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Chapter Text

Chapter 1: At Least You’re Not Dead

Shisui wakes to the sensation of cold, damp stone, and bound arms and feels a moment of deep, bitter despair--Danzo has him , has something planned --but Indra's bones his left hand is killing him, that kind of deep ache that means something is badly damaged, and sure, he jumped from a waterfall, but he doesn't remember getting that kind of injury there , and he reflexively opens his eyes to look--

Well.

Well.

Isn't that a surprise?

Because he can see just fine, which is sort of amazing for someone who's had his eyes ripped out. And now that he thinks about it, yeah, he can feel his sharingan right there where it should be. So.

"Am I dead?" he wonders out loud. "Did I fuck things up so damned badly that I ended up in some kind of Hell instead of the Pure Lands?" The heavily armed and armoured guards that he can just barely see from his position doesn't answer, to nobody's surprise. The armour doesn't look like anything any shinobi would wear though, more like the kind of gear the daimyou's ceremonial guard would wear, or other samurai types he guesses. Hard to move around in anyway.

Of course if the point of them is to provide a physical barrier that a prisoner can't move through, they might just be effective. Barely. A little. For a while. The thought makes Shisui want to giggle, but then the hysterics he's been fighting ever since he woke up alive and intact--aside from the weird green glowing bullshit in his hand, what the fuck --also kind of make him want to giggle, so that's nothing new.

Instead of thinking about that, Shisui turns his thoughts to escape; he'll probably wait until someone comes along to tell him why he's locked up in here, but then he's out . He doesn't have his hitaiate or his mesh, or his holster, or any obvious weapons, but he's still in his usual clothes otherwise, which means hidden ninja wire and exploding tags hidden between layers of cloth although somebody found the senbon in his shoes and pants' seams. He can feel the tags and wire when he shifts though, and though they shackled his hands too far apart to make a hand sign, the shackles are old, and not very sturdy--he can feel the traces of rust against his skin--and if worst comes to worst, he can always use a genjutsu on the guard, although signs (he has his eyes ahahahahaha) point to these people have no idea they have an Uchiha and he doesn't intend to enlighten them if he can help it.

There's a knock on the door, and the guard on the door steps forward, letting Shisui get a good look at the crest of a flaming sword he's wearing on his armour, and also letting the door swing... inwards, okay, now he knows where the hinges are. Thank you very much for the information.

In through the door comes a stern-looking woman, with short dark hair and a scar on her face that reminds Shisui of his mother. Great . They look nothing alike but he'll never be able to unsee it. Though maybe there is some connection, since the crest on her armour is like an eye radiating chakra. Huh. Right on her heels is definitely the person who relieved him of his senbon: red hair, hidden, like half her face, in the shadow of her hood, dark purple clothes, and a light warchain tunic(?) that doesn't even whisper as she moves.

Great. Maybe they are professionals. Of a sort.

Professionals-of-a-sort it soon turns out, with whom he does not share a single blessed word . They're not faking it, either; Quasi-Shinobi Lady probably could, but Definitely Not Ma has the short temper and forthright bulging muscles of a dedicated frontliner, and why bother with subterfuge when you can hit things instead AND have a friend to do the sneaky shit for you? Yeah, Shisui knows the types.

The pair of them pace around Shisui, saying threatening--and not-threatening--things in their language, and he gives them his very best look of blank non-comprehension. And then Definitely Not Ma grabs his left hand, and Shisui reflexively yelps and yanks it away--

"What the hell lady?" he demands. His hand sparks, and another surge of that unfortunate kind of pain surges up his arm, making him hiss, and swallow back against the pain.

His words--and his reaction, but mostly his words--bring them up short. Quasi-Shinobi looks at him and says something in another, equally incomprehensible language. Huh. More than one in common parlance? That's unusual. Shisui shakes his head.

"Nope."

Not Ma tries yet a third what the hell , and again he shakes his head; that seems to be universal, thankfully. The pair of them argue again, and Quasi-Shinobi stalks off, leaving Not Ma to pull Shisui to his feet. She keeps talking as she exchanges the bar shackle for wrist bindings, which is nice, because he can slip them in like three seconds, and his hands are together if inconveniently placed for handsigns. He can do it, he totally can, but he might dislocate something still.

He memorises the path as they go, not that it's a terribly complicated one: up the stairs, down the hall (weird architecture, lots of stone, rows of benches, something at the far end that makes him think of a shrine), out the door--hello sunlight--and--

"What the fuck is that?!" 'That' being the glowing green thing in the sky and oh no that's why everyone's so... so stroppy with him. Shisui looks at his hand. Looks up. Wriggles his hand around so he can hold it up and yep same--

He staggers, and bites back a scream as that sickening badwrong pain in his hand, shooting up his arm, into his shoulder. Part of him notices distantly that the green thing in the sky pulses and crackles in synch with the green thing in his hand, and he has a distant feeling that he's fucked.

He was fucked anyway, he was dead , but he's had a few minutes of being maybe not dead, and kind of liking it, and he's really not into that whole being dead again thing.

(Besides. Like this. Maybe he can get back to Itachi. Maybe he can help, somehow.)

