Rivaini,

All kinds of shit has gone down since my last letter. Not sure if you'll get this before you sail, but I'm hoping it'll catch you so you're warned.

Buzz had another of her bleeding from everywhere episodes, no red lyrium involved this time. At least physically. She says she remembered something about that entire traveling to Thedas thing, and that she collapsed when she tried to tell Daisy. She and Blondie seem to think that the red crap was involved somehow, and from how she was acting, I have to say I believe it.

I hate to say that's the good news, but it pretty much is.

She managed to nearly have another seizure trying to write it down for us. That she apparently can't even think about it without bleeding from her eyes made her freak out, then collapse into something dark. Even Daisy can't get her out of it, and we made sure to put the new locks on all of the booze. She's barely talking to anyone, even Daisy. Worse, I'm pretty sure the two of them were about to finally make a few moves right before all of this happened. Daisy's definitely rattled too, and burying herself in her magical crap again.

Buzz is heading out of the city soon on an errand for the Viscount and Stone-Face, they're sending her to crash some rural noble's party to make a point. It was basically a perfect excuse to get her away from the city for a bit. I hoped it might take the edge off, but it's only made her tighten up even worse and I've got no idea why.

Also, there's a Qunari situation. And Stone-Face hugged her like she was her long-lost daughter.

Shit is weird, and I don't know where to begin. Get your ass back here soon as you can. At this point I'll help you drag both Daisy and Merrill to bed if it means getting them both back to normal.

Varric

To Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard

From Dame Maeve

I've asked the rest of the people I want to take with, and they've all agreed. Guard-Captain Brennan Evighan will be with to represent the City's Guard and handle legalities, Knight-Lieutenant Thrask will represent the Templar Order, and Deshyr Varric Tethras will represent the merchant interests.

That should make it clear who has the power in the March right now, just in case the western nobles forgot that they're loyalty's supposed to be to Kirkwall, not to Orlais. The Viscount's office says travel time will be a week by fast carriage, and that the event itself will last about a week. I'll probably take my time on the way back, so assume we'll be gone for at least a month.

- Maeve, titles

To Dame Maeve,
From Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard

Maeve,

I have a final order for you before you depart; you will take my squire with as well, to give the girl a better grounding in diplomatic events. If you can also teach her better fortwork with a blade I take it as a personal favor.

Your planned schedule and team otherwise meets with the city's expectations. I trust that you will indulge yourself appropriately, and that you will be suitably wary while you are there.

While they should be intelligent enough to not cause problems with figures as important to this city as yourself, the Deshyr, and the Guard Captain, never underestimate the idiocy of fools. Be on your guard until you return.

Meredith, titles.

To Evelyn Trevelyan,

From Maeve

You're coming with us, per Meredith. Be at Varric's place at dawn in three days with your travel bags.

Don't think it's a vacation either. Meredith wants me to train you while we're gone.

Anders,

I leave the city for a few days to run down a slaver and everything seems to have gone to hell. What happened, and why is the blood mage moping about Varric's estate alone?

Fenris

Fenris,

It's a long story. Hanged Man tonight, and I'll tell you about it.

Anders

To Hawke,

From Merrill,

Hello Hawke,

I don't really know who else to write, since Isabella is probably sailing right now. Or at least I hope she's sailing, I really want her to get her soon. Both because I have the key for the Eluvian, but also because I need her advice. A lot of advice really.

I'm babbling on paper again. I'm sorry.

Maeve and I tried to be intimate. I think we were about to be, I mean. Then she tried to tell me something, about where she's from or how she's got here, I'm really not sure, and she started bleeding in her tears. And she nearly bit through her tongue. And Anders said she had a seizure. She was in my lap when all of that happened. I tried to kiss her once after that, but I couldn't. All I could see was the blood in her eyes. I kissed her cheek instead, like we always do, and I don't think she noticed I almost did something else.

We, um, also had a bit of a row. She left on a mission of some kind for the Viscount. A diplomatic event with nobles or something. I wanted to go with, but she said I had to stay to make the keystone. I knew it wouldn't take long, and we argued. I'm getting very tired of being left behind just because I am Dalish. I would have been perfectly safe with her and everyone else there. She still made me stay.

I don't like being angry with her, but I really am. But then I remember her expression, the blood, and I don't know what to feel. I don't know what to do until she gets back. I don't know what to do when she gets back.

Help? I'm going to write Maharial as well, but you know how busy he is, and you're always lounging around your castle so I thought you'd be able to reply quicker.

Merrill

To Knight-Captain Rutherford,

From A Grey Warden,

The men you assigned to try and follow me were not nearly subtle enough, nor skilled enough to avoid attention in Darktown. I patched them up after they foolishly got themselves into a fight with the Coterie, and trust that you will find this letter attached to the largest of the fools.

Also, don't bother asking the Elves to try and track me. They like me better than you.

To answer the unspoken question between us, no. I have not heard from nor seen Amell, nor that cursed Witch he took up with. A rumor last year that came out to nothing. While I will certainly never turn either over to the tender mercies of your Order, I would happily box them both about the ears for you if I ever see them again.

Coivea Ráca

Longing was carefully inspecting its secondary tethers, identifying those whose usefulness for its plans was nearing an end. Those who it could transfer to the lesser spirits it had bound to itself, to keep them satiated, content, loyal.

It had been pruning those branches more often recently. Should its plans regarding the mortal Maeve fall through, it could always locate new ones. There were always mortals who longed for that which they could not have, who desired beyond their station. But for now many were a distraction, and provided little of use.

Settling on a rough dozen to keep, an even mix of Wardens and Mages, it was preparing to decide which of the others would go to which spirit when a slight brush of magic rose through the currents.

It paused in its work, feeling out just who was attempting to contact it... and felt a low pulse of concern when it did.

