Chapter Text
Varric made his way over to Olis. He had not seen her during the battle. Of course she was small, but she fought like a rabid nug. If she’d been present, he would have noticed her.
Cassandra seemed of a similar mind. “Where were you?”
“My apologies.” Olis frowned. “I truly wanted to kill the griffin, but a woman called for me. Griffins are shy I thought ‘twould fly off ‘ere I caught up to it, so I went to her instead.”
“Who stopped you?” Cassandra asked, casting a look around.
“Her name is Fiona. She said she had many mages who would help us close the Breach.”
“The leader of the mage rebellion?” Varric scanned the area. No, if Fiona had been here, she was gone now.
“Mayhap. I know little of it.” Olis’ shoulders slumped. “Please forgive me for my absence. Though Fiona said she sent help, I was too late to participate myself.”
Varric sent another glance across the square. Many injured and the plaza was positively destroyed. But… he couldn’t see any still bodies. Or rebel mages. Had Fiona really sent some people? He’d noticed mages joining earlier but now Solas was the only one left. Poor Chuckles looked especially grumpy and exhausted.
“It’s alright.” Cassandra hesitantly patted Olis’ shoulder. “You never need to apologise for not heading into danger. We want and need you to be safe first.”
Not untrue. Varric smiled at Olis. “And we managed just fine. You said griffins don’t usually fight?”
“Yes.” Olis studied the remains of the square. “They attack only for food and are very shy. ‘Tis strange indeed.”
“Could someone have controlled the griffin?” Varric asked. Corypheus was a blood mage. Did he have more griffins? Scary thought.
“To make it attack?” Olis asked. “’Tis not impossible. Has anyone died?”
Varric blinked. That was direct.
“No,” Solas said, appearing next to them and looking even more exhausted up close. “I could tend to the wounded, though they might feel safer if you supervised, Seeker Cassandra.”
Ah. Varric grimaced. He understood the fear of mages. He’d fought so many blood mages that he would never forget the stench. But he also knew Hawke and how useful magic healing could be. Even Anders’ free clinic had saved many lives back in Kirkwall. Less than this war had cost, probably, but to those he’d saved it had meant the world.
Cassandra sighed but nodded. “I will join you. Olis, Varric.” She sent him a meaningful look. “Please stay safe.”
Varric watched their two companions walk among the injured and relaxed a bit. The battle was over for now. True, he’d seen people at their worst. But even in prissy Orlais people were ready to step up when the going got tough. Solas and the Seeker weren’t the only ones, several people were clearing away the aftermath.
“Are you alright, Varric?”
“Me?” He patted himself down. “Just fine, kid.” He shrugged. “So what did Fiona tell you?”
“She has invited me to Redcliffe to talk about the Breach and how it might be closed.” Olis settled down on an upturned chair. “Do you know Fiona?”
He followed suit and shook his head. “No, just what you hear. Could be a load of dung for all I know.” He grimaced. “You don’t seem to know much about the mage rebellion. What’s it like in - Gransys?” He had a good memory for names, but it had been a while since she mentioned her home country. “Are mages treated well there?” Around them people continued to clean up and Varric felt a stab of guilt for resting. Then again neither of them was suited to clearing rubble. Olis was slight and being short didn’t help either of them.
“Mages are people,” Olis told him. “As such they are treated with respect when rich and pity when poor.” She snickered. “Or fear, if they’re powerful enough. Our courtmage betrayed the King to steal a powerful ring.” Olis held up her hand, a ring nestled in her fist.
He studied it. A heavy iron band with a ruby inside. It didn’t look especially valuable. A smirk stretched across his face. “So you stole it right back?” Not as straitlaced as one would assume with her talk of saving the world and being sent by the Maker. Nothing wrong with that, of course. A pleasant surprise, almost.
“No, I defeated him, forged the ring and gave the King a forgery.” She grinned at him. “’Tis too useful an item to rest in a treasure.”