Oh. The pain actually drove him to his knees, he realises, as Not Ma kneels in front of him, and takes his hands with a--considering the circumstances--surprisingly gentle touch. He can still feel the strength under her gloves, but it's nice, for a moment.

When she's sure she has his attention, she points to the green thing in the sky, says one word, and repeats it again, firmly.

"Breach?" Shisui repeats obediently, and she nods.

"Wow it's been like, twelve hours since I saw a face like that ," he quips, nodding to one of the scowls. Not Ma says something in reply, and he doesn't know the words, but he knows the tone, the looks, and he's a pretty smart guy: they blame him for something. And if he has to guess, Shisui would say that the thing they blame him for? Is big, green, and connected to his hand. With another sigh, he lets his shoulder droop a little, and makes himself look at least at young as he is. Some people won't be fooled, but most of the people here are civilians who have no idea he's an Uchiha (despite the prominent crest on his back; he knows those looks, and that hostility, and they have little in common with these looks and this hostility), and will probably start feeling uneasy when they realise he's a 'child', or close to one in age.

A pair of gates open for them, and Shisui follows Not Ma out--until she turns toward him with a knife. He doesn't sense any hostile intent, but--

"Whoa, wait," he says, holding his hands up between them. With an impatient scowl, Not Ma points to the bindings, and makes a cutting gesture--okay, Shisui gets it, but instead of letting her cut, he slips the bindings, and trades them for the knife, vanishing it into a pocket with a cheeky "Thanks!"

She takes a step towards him, a note of demand in her words, and Shisui puts on his best 'confused innocent' face. He can tell she wants to say something, but she doesn't waste time trying, instead just pointing at him in a 'just you wait, mister!' kind of way, and gesturing sharply for him to follow.

More out of curiosity--and desire not to die by mini-Breach--than anything, Shisui does.

Even though he half expects it, he’s still disappointed that their path leads toward the mountain—and the Breach. The path was wide and well-trod, but covered in snow, hastily improvised cavalry-blockades set at regular intervals, soldiers positioned behind them, archers paired with spears, and not a shinobi in sight--just ordinary soldiers. There were signs of battle here and there in the scuffed up snow, but not nearly as much blood as he would have anticipated had they been faced with a similarly-sized force.

Not Ma leads him up and around the mountainside, and the mini-Breach in his hand almost drives Shisui to the ground again with a sudden crackling surge. Not Ma exclaims, and mutters something to herself. Shisui straightens, and tips his head toward the bridge he can see ahead.

"I'm guessing that's the way to go?" he asks, exaggerating the question just a little. Not Ma just gestures for him to follow, a little impatient now that he's back on his feet.

From this side of the ridge, it's easy to see that the Breach isn't just sitting there, looking terrifying and making his hand hurt. It's throwing out green fire, and rocks, and--one of them slams into the bridge just as Not Ma starts to lead him across it, and Shisui reflexively catches her, and leaps back to solid ground. He puts her down before she can start to demand he do so, and then moves to reflexively parry the--monster or whatever--that goes for their backs. Yeah, all he has is a pocket knife, but that's honestly more than enough.

Not Ma spits something that sounds like a curse, and draws the sword at her side; a quick glance shows fine steel, polished and sharp. Good. She snarls something, and dives into the fray. Without a word, Shisui follows her, covering her back, and darting to-and-fro--

It gets easier when he sees a short sword with a double-edged blade glittering in a pile of detritus in the chasm formerly crossed by the bridge, and leaps down to lay claim to it. A quick second glance shows longer blades, a scattering of arrows, and an odd-looking staff; he grabs a handful of the arrows, and uses his shunshin to cross the distance to Not Ma, and take out the monster leaping for her back. She pivots on her heel, and he moves with her, ducking as she raises her shield, and then rolling under it and throwing the arrows like cut-rate kunai into the monster that meets him there.

Like the rest so far, it melts into some kind of goo, and not a drop of blood. It explains some of what he saw back in the ascent. He waits a moment longer, and when there's no sign of anything else coming, he moves, and gives Not Ma her space, and reflexively leaps back, blade held parallel to his arm in a defensive stance, as Not Ma demands, with use of gestures and a stern voice, that he disarms.

Shisui makes a point of looking exaggeratedly around, ending on the patch of good that marks the one that almost had her, and says very firmly, "No."

If she insists, he thinks, things could get annoying; Not Ma is the one who knows what's going on here, and Shisui would really like to know what's going on here, he really really would. (He would like to get back home to Itachi, to his clan and his village. But how? He has no idea. He has had no chance to get an idea.)

She gives him a thin-lipped look, and even without his sharingan Shisui can see the moment she capitulates, before she resheathes her sword, and nods.

"So what was that? " he asks, gesturing at the smears of goo that were all that remained of their foes. She glances at the mess, and back at Shisui, and says one word, very clearly:

"Demons."

"Whatever the hell 'demons' is," Shisui mutters to himself. Gooey monsters, not summons... he can go with 'demons'. The sounds of sudden battle erupt ahead of them, and Shisui doesn't hesitate to hurl himself ahead, shunshin carrying him to the vantage, and then into the fray, a glance all he needs to take in the fighters: a bald man using a staff of all things to sling his jutsu without taking time to use a single hand sign, before moving into close combat with the staff itself, and a short, broad man with a crossbow who moves nimbly through the battlefield, fighting with tools and traps as well as the crossbow, and all Shisui can think is finally, some shinobi.

