourself to sit, gather information, and begin the start of your budding "business", for lack of a better term, (you had discovered quite quickly that the useless bits of information you gathered while searching for your own answers were often very valuable to other people) for a few months in Kirkwall before quickly moving on, but the damage had been done. Information brokers in Thedas weren't unheard of, but it was considered rare for one to pick up the morally-questionable trade and flourish in it. The fact that you worked through dead-drops was even rarer. Much to your chagrin, the people in Kirkwall's underground had started calling you the "Shadow Broker".
It took a while after you had moved your work to Ostwick for you to start accepting the name and role you had unintentionally created for yourself in your search for answers, but you started humoring the metaphorical crowds by leaving a calling card at your dead drops – an amaryllis flower. It wasn't long after that various underground networks in the Free Marches started interchanging "Shadow Broker" with "Amaryllis". It honestly didn't matter to you what your clients called you – the whole thing really only served to amuse, which was why you kept up the frivolous acts, even going so far as to plant amaryllis bulbs in set locations in each of the city-states. The areas served as places for you to announce through carefully manipulating the color of the flowers via magic what you had information about. Offers would be made in a simpler manner via amounts written on scraps of paper hidden in whichever nook or well-concealed crevasse you had chosen for the amaryllis to grow near. There was usually a nickname or other alias scribbled along with the amount, leaving you with the tedious task of tracking down the so-called "winner" and, usually by way of a conveniently placed note, informing them of where you were placing the information they had bought and when they were to go acquire it.
You sighed. It was a somehow simple-yet-complicated system and you couldn't even remember exactly how it had emerged anymore – it was just a thing that simply was and you had more sense than to worry yourself questioning it. In fact, you were fairly certain the whole thing came about, much like you becoming a broker in the first place, as a fluke. The only part that mattered was that, while the last step was quite a pain, it worked. Accident or not, you had a good system going; why question or change it?
Still, though, as your fame – or perhaps infamy – grew, your clientele became more and more curious about whom exactly you were. Since you couldn't have any of them even catching a glimpse of your mask since you wore it on the off occasions you had to sneak into a building, you started employing people to frequent the amaryllis blooms to check for any new bids. Of course, this, too, was done primarily in secret and through dead drops, but you did your research before "approaching" someone.
At least, you had until you met Dand.
Your contact – if you could even call him that – was a mammoth of a Fereldan warrior who worked as a rather intimidating member of a mercenary gang. He was the last person one would have expected to be spying for an information broker, and perhaps that had been why you had chosen him. You had first seen him and his company, Bloodlight, as you were leaving Kirkwall three years before. They had been fighting some overzealous Tal-Vashoth that had camped a little too far from the Wounded Coast, and as you had hidden yourself away in the shadows, you had thought only passively that the surly older man wielding the warhammer had a good, firm swing. There was nothing special about his dented pauldrons or slightly overlong-and-greying black hair that you could somewhat see courtesy of the bared fingertips you had pressed to the ground – just that he had a good swing that probably came from years of experience.
No, he hadn't stood out to you until the fight was over, when the bear of a man had turned his head and sent a small, cocky little grin of acknowledgement directly at your masked face hiding behind some scraggly bushes and willow trees.
In the year that you had taken to the constant cover of the shadows – and, indeed, in all the years since – no one but Dand had been able to tell you were even nearby, let alone unhesitatingly land their eyes directly on you. It was that perceptiveness that had made the then-nameless mercenary stick firmly in your head. When you had moved on to Ostwick, you had kept an ear out for the mercenary group called Bloodlight (a hyperactive dwarven woman had shouted the name brashly in victory during your first semi-encounter with them, and the name's poetic nature had stuck with you much the same way as Dand had). Soon enough, they had wandered into the area, and instead of doing your usual note-dropping and subterfuge, you waited until the Fereldan warrior was alone before approaching him directly and in person.