His eyebrows rose. Not a trace of shame. “What does it do?”
“The ring helps channel magic, so spells are completed faster.” She threw the priceless ring she’d stolen into the air and caught it again, letting it slip into her backpack. “’Tis almost necessary for some spells, I’d wager.” She smiled at him. “Though I shan’t be able to forge aught here. What stories would you tell of your exploits?”
He snorted involuntarily. The Tale of the Champion had featured him as well. It was strange to have someone not know about it at all. “I’ve published a book about my more famous deeds. Of course I wasn’t the main character, you could say.”
“Oh! But what of those you would not put in a book?”
Hah. Well, she had shared a story of how she’d come to own a nifty ring. “None of my exploits ever led to mystical items.” Barring the horrible red lyrium idol he’d rather not talk about. “Mostly it’s just sending people to acquire deeds and rights. Not very exciting to hear about.” And more often than not bailing out his friends and family.
She hummed. “I’ve ne’er stolen a deed ‘afore. Were you successful in your task?”
“Ah, yeah.” They chattered about banalities until Solas and Cassandra finished up, watching as the city healed in front of their eyes. How odd.
Solas wanted to sleep, preferably for a few more decades. Healing a couple of people should not have taxed him this much. It wouldn’t have, before. As he followed the Seeker back to the others, he could barely focus on the street beneath his feet. Some of it still torn up. A skilled mage could easily fix the damage, though the humans would likely seek a different means.
He leaned on his staff when they picked up Olis and the dwarf, each of them looking enviously well-rested. He hadn’t seen Olis at the battle, but she could turn invisible so that didn’t mean much. Where had she learnt it? Truly from passing travellers? He stifled a yawn and nodded at the appropriate times. The sooner he found a bed, the better. It had been a very long day. At this point he’d do with the ground and a bedroll.
The inn Varric had chosen was tucked out of the way, between an alchemist and a cobbler. It was clean, the room easy to secure and cheap enough. Once again Varric was footing the bill for their adventure. Solas would have felt better if the Inquisition had paid. There was a quick discussion on how best to prepare for their nightly activities before Solas headed for bed. He was overtaxed and the details of their plans didn’t mean much when Olis led them. How annoying that he had to sleep to replenish his energy. Even so, he’d have an opportunity to investigate.
The Fade was colourful and very busy. Not that he was surprised. Val Royaeux was a human capital. The number of people and feelings attracted spirits and demons of all kinds. He’d decided to peer into the recent battle with the griffin. Perhaps that might clarify how and why such a creature had attacked.
At the very least it hadn’t looked like the griffins he knew. The monster he found in the Fade rose up far bigger than the beast they’d fought. It towered over the city, claws malformed and twisted. Solas watched with a frown. Of course it would be distorted here. But that wasn’t what he was interested in. He wandered through the city streets, past golden lions carrying noble princesses - children’s fantasies. Finally, near a gleaming fountain he spotted a different angle of the griffin. Here it looked more like a dragon, majestic and fierce but dangerous. Scales glittered in place of feathers and he felt wary. Hmm. Cassandra, perhaps? He could see her even from where he stood. Distorted by so many impressions she was a shining beacon against the griffin, white cape flowing dramatically in the wind. He chuckled to himself.
Varric had faded into the masses, as had Olis, surprisingly. How was that possible? He’d found Olis in the Fade before so that couldn’t be the reason. What was preventing him from seeing her? Had nobody paid attention to her? But he couldn’t even find a mysterious shadow to signal her invisibility. As he ascended the city’s marble stairs the vision below shifted again and he paused.
The griffin looked vicious, claws longer and sharper than before but all he felt was grim triumph and the excitement of a success after a string of failures. Solas carefully twisted around, trying to make out the source of this impression. Scattered figures stood behind him, none evoking the emotions of the griffin. He frowned and summoned a spirit.