Not that there's anything wrong with the kind of straightforward warrior Not Ma is, he supposes, but they're harder to work with. More likely to disapprove of point blank fireballs and poisoned senbon. Not guaranteed to—Not Ma is working well enough with the two they’ve joined—but more likely.

And it’s easy to duck, and let the chill of Baldy’s (kekkei genkai? It’s ice, it must be) jutsu pass over him to impact the cloaked monster, to turn on his heel and snap an arrow from his hand in tandem with Shorty’s crossbow. (It’s a nice crossbow. A serious specialist’s weapon, if he can use it at point blank like that, and at range.)

It also lets him see where Not Ma excels—defence and counterattack, drawing attention to herself so that others can take advantage of the openings created. That takes guts. And skill to not end up so much bloody meat paste in the process.

The last of the cloaked monsters falls to a combination of Shisui’s precise strike, and Baldy’s hyoton jutsu—definitely channelled through his staff, what a great tool, Shisui wants one, on principle—and then the shifting crystal formation that resonates with the mini-Breach in his hand shifts , and form a shimmering pane of green light that looks like nothing so much as a window into... he can almost see it, and so he activates his sharingan. He doesn’t think anyone is looking.

There’s another place on the other side, something his mind can’t quite make sense of, not in the bare seconds he has before Baldy’s snatching his hand—how is he so fast?!—and pointing it toward the Green Window, before pulsing his own chakra very precisely into the mini-Breach.

It pushes and pulls through the visible connection like a needle through cloth, using some power outside Shisui—but inside the mini-Breach in his hand, until it closes with something that is almost, but not entirely, unlike having a joint snapped back into place by a raiton jutsu. It leaves his hand tingling, and he pulls it away from Baldy, and shakes it, opening and closing his fingers to ensure that they continue working.

He can hear Shorty and Not Ma exchanging words behind him, but it’s Baldy who has most of his attention still, watching him care for his hand. He says something that Shisui mostly doesn’t understand, though he mentions ‘Breach’. Shisui understands that one.

“For the record, I don’t understand a word you’re saying, except ‘Breach’,” Shisui says. He watches Baldy and Shorty both carefully, but sees no response from either. Until Shorty rolls his eyes and walks over, says a handful of words, and then repeats the last of them:

“Varric Tethras.” He points to himself, easily meeting Shisui’s eyes. (He reminds himself that it’s not a sign of either bravery, foolishness, or trust the way it would be back home.) Repeats again: “Varric.” And yeah , Shisui gets it , he likes you, Varric.

“Shisui,” he responds. “Just ‘Shisui’ is just fine.” A short bow, and, “Pleased to meet you.” 

“Ah,” says Baldy, along with some more nonsense. “—Solas,” he finishes, inclining his head around his staff. Shisui returns the nod.

“Cassandra,” Not Ma says shortly, and then another string of nonsense—although he’s starting to recognise words, if not their meanings, around the different accents.

“—hurry,” Cassandra says, after several other words. Shisui is starting to recognise that it means a need for haste, and she leads the way again. Shisui takes the middle, along with Solas the ninjutsu specialist, and lets Varric of the fantastic crossbow take the rear.

It’s a minor miracle, but they don’t encounter more than a couple more creepy goo monsters as Cassandra leads them through ruins and rubble to another big bridge, fortified and provisioned, and an incredibly tempting target for any intelligent commander. Shisui would send a squad to lay explosive tags along the underside, and take the whole thing out in one go. Nobody would ever know they were there.

He doubts the ‘demons’ have anyone to do that, but the idea that they could keeps his mind sharp, even through the incomprehensible yelling and gesturing. He gives it no more than half his attention, instead rummaging about for this-and-that in the supplies. He finds what looks like rations, and after checking with Varric—point, mime eating, tilt head curiously, get a laugh from the short man—he starts eating as much as he can.

Other things—string, a handful of nails of the old-fashioned, individually forged type, that sort of thing—find their way into his pockets. The best finds are the roll of paper, the bottle of pre-mixed ink, and the spool of wire. It’s not ninja wire by any means, but it’s not useless either, and he has an idea—

“Shisui!” Cassandra calls, and waves him over to the table with her, Quasi Shinobi, and Angry Shouting Council Man. Not that Shisui really has any idea who he is or what his position, but his hat is quite big, and rather fancy. He starts snarling angrily again when Shisui approaches, but since Cassandra and her partner are ignoring him, he can’t be more than a blowhard; civilians trying to butt in on a military matter. Which is all well and good when they aren’t in the field causing problems in an active battlefield . Shisui chooses to ignore him as well.

One introduction—Leliana, now that’s a tongue-twister—later, and they have him looking at a map, and, ah, that’s what the debate was about.

The map shows two routes to... the Breach, he guesses. One is direct, and involves a mass of forces—he thinks—and... no. No. The other, coming at it obliquely, through a passage in the mountain, looks better. He taps his finger decisively.