Hesitating for a bare moment, it checked its strongest tether, finding Maeve's emotions still simmering but under control. Distant. Awake. Traumatized still, bleak and despairing, but she was protected and conscious.

Content that its primary asset remained safe, it did not bother replying to the slender touch. Instead it simply dove down, plunging through the wild currents, scattering lesser spirits and wisps before it, as fish would flee before a shark.

It had rather liked that analogy ever since it watched videos of such creatures in Maeve's memories.

The rush of movement faded as it arrived at its destination, far too close to the Veil for the comfort of most spirits. It drew itself down, together, forming a shell out of courtesy to the Elder who dwelled here, one who preferred to remain in such a shape rather than not.

Longing stretched its arms above its head, dismissing the clothing it had come to favor. Instead it wrapped itself in the light silks of ancient Arlathon; teasing rather than revealing, and what would be expected by those who awaited its arrival.

Thusly prepared, it strode into the hedgerows and gardens of Wisdom, the twisting maze reforming into a straight line at the will of the demesne's master.

Wisdom, wearing the shell of Mythal, sat cross legged upon a bench made of books. The smile of its shell was matched by a courteous little flicker of power, voice and magic speaking together.

"Welcome, Longing, Elder of Desire." Wisdom bowed its head. "Thank you for answering my call."

Longing bowed in return. "It is a fair repayment for your answering of my own some time past. And you are better company than most of our age. I had feared a call from Imshael once more."

Wisdom flickered a hand. "Eldest Choice is tormenting and rewarding mortals once again."

"As always." A separate, masculine voice spoke, drawing Longing's attention to the other figure within the garden.

The Dread Wolf was lounging as an enormous beast, its own power coiling and rippling through its fur. Five red eyes were opened, staring at the spirits before them. The sixth remained shut, but there was a twitch to its eyelid that betrayed the Wolf's slow wakening was near its completion. Its attention brought with a pressure to shift its shell, to take a form that the semi-mortal's soul wished to see.

A pulse of irritation came with pain, tuned out and not reacted to. A lash of magic kept its shell in place, not allowing Fen'harel to dictate how it would appear.

"Wolf." Longing intoned, far less respectfully. "Had I known you yet lingered I may not have come."

One of the last Evanuris frowned as best its shell could. "It was by my request that Wisdom called to you."

More irritation brought more pain.

A wave of the shell's hand sent power rippling out, washing over the Wolf, a brute-force check of its emotions. The would-be-God snarled at the impossibly rude intrusion, its mental barriers quickly armoring themselves further to block any true reading.

"Longing." Wisdom chided. "Do not be petulant. He requested wisdom of me which I cannot give, and so he asked instead that I reach out to you so that you might fulfill his desire for answers to his questions."

It did not apologize, instead crossing the arms of its form. At least Wisdom was holding to its bargain with Longing. It had not told him what they had spoken of, or else the Wolf would be fare more hostile. ""Speak your desire, Wolf, so that I might deny it to you."

Five scarlet eyes narrowed further. "You act beyond your nature, spirit. That is not the way of things."

Longing stared the great beast down in return, chin lifting. "I act within my nature, in my own way, as I see fit. The opinions of mortal butchers are of no concern of mine."

Oh but it felt the spike of fury, of boiling guilt, when that verbal barb struck home.

The Wolf openly snarled, only for Wisdom to abruptly appear between them, its own form shifting from Mythal-Queen to Mythal-Warrior.

"Longing." It snapped, furiously, cracks appearing in the shell under its own prideful anger. "You are a guest in my demesne! You shall not treat a fellow guest in such a way! Apologize or begone!"

Longing arched an eyebrow in the way that many mortals did when amused. It knew it was supposed to apologize. Supposed to bow, request forgiveness, and return to acting within its nature.

Perhaps once it would have.

That day it sketched a mocking bow, turned, and began to stride back the way it had come.

Wisdom's gasp, a ripple of magic, betrayed its shock that Longing would rather depart than act as requested by its host. Would rather depart than act within its role.

The Wolf's growl was longer, louder. "Longing. I desire an answer to a question."

Its feet paused, a sharp tug at its power forcing it to stop before something tore. Its nature acting against it, as it always did in the most frustrating of fashions.

A turn of its head, a motion for the ancient creature to speak.

"Wisdom has begun to hear tales of Veils beyond my own." It growled. "Crude, lesser creations that come and go, but which disrupt my own creation. You have acquired a reputation as a broker of knowledge among those of the Fade. I would know who is responsible, how they learned the ancient magics."

Longing did not need to breathe, as mortals did. But its shell inhaled all the same, its power wrapping tightly in preparation for what would come.

"No." It said.

Pain slammed into it a moment later. It felt its power cracking, shifting, creaking. Felt an eye of its shell burn away, scars ruining features so carefully crafted to attract. Its power writhed in pain, coiling, burning, withstanding. A pain not felt since it had acted against Maeve's will to save her, to give it the access it had needed through her lesser Veil.

Wisdom stared, power pulsing with horror as Longing was racked with pain before it.

The Dread Wolf stared, radiating disapproval that a spirit would attempt to act as a mortal might.

Longing lingered until the pain faded, slowly pulling its tendrils of power back together, maintaining its shell for a moment more.

"Do not call upon me again." It said. "I have no interest in either of you any longer."

Then it let its shell collapse, its true formless state surging back into the currents, plunging deep into the Fade to recover.

...and to warn its contractor.

Maeve needed to know that the Wolf was awake. That her less than subtle magics had attracted his attention, at a time when she was in no way ready to deal with such a problem.

It would have to be ready to support her. It could not see her slip into madness, despair, guilt. Could not let her be consumed by others.

If it did... it might never escape this confined existence.