Curiosity responded, flitting around and touching the scene here and there, bringing a new filter to the recent events. Suddenly everything seemed much more interesting, more exciting - newer.
He shook off the emotions and followed the spirit. “Please,” he said and offered a memory of Olis’ words about magic, “can you tell me where this griffin came from?”
Curiosity took the memory, spinning around itself, a golden sphere rather than an elven form. It lit up blue for a moment. “Yes, yes!”
He followed the spirit, ducking underneath awnings and finally taking flight. He shifted his form only slightly, not wanting to attract demons. Wings beating at the fade currents, blurring the city beneath. Curiosity took him deep within the fade to a different place.
The air tasted of sorrow and chopped off limbs and Solas drew the wings back, shrouding himself in armour instead. The terrain was rocky, mountainous but without snow. Red clung to every surface but the smell was different. Sharper, cleaner. Like lightning and soap. He frowned. “Curiosity?” he called.
“Here! Here!”
He wound his way through several bents until he found a crack, getting smaller and smaller as he squeezed himself through. He shifted accordingly and it was a child that stumbled out at the other end.
Curiosity was poking through remnants of a shell but that wasn’t what caught his attention. A long line of rope hung in the air and the Fade felt torn. Someone had used bloodmagic. He followed the feeling deeper and sent curiosity away. Bloodmagic was never healthy for a spirit.
The rope led him towards a scaffold of ropes which gave him pause. What did this represent? He climbed the ropes towards a distant tower and found himself in a prison cell. Anger filled the walls and he could see fire licking at the bars - a rage demon was nearby.
He took a deep breath. He’d have to purify the demon and question them about events here. Negative emotions corrupted much more quickly, but he still suspected the bloodmagic had accelerated the process. He’d have to flood the demon with fade energy.
But first, the door. He pushed it open and gasped.
Nobles were all the same. Fat wallets, fat mouths, fat - everything. Dumb laughter drifted out the open window and footsteps faded away. Sera held her breath, hooked her legs around the pipe and glanced through. There, courtyard empty.
She flipped herself right-side up and took a final glance around. No one here. Her people had put on lights in the upper story - time to go. She jumped down into the courtyard and slunk over to the door, peering through the keyhole. Large and conspicuous. Typical noble. Spending all their money on looking good rather than being good. Still, she kept an eye out for traps as she slid her lockpicks in. These kinds of locks were simple enough she hadn’t asked for a key. Less trouble for her people that way and - last tumbler clicked.
And she was in, taking a glance around their equipment shed. Shiny metal armours glinted in the moonlight, dark fluffy shadows were cast by arrows and a pile of helmets rested near a wall. A broken nail and some boards revealed the cause of that. She snickered.
The Glowbug had followed all her hints, so they might actually show up tonight. Could she do anything to help? Replace their arrows with duds? Nah, too much trouble. She wandered around, poking and prodding at things. There were a couple of weapons, some broken, some seemingly new. She considered pocketing some, but that’d probably cause trouble for her people, too.
Instead she took in the pile of helmets. Face-concealing and otherwise. Gah, she hated these noble knights on their noble horses with their noble fucking privileges! She kicked one of the helmets over, wincing as the whole pile came cascading down.
Fuck.
A few moments of silence passed. When no one came she took a deep breath and thanked whomever had tipped her off. They really had made sure no one was around. Huh. She probably didn’t have that much time left. She could just steal the stupid helmets, right? Damn, they’d be hard to transport.
That was when her eyes fell onto a chest in a corner. A shimmering chainmail leg was peeking out. Holy shit. She could totally steal their breeches! A manic grin spread across her face as she dashed towards the chest. She emptied a sack of padding and belts and stuffed it to the brim with breeches. For a moment she imagined the guards, rushing to defend the arse that ruled this house. No fucking breeches. She laughed on her way out the door, carefully locking it up again before shimmying up to the roof. No one was going to take the time to look for their breeches here. And no one was going to accuse the servants of stealing them either. The perfect crime.