“The mountain path,” he says, and hates that there is a tactical discussion that he can’t be a part of. He might need to let the sharingan cat out of the kekkei genkai bag sooner rather than later, but until he needs to, something is telling him, don’t. Listening to his instincts has generally done well for him—except that time it got him killed, but, details—and so he goes with it.

They nod in agreement, and start to take off, but Shisui isn’t about to let that happen so easily.

“Leliana,” he calls. “My weapons?” He points to the spot on his hip where his pouch usually sits. And then to his seams, and then his shoulder where his tanto lives. Finally, he taps his forehead. Pointedly. Her lips curve up, very slightly, and the hitaiate and two of the kunai come his way, in a nice, deliberately telegraphed toss. The kunai join the short sword and the pocket knife, and the hitaiate gets tied back to his forehead where it belongs.

In return, he offers her the handful of arrows he has remaining, and she takes them with a wry nod.

He hopes the rest of his stuff is back down in the town he was locked up in. He’ll be very disappointed if it’s gone. Still, even having some of his gear back helps. It helps so much .

More words that he doesn't understand are exchanged, and then his team is ready to move out.

Climbing the mountain is harder than he expected, since literally none of these people know how to walk up a vertical surface. There are ladders and platforms, but they’re slow , and even the apparently unflappable ninjutsu specialist Solas is shocked when Shisui just goes right on up. And then right back down with a shunshin, and he says,

“Anyone want a ride?” gesturing to all of them, and then his back, and then up the side of the cliff with a grin.

He's not surprised when Solas immediately takes him up on it, and Shisui takes the pointy-eared guy right on up with the familiar zipping ease of the shunshin. It leaves him briefly laughing with delight, and yeah, okay, Shisui appreciates that. He asks a question--about wall-walking, his gesture toward the wall of the cliff, and walking fingers making it clear--but cuts off an answer, even as Shisui shakes his head, and points at the Big Green Thing In The Sky. He grins, and shoots a salute, and shunshin's back down.

It takes a little more persuasion, but not a lot more, as time is, in fact, short, and Shisui is, in fact, the fastest thing any of these people have ever seen. He knows that for certain.

Cassandra, for all her nerves, only takes a moment to regain her bearings; Varric takes even less time, which some might think odd for his apparently-grounded nature, but appearances can be deceiving, and the short man has vast wells of resolve.

A quick series of gestures has the marching order: Shisui on point, as scout, followed by Cassandra, then Solas, then Varric as the rear guard; he’s nimble enough, and has the range to counter no matter where an attack might come from.

The nature of the cave becomes clear at they enter it: an old mine entrance, not long abandoned. There are still old crates of supplies about, and other scattered leavings that might be useful, and between demon attacks, Shisui snags a few things--more nails, a short length of rope, maybe twice Shisui's own height, a crowbar... That last one he almost leaves behind; it's too long and heavy for him to manage in a situation like this, but Varric takes it from him with a particular gleam in his eye, and word of what sounds like 'thanks'.

Cassandra stops him at one point, when the exit of the mine is in sight, and after yet more pantomime, he has several vials of something red like blood, that he thinks is... healing? Or something like a soldier pill? He's fine so far; hopefully he won't have to try them in a combat situation.

Exiting the mine leaves most of the party blinded; Shisui's eyes are better than that, and so he's the first one to see the bodies laid out before them. They look dead; their chests don't rise and fall. A quick look with his sharingan while everyone is behind him confirms his suspicion, as there is no chakra circulating through them.

He shouldn't look back at his companions. That's a bad idea, asking for trouble. Shisui kneels, and checks the pulse of one of them, and catches a glimpse of crackling green chakra moving beside him just as he deactivates his sharingan. The shape resolves itself into Solas, as Shisui looks over, briefly meeting his eyes. The other man shakes his head, and stands, and a moment after checking the dead woman's pulse--nothing--Shisui does too.

A rock burning with green fire hurtles right for them, and Cassandra pushes to the front, a forceful kiai in her voice as she thrusts her shield out in front of them. Her chakra expands briefly into the shield, in a way that makes the air shimmer around it, deflecting the rock, and leaving licks of green fire dancing on the ground around them.

Shisui gives a low whistle, and claps Cassandra on the shoulder.

"Nice," he starts to say, but there's a scream in the distance, and instead he snaps: " Keep up! " not even thinking, for a moment, that none of them can understand him. He moves; maybe these aren't his people, but they're not not his people. And if he can do something to help, he will.

It's a good thing he moves so quickly, too; a small group of people in the same uniforms as the dead behind him are holding off--

His sharingan activate automatically in response to the sudden threat , and his hand moves on its own, catching spindly sharp talons on the edge of a kunai. He draws the short sword with his other hand, and shuts the sharingan down, even as he spins on his toe and forces chakra into the blade, and slashes the demon in half vertically. The blade cracks--cheap metal, even non-chakra metal should be able to take more than one hit--but it does for that demon.

The blade snaps on the next strike, but it damages the second demon. It takes one of Varric's arrows, and one of Solas' chilling ice jutsu, and then Shisui feels something-- protective settle on his skin, a faint blue shimmer shifting over him--Varric too, he notices. The short man says something over his shoulder to Solas. Probably a thanks; he's heard that word several times now.