You hadn't wasted time with preamble, coming right out and asking him if he would spy for you, for all intents and purposes. As a mercenary of a group with a good reputation, you had explained, his group – and him by extension – would be hired from time to time by people of interest to many of your clients. You were hiring him, in turn, to spy on those "people of interest". Most of your job was relatively simple – you just had to listen. The same applied to Dand. All he had to do was keep an ear out and report anything of interest he found. The man had a keen eye and an even keener business sense, so it didn't take much persuasion to get him to agree to use his perception and skills of observation for your benefit while Bloodlight would receive the odd anonymous "donation" of much-needed, as you later found out, coin from you. You had conversed with him personally because you had a good feeling about him, like he had the potential to be a good investment of the risk and a huge asset. You hadn't found yourself disappointed in the couple of year since.
Having not spoken more than a few words to him since, you figured it better, if not a bit amusing. As much as it annoyed him, you hadn't even given him so much as an alias by which to refer to you. A good six months back you had decided to let the man have control over your "employees" and occasionally make runs to dead drops for you when he was in the area to check on the progress of bids. You had also given him reign to recruit people for various tasks as he saw fit, so long as he informed you of updates regularly. This had the two of you meeting bi-monthly, and Dand had turned "guess the Broker's name" and "just give her some random nickname when she finally gets too annoyed" into almost ritualistic games that you found had settled over you with the frightening comfort of familiarity.
As it was, the only reason you found yourself situated in the small Fereldan tavern was because it was the fifteenth of Drakonis and one of your scheduled meets with Dand to discuss any changes with the System, as the two of you had started calling it. Also, you frowned, Dand had sent a letter via messenger bird (a risky thing that neither of you bothered with unless the need was dire) saying that a potential job had cropped up from a rather unlikely employer and to meet him in a small village near Amaranthine. At first, you had thought he was talking about Bloodlight, but a more careful reading seemed to imply that the mentioned job was more of the Broker variety and your curiosity (and wariness) had spiked through the proverbial roof.
Alas, he was three hours late, and your ire was quickly rising as you quietly ordered a mug of tea in lieu of the ale you had previously been sipping. The serving girl looked at your scowling mask nervously before skittering away to get your tea, and you fought a grimace. You liked the mask, but it wasn't exactly ideal for the times when you needed to make a public appearance.
"I see you're scarin' the locals already, Ursa," You wrinkled your nose at the familiar rumbling voice as a heavy form dropped itself without warning in the chair across from you. Speak of the Daedra and it shall appear…
You nodded to the still-skittish serving girl who had very quickly returned with a mug of steaming black tea, "If you're going to attempt guessing my name, please pick something that at least makes sense. I'm elven. Why would I have a Tevene name? You're two hours late, by the way. I've been here for three." You settled for warming your gloved hands on the mug, not daring move your mask to drink it with Dand close enough to glimpse your face if you tried.
Dand's laugh was loud, rough, and heartily Fereldan, mixing in with the other noises in the tavern as if it had belonged there all its life, "Oh, come on! I've been through my limited list of Dalish names and you denied every single one of them. Got to thinkin' maybe you're an escaped slave from Seheron or somethin'. Would explain that creepy ass mask, anyway." You sighed exasperatedly.
"My mask isn't creepy. It's a grim work of art," you reminded him. In truth the whole conversation so far could have practically been scripted; it happened every time the two of you met like clockwork. "You didn't give me an answer, Dand. You were supposed to be here two hours ago. What kept you?"
A plate was set in front of the warrior with a THUNK! The scent emitting from the food indicated that particular tavern's specialty of roast with lumpy mashed potatoes. "Tegna was injured on our last job. Dot healed her as well as he could, but we were in the middle of a village, so he had to be discreet about it. Tryin' to get her stubborn ass to agree to be carried took up half of the trip. Maker damn her dwarven pride. Don't see why she couldn't 'ave left it back in bloody Orzammar…" You smiled a bit, fighting a snort of laughter. That sounded much like the artificer Dand had ranted about on one-too-many occasions.
You paused a moment to allow the scraping of a fork against a food-laden plate to subside before you asked airily, "So, this job you mentioned in your letter. It sounded important." You felt eyes settling on you uneasily, and you didn't need to see them to imagine the usually mirthful grey eyes darkened to a storm cloud color, the scar running through his right eye only adding to the gruffness of Dand's forty year old face. The hooked nose was crooked in several spots from being broken thrice, and there was another thick and angry scar running along his left cheekbone. It was slightly red due to its relative freshness of four months, and contrasted starkly with the light mocha skin that indicated the man's Rivaini heritage. His hair, a dark charcoal streaked with grey, reached just past his shoulders and was tied back sloppily just so as to keep it out of his eyes. You had wondered at first why he didn't just cut it off, but you had learned rather quickly that the man was worryingly attached to his thin curls for reasons he refused to divulge to anyone.
