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A rustling at the flap of Varric's tent caused him to look up from the drivel he was writing. "Come in."
The head that poked itself inside belonged to Vatriss, an elf who worked under the newly formed Inquisition's spymaster, caring for her ravens. Vatriss was also on Varric's payroll. Since communication into and out of Haven was otherwise kept tightly under wraps, Varric found it useful to have secured a loophole for himself.
"They're sending out a flight in the morning," Vatriss told him. "I can add an extra bird or two if you have the messages ready within the hour."
"Come back in twenty minutes, I'll have them for you." Varric thanked the elf, who nodded and ducked back out of the tent.
Hastily, Varric scratched out a message to Hawke. He left off the red lyrium, just saying that he was safe and staying with the Inquisition and not to come looking for him. The letter to Bianca was longer. He went into some detail about the red lyrium in the temple, reminding her about the thaig where the idol had found. So far, that was the only location in the Deep Roads known to contain red lyrium—Varric had told Bianca about the thaig months ago, right after Meredith had gone crazy and turned into a red lyrium statue. He wanted to make sure that if anyone was taking red lyrium out of that thaig that Bianca told him about it … and that she was watching her back if she was still studying the thaig.
Having finished his letters, he handed them over to Vatriss, hoping they would find their respective recipients. Two such different women, he thought, and both of them so impossible.
Which reminded him of a good line. He picked up the quill and started writing, and soon was lost in the story he was creating and had forgotten all about the one he was part of.
Mina was packing up the provisions she had bought, loading them onto her horse, when the hoarse cry of a bird sounded over her head. She looked up to see a raven circling her. Slowly, it fluttered down and landed on her outstretched arm.
"Well, hello. Where did you come from?"
It lifted a leg, and she could see the band around it. Carefully, she removed it and unrolled and unfolded the thin sheet of paper contained within.
As soon as she had it in hand, the bird took off again, flying south, she noted.
Hastily she scanned the paper, the closely written words in Varric's familiar handwriting. Her heart leaped. Maker, she missed that stubborn dwarf. He said nothing, all told. That he was fine, that there had been red lyrium in the temple in Haven but he was sure it was nothing to worry about, and not to come after him.
Mina wanted to. More than anything in the world, she wanted to be at Varric's side, facing down whatever he was going to be facing. But red lyrium … that was a real problem.
She turned the horse toward Val Royeaux. Surely buried in some forgotten library there, someone had done research on red lyrium. And if not, maybe she'd find answers in Orzammar. Either way, she was heading south—and closer to Varric.
Rosalind approached the Spymaster's tent, surprised to find Leliana on her knees in prayer.
"Is that what you want from us?" she was asking, her voice rising with the depth of her emotion. "Blood? To die so that Your will is done?" Disturbed by Rosalind's presence, Leliana looked up at her, anger edging her tone. "You speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker's prophet have to say about all of this? What's His game?"
"I don't speak for anyone," Rosalind reminded her. This 'Herald of Andraste' business hadn't been her idea, and she didn't intend to play into it any more than she had to.
Leliana sighed. "So many innocent lives. The faithful, murdered where the holiest of holies once stood. If the Maker willed this, what is it if not a game or a cruel joke?"
Rosalind shrugged. "Awful things happen every day. That's just life."
"So we're all pawns, to be discarded when the Maker's done with us? He demands it all. Our lives; our deaths. Justinia gave him everything she had, and he let her die!"
"If you're going to be angry, be angry at the people who murdered her."
"Naturally … but if the Maker doesn't intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is He? I used to believe I was chosen, just as some say you are. I thought I was fulfilling His purpose for me, working with the Divine, helping people. But now she's dead. It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant nothing." Leliana spat the last words.
Comfort wasn't exactly Rosalind's specialty, and she was too angry herself to be particularly moved by Leliana's wrath. "Bad things happen to good people. We all know that. It's what you do now, how you move forward, that matters. Forget the Maker. Do what you can to aid these people, to find the answers, to bring whoever caused all this to justice."
Leliana stared at her, eventually nodding. "You make a good point." She pulled herself together with obvious effort, speaking more briskly. "I have something I would like you to look into. Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished. I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared. Ordinarily I wouldn't even consider the idea that they're involved in all of this, but the timing is … curious."
Grey Wardens? Rosalind hadn't thought about them at all, not since the Blight, but she supposed they must still exist.
"My agents in the Hinterlands have received news about a Grey Warden named Blackwall who has taken up residence there. If you have the opportunity, please seek him out. Perhaps he can … put my mind at ease."
Rosalind wondered if she'd imagined the hesitation, and the faint quaver in Leliana's voice. Still, she had to go back to the Hinterlands anyway, continuing her work toward getting Horsemaster Dennet to trust his beasts to the Inquisition. Might as well curry favor with Leliana by doing what she asked.
"Get me a map of his location and I'll look into it."
"Thank you."
Leliana stood at the pole of her tent watching Rosalind walk away for a long time. Part of her wished she had been able to tell the Herald the truth, but if this Blackwall wasn't Alistair … She didn't even dare to get her hopes up. Not the way everything was going these days.