He takes notice of the rift hovering over them then, shifting and crystalline, and he wonders...

...for about five seconds, and then demonic talons are glancing off of his upraised arm. So that’s what Solas’ jutsu does. Nice . Shisui wonders if it’s some aspect of his hyoton or if anyone can learn it? It’d certainly be nice to add to his collection. Especially since it seems like he applied it to the whole party at once.

The demon trying to slice his arms to ribbons is identical to the one he just dispatched: long, spindly limbs, long, spindly torso; fingers and toes and teeth like knives, and a tail like a whip with a razor at the end. And all an acidic green that almost matches the breach.

It lashes with its tail, and slashes with its claws, and Shisui uses his shunshin to escape, landing well outside its reach—only to see it sink swiftly into a pool or a portal of some kind beneath its feet, and it’s only the fact that he just that fast that allows Shisui to shunshin again, avoiding what would have been a nasty blow.

And. Where he’s standing now gives him a clear shot at the remaining demons, with no allies in the line of fire, and Shisui’s Ma didn’t raise an idiot.

His hands fly through the signs, and then the demons are introduced to the old Uchiha standby: goukakkyuu no jutsu.

Shisui makes it big enough to fill the entire area without allies.

As it turns out, it is super-effective.

“Next time self, just open with that,” he mutters, and, sensing that it will be effective now, he pushes chakra into the mini-Breach in his hand, pushing and pulling the way Solas demonstrated before, until the thing finally closes with a burst and a sharp crackle.

The soldiers they rescued babble their probably-thanks, before taking off on Cassandra’s direction; he can follow the cadence of her voice if nothing else. The party is cautious about approaching him; he can hear it in the crunch of snow under their feet--and the lack, he notes, under Solas'--and Cassandra's telegraphed hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

Her voice is stern, but not angry, although her gestures around the battlefield are sharp and chastising--right, right, 'warn your allies before you drop a giant fireball Shisui!' He's only heard it a hundred times. And--

Solas clears his throat, and says something, pointing out to the Breach--oh yeah. It's. Probably. Uh.

"Right," Shisui says. "Let's get going." There's another series of ladders down the cliff face, but climbing seems like too damned much work to him, so like a gentleman, he offers an arm to Cassandra first. She seems almost startled, but takes it, and braces herself for the shunshin, clearly a fast learner.

He takes Varric down next, but is stopped by Solas when he returns for the bald man.

"Shisui," he says, catching his attention and gesturing to the battlefield, and then offering him a blue vial, like the red ones from Cassandra earlier. A little more pantomime--Shisui is getting so sick of this --and he thinks he gets the idea: medicine to restore chakra reserves.

" Thanks, " he says, using their word. Solas smiles, and then takes Shisui's arm, and lets himself be taken down.

And down here, there terrain can only be described as unnatural : Jagged black rock thrusts into the sky like a disordered doton on a lava field. The effect is magnified by the green glow coming from cracks in the rock, as if it were some bit of the Breach made into lava. Around the first corner, there's a dip in the path, and a scattering of burnt corpses, some still flickering with green fire, all caught in moments of pleading or prayer. It's a little unsettling, even for someone like Shisui, who has seen and done so much that a few scorched bodies really shouldn't even register.

There is something here though, that is deeply unsettling; it makes his skin crawl, and his eyes itch, and the thing in his hand pulse. He flexes his hand to try and ease the sensation, and looks around again.

More bodies than he thought at first glance, most burnt, some old bones, one in... what looks like one piece--the odds are low, but he's over there before he can think of it, checking the man's pulse. He shakes his head when Cassandra catches up. She curses, and looks over the area--the jagged rocks, the bodies, the wrecked masonry in the middle of it all...

"Hey, Cassandra," Shisui says, catching her attention. He points to himself, to his eyes, to the area. "I'll look, you-" he points to her, to her eyes, to her shield "-cover me." He doubts there's anything here that even the legendary Tsunade could save, but it'll nag at him if he doesn't check , and he feels like it will Cassandra, too.

"Varric! Solas!" she calls, and gestures them into formation as Shisui starts methodically combing the field. Another short sword finds its way into his belt, single-edged and slightly curved, but much narrower at the tip than any sort of katana. He can still use it, and it's way better than not having it with these demon things around.

There's nothing else that catches his eye--certainly no survivors --except one scorched, skeletal corpse, bent backward by the heat, green fire licking out of its eyes like some macabre doujutsu, and it feels so profoundly unsettling, his blood rushes in his ears, and he feels sick --

"-- Shisui! " Cassandra's voice is sharp, and just outside of his melee reach. Oh, he likes a smart person. He squeezes his eyes shut, and shakes his head, and then opens them up and points to the body with the burning eyes.

"That is superbly creepy," he says, and gives a theatrical shudder. " Creepy ," he repeats. Points at another body, at the jagged rocks, at the green fire: "Creepy, creepy, creepy. "

Varric chuckles.

" Creepy ," he says, no doubt their word for 'creepy', excellent, he now speaks five whole words of the language!

"Okay," Shisui breathes, and points toward the Breach. "Let's go."