"Ah, that," groused Dand around a mouthful of potato after a terse moment. "Figured you'd have wanted to get the System dealins' over with first, Sighs." You fought the urge to live up to the nickname once it emerged. According to the Fereldan, you sighed a lot, hence the name he usually resorted to once he gave up on his self-imposed guessing game.
You quirked an eyebrow, though it couldn't be seen, "You sent a letter about it. If it was important enough for a letter, it takes priority over normal proceedings."
Another terse moment passed with only the tavern sounds and Dand's chewing to break what would have been an awkward silence. He was reluctant to answer. No, you corrected yourself, lacing your fingers together and resting your chin on them casually. He was apprehensive, like he wasn't sure just how you were going to take whatever news it was he wished to break to you. You hoped it was good, but, then again, in your line of work, news was rarely anything of the sort.
"Dand?"
Groaning, the beefy man pushed his half-empty plate away from him, "Please, Sighs? I'm still not sure what to make about the whole thing. It's…odd."
You frowned, "Maybe I could help, but I can't if you won't tell me. What is going on and why is it odd?" Broker patience in the face of frustration – you had never loved it more than that moment.
Dand crossed his armor-swathed arms, the gauntlets clinking against the metallic chest plate as he leaned heavily back in the creaky wooden chair, "Alright, alright. You win. I checked the drop by Starkhaven last week when the company passed through. There were several requests for the posted info, all around twelve sovereigns and a handful of silver."
"Twelve sovereigns for in-depth Carta activity?" You scoffed. "And here I thought my Starkhaven regulars weren't cheapskates – those reports I swiped are worth at least twenty. Who bid?"
He answered briskly, "Several Carta representatives bid tryin' to keep the information internal. Also, there were offers from two prominent Coterie smugglers, a retired Templar who thinks he has to clean up the streets, and I'm almost positive now that S.R.J. is a Friend of Red Jenny. But that wasn't all."
You slowly copied his stance, "A new bidder? I trust you checked it out." It wasn't a question.
"Yeah. Went quite poetically by 'Griffon'…and you'll never believe who it was." Rolling your eyes, you waved a hand.
"Well, get on with it! Some of us don't have all day," you grumbled at him.
Dand scrubbed a hand across his face as if annoyed by your tone, looking around quickly before lowering his voice. You leaned forward; you were suddenly curious about why he was being so cautious. "It was the Hero of Ferelden." You blinked once. Twice. Thrice.
…oh…
Final Words: Yeah...I did take the idea for the name "Shadow Broker" from Mass Effect. I didn't take the idea of an information trader from there, though. I like to think that it was a logical thing for Lys to do to support herself. Think about it - she's blind, from another world, and, more importantly, LOOKS like she's from another world. If she were to go and try to get a "normal" Thedossian job, I don't think she'd be brushed off as an anomaly for very long, if at all. Questions would be asked, tests would be run. It'd be a mess, and she'd never get any closer to answering her questions of "What happened?", "Can I reverse it?", and/or "Are there more people from Nirn like me?". Keeping herself masked avoids Thedossian attention, and not using her real name avoids anyone unsavory with connections to Nirn recognizing her. The whole reason she's in Thedas in the first place is because she was trying to stop the Thalmor (if you couldn't figure that out by now...). If there are any Thalmor or Thalmor sympathizers in Thedas, too, she's putting herself at risk if she puts her name or anything identifiable to her out in the open. Regardless of if any other survivors are hidden away or not.
Just my semi-mentioned headcanon, though. You all, as the reader, can think what you will about what I choose not to really explain. That's the wonderful thing about stories - some of it CAN be left up to your imagination.
Also, the new cover image? It's a drawing I did of Lys and Dand. I was bored. Don't judge me.
Well, I hope you all found the cliffhanger suspenseful enough and, more importantly, enjoyed the chapter as a whole. :)
~SurreptitiousFox