The path leads past the fallen man from before, the only one not burnt or bones, and down a short flight of stairs, into a hallway that has seen better days, cracked and battered as it is. There are more bodies--parts of bodies--but nothing that stands out, no weapons or usable parts. A feeling of dread starts pooling in his chest, and Shisui listens to it, and starts stringing his nails along the wire as they go along. The wire likely won't conduct his katon the way ninja wire would, but it's still steel wire, and iron nails, and he can use them to create a raiton cage, with even a tiny baby jutsu for tiny babies.

Beside him, Varric asks a question, gesturing to the trapwork in Shisui's hands, and he grins.

"It's for a raiton cage," he explains. "Raiton-" he raises a finger to the sky, and describes a zigzag line back down "-cage-" and makes a cage with his fingers. Varric makes an interested noise, and nods, speaking two more words. Shisui doesn't think he completely understands, but he definitely gets the gist.

And then, around the corner... there it is.

Ghostly green fire swirls between the Breach in the sky, and what looks like an inactive? rift just above the ground. They're clearly connected, almost tied together somehow, and Shisui's hand aches . He rubs the palm absently as he stares up into the green. Vast stones spin there, and things--demons, maybe--move between them in a near-hypnotic dance.

Once again, he chances using his sharingan, and the overwhelming blaze of green is lit, ever so briefly, by a dazzling rainbow of chakra.

"Wow." Whatever happens next, Shisui will always be glad he took the chance to look at that .

The soft scuff of the politely-loud footstep of an allied shinobi draws his attention, and Shisui deactivates his sharingan as he turns to see Leliana and a squad of her people coming up from the other direction.

"Shisui, Cassandra," she starts. Her words sound relieved to Shisui's ear. They exchange words that mean little to Shisui, so he hops up on a ledge to get a better view of the area below. Cracked ground and green flames, wisps of shadow and light, and nothing nice about any of it at all.

"Hey, Cassandra, Leliana," he calls. "I'm going to scout." Points to his eyes, and gestures in a circle around the area. He doesn't wait for a confirmation--though he sees Cassandra's nod--before taking off, sticking to the tops of the walls and the broken terraces.

Halfway around, he pauses so that whoever is following him--soft feet, deliberately not silent--can catch up. He's expecting Leliana, or maybe Varric, so when he turns and sees Solas ... He think he's surprised, but he remembers that flicker of Solas' chakra out of the corner of his eye, the same crackling green fire that surrounds them as thickly as the air itself. The way he was able to push his chakra into Shisui's hand, and into the mini-Breach in it.

Nobody can see them from here.

Shisui narrows his eyes.

"Solas," he says.

" Yes? " the older man replies. Or that's what Shisui thinks he's saying anyway, given previous conversations and context clues... He's going to give himself that sixth word in his vocabulary. Six words is still not enough to convey any nuance, but fortunately, for this, none is required:

"Breach," Shisui says. Points aggressively at his hand. "Mini-Breach." Briefly he crosses his fingers together, and Solas nods, again saying:

" Yes ." He draws his breath to continue, but Shisui interrupts him with a rudely pointed finger, saying:

" Solas. " And then links his hands together.

Solas goes pale. Guilt crosses his face, and disbelief, consternation, scheming, indecision--microexpressions all, there and gone in less than a rabbit's heartbeat, but Shisui is an Uchiha , and even without using his sharingan, his eyes are keener than most. He doesn't think he's missed much, even in the eldritch green light of the Breach.

His hands tighten on his staff, and Shisui makes a hasty decision.

"Wait," he says, holding up a hand, fingers up, palm flat; hopefully it's a universal gesture like head-shaking. He points to the sun, and gestures from horizon to horizon. "We'll ta-- AHH! "

The Breach crackles, and spits out more flaming rocks, and Shisui's hand spits out more flaming agony, spiking all the way up into his shoulder, and his heart is racing and he can't fucking breathe --

Senbon in his joints--

Razors peeling his skin--

Fireball right to the face --

Shimura Danzo--

It stops.

It stops enough that he can get back to his feet with Solas' help, and then stand on his own after a moment.

"Fuck," Shisui breathes, and then pushes it down, away; he can break down later.

" Ir abelas ," Solas says, and he sounds very sorry; maybe that's what it means. 'I'm sorry.'

"Later," Shisui says again, and after a moment of hesitation, Solas inclines his head in agreement. "For now, the Breach ." This time, Solas nods more decisively.

"Breach," he says, pointing up at it, and slowly drawing it down to: "Rift." He counts on his fingers, " One, two, three, " is what Shisui guesses. Solas holds his fingers up, and then taps them on his forearm, with three different words--and then again, the same words, and yeah, Shisui gets it, ordinal numbers:

" First, second, third, " Solas says, and Shisui nods. A flicker of an almost-smile crosses Solas' face, and he points back down to the huge rift below. "First Rift," he says.

"Ah." Shisui is starting to get it, he thinks. Solas holds out a closed fist.

" Closed ," he says. Opens his hand: “ Open. Open rift, close rift. Close rift, close Breach. ” And then Solas wobbles a hand back and forth, and says: “ Maybe. ”

Yeah. Yeah, okay, Shisui gets it. Shut down the first rift, and it’ll shut down the Breach. Maybe. He’ll take maybe living over for sure dying in horrible agony. He nods.

“All right. Let’s do it.”

He jumps down, and heads for the rift, ignoring Solas’ alarmed cry, and the more distant ones from the rest of the squad. Cassandra’s a big girl, she can find her own way down. So can anyone capable of doing this in the first place, even if, as Shisui suspects, it was an accident. Or partially an accident. Regardless, Solas is either the best actor Shisui has ever met (unlikely; that’d be that double-crossing fucking Danzo), or he’s not the kind of man who would fuck shit up this badly on purpose.

The rift and its connection to the Breach are even more impressive up close; it’s hard to believe that anybody managed this on their own. But Shisui’s going to have to try to shut it down on his own. More or less.

He can see— feel —why Solas said to open the rift first: it feels unstable, jittery, jagged like glass in his hand. If he pulls it open, it’ll be. Big . But probably just feel like an open rift. Which means demons, he supposes. He can deal with that.

Solas’ light footsteps come up behind him, and a little to the left, and even as Shisui raises his hand to start pulling the rift open, Solas stops him, his cool touch gently stilling Shisui’s hand.

“Wait,” he says, and then, “ Wait. ” He uses his staff to gesture towards where Cassandra and Varric are working their way down. Huh. That’s a surprise; Shisui would have thought Varric would have wanted the height advantage like the other archers.

They stop once, hesitating, and Cassandra reaches out toward something only she and Varric can see—

Genjutsu. He can’t tell what it is from here, but like hell is is Uchiha Shisui going to let some enemy catch his team like that. Swiftly he disrupts his chakra, forcefully enough to affect everyone here, including Leliana and her archers. It doesn’t seem like they were caught in it, but better safe than sorry.

Solas gives him an incredulous look, and glances at his hand—at the thing in his hand—and Shisui shakes his head. Seriously, have these people never heard of disrupting your chakra to break a genjutsu?

"Shisui-" ' was that you just now? ' Or something like that, he guesses, is what Cassandra asks--not quite demands--when she reaches them. Shisui shrugs; he doesn't actually know what she's asking. Her lips thin, and she nods her understanding; there’s no way he can explain anything right now.

Turning to Solas, she asks a question about the rift, about the Breach. Solas nods, and gestures to Shisui—ah, he’s supposed to explain? He can do that.

“Open rift,” he says. “ 正確と close rift, close Breach. Solas と言った ,” he finishes, gesturing up at the huge rift above them churning with instability and shifting rocky protrusions.

It makes his entire arm itch , and it makes his hand burn , and Shisui needs a day or three to get this under control and locked down, but does he get that? No. Shisui doesn’t get nice things, like Itachi and two weeks of leave. He gets horrible things, like being unexpectedly alive without Itachi, and nasty green things in his hand.

Oh well.

Shisui takes a deep breath, and shuts it all away. He has a bad feeling about what he's about to do, and he doesn't need his own thoughts and feelings and hopes and dreams and wishes cluttering his mind while he does it.

He channels his chakra into his hand, and through the mini-Breach, following the instinctive connection between it and the rift--and faintly, the Breach further up. He looks at his hand, and then up to the Breach, thoughtfully; if he had more chakra, he could reach it, too, he thinks, and files it away for later. He doesn't have enough to reach it without killing himself, probably, so it can wait.

The rift is right here, and very reachable, and disturbingly easy to re-open. He thought it would be like picking a seam, but it's more like just pulling a pin, and the whole thing falls open.

He takes the risk, once again, with everyone else at his back, to watch the rift open up with his sharingan, to watch as something so big it can best be described as hulking slips through--

Smaller things move beyond it, in a space that his mind can't quite grasp , for all that he can see it just fine... It feels like looking at somebody else's dream. Honestly Shisui wants to see more, but he doesn't get the chance; the big spiky demon lashes out with a raiton whip--he sees it, how the demon casts it, before he deactivates his sharingan, and he tucks that away for later consideration--that he has to dodge, and laughs with an impossibly deep voice, and yeah, Shisui's gonna just his that with a fireball, and cast out his wire with nails, wrapping it around the demon, catching in the plates of the creature's armour.

Then he has to get out of the way again, dodging a massive fist that swings way too fast for something that big. Varric, Leliana, and her archers are methodically filling it with arrows, but it's not very effective; the demon just laughs, and casts its lightning whip again, swinging it almost lazily, knocking over most of the squad.

Solas manages to get out of the way with a shunshin of his own, one that leaves a cold breeze swirling around his feet as he lands near Shisui.

"Shisui," he says. "Rift..." He shakes his left hand jaggedly, and, oh , there's an idea.

Shisui flings out a hand, and connects his chakra to the rift again, before sharply disrupting it. It sends out a crack of green light, and drives the demon to its knees. Cassandra gives a rallying cry, and a moment after Solas strikes it with his icy jutsu, Cassandra throws her chakra into a massive shield bash, cracking the demon's armour.

This is Shisui's chance, and he takes it: his raiton is nothing to his katon, but he can manage something that can hit the wire, and follow the channel of the nails to get under the demon's armour.

It roars, and throws off the swordsmen picking at it, rising to its feet again.

"Hey, Solas," Shisui says, and flexes his left hand pointedly, as he asks, "Again?" Solas glances at Shisui's hand, and--

" Fuck! " Shisui exclaims, grabbing Solas, and using the shunshin to move them both out of the way, over near Varric. "Look!" He points to the rift, where more demons--smaller, but still able to stab you in the back, so to speak--are coming through.

Varric says something that sounds like a curse, and so does Solas.

Shisui just drops another fireball right on those smaller demons, and yeah. They're nothing to his goukakkyuu no jutsu .

He’s almost glad that the big demon means nobody can stare at him for long, because they sure want to.

“Hey, Solas.” Shisui wiggles his left hand again, and gets a nod. This time, he calls out something to Cassandra as Shisui disrupts the rift—says something to Varric too—and they’re both ready when the demon drops to its knees: Solas hits it with his hyoton jutsu, and Cassandra pours her chakra into the shield bash.

Shisui is expecting something from Varric, but it’s not an exploding quarrel from his crossbow, perfectly timed with Shisui’s raiton-wire-nails technique. The other archers do the same, and as soon as the lightning dies down Cassandra strikes with a great kiai, and—

That does it, the demon goes the way all the other have, just... bigger. And when no more seem to be coming from the rift, Shisui reaches for it again, and starts pulling it shut.

And pulling.

And pulling.

It pulls back. It eats at his chakra for every ‘stitch’ he puts in the ‘tear’, as if he’s repairing something much, much bigger.

The rift is connected to the Breach far above, he knows, and he knows that that has to be what’s draining his chakra like this, when he barely noticed any drain at all from other rifts.

It’s almost enough to make him stop; Shisui knows he doesn’t have enough chakra to close the Breach. It takes conscious effort to keep going, and even more effort to keep the Breach from draining his chakra dry, but the rift closes, its connection with the thing in Shisui's snapping shut so hard his vision goes grey, and.

He feels cool hands catching him.

Varric's voice-- Cassandra's voice--

A great shockwave rolls through his body seconds before it rolls greenly across the sky, and despite his best efforts, Shisui loses consciousness.

Chapter Text

Shisui wakes. That, as far as he is concerned, is the most important thing. He's not dead, and judging by the nakedness of his wrists, he's not imprisoned again, either.

The slightly lumpy mattress and pile of warm blankets also points to 'not imprisoned', but he remembers to keep an open mind. T&I tactics can and have been stranger. The cabin--furnished and cozy--is evidence against that , so Shisui sits up.

Someone has dressed him in something that's both clean, and appallingly beige, but he can feel senbon in the seams of the sleeves like an apology, and the rest of his gear cleaned and laid out for him on a table at the foot of the bed. Against the wall, across from the bed is a bookshelf, and a pile of sacks. Beside the bed is a barrel serving as a second table, an unlit candle sitting atop it, and...

Actually, he realises, there are quite a lot barrels, not to mention crates and jars, pushed to the sides and it looks like someone made an effort to turn what was being used as a storehouse into a cozy little living space for him. He sniffs the air deliberately, and detects just a hint of the omnipresent mustiness characteristic of long-term storage.

A fireplace with a well-tended fire, several wall sconces, and a pair of unglazed windows standing open to the cold air outside let some light in, and chase that mustiness out.

The door opens, and the only reason Shisui doesn't throw a shuriken right into the poor girl who walks in is the state of the fire, and the knowledge that someone has been tending it, and probably him, the whole time.

She still yelps at the sight of him, and starts babbling in the language here; he recognises maybe five words she says, and two of those are Cassandra. And then she scurries off before he can try to figure out how to say anything back to her.

Shisui sighs, and shuts the door, going back to the table to inventory his gear.

There is not a lot of it: Six kunai, four shuriken, a spool and a half of ninja wire. Two smoke tags, twenty exploding tags, one dose of generalised antidote. His tiny emergency sewing kit, whetstone, vial of oil.

It doesn’t look like much, he has to admit. Luckily, he’s an Uchiha, and a jounin of Konohagakure, and he is more resourceful than that. In his pouch was also a storage scroll, and it, too, is laid out on the table, and after some inspection, evidently untampered with.

Smart, that, or lucky, because his scroll is naturally trapped.

Shisui has to move to the floor to have enough room to unroll it, and there’s still not enough to do the whole thing. That’s just fine though, since most of what he wants is up front: another double-handful of kunai, the same of shuriken, two more spools of ninja wire.

Clothes, two changes, and a cloak; it’s cold . His spare sandals, harness, and tanto. After some thought, he also takes out a pair of ANBU-style kote. There were a couple of times yesterday (he hopes yesterday) when it would have been nice to have the option of blocking instead of dodging.

Everything else, Shisui leaves in the scroll, and he rolls it back up, and tucks it away in his pouch. He’s halfway through storing the rest of what goes in his tool pouch when a knock comes at his door.

“Who is it?” he calls, knowing they won’t understand his words, but hoping they will understand his intent.

"Cassandra!" returns the familiar voice. Shisui doesn’t hear anyone else out there, but he’d be an idiot if he didn’t bring at least one kunai to answer the door, so he brings two.

“Good morning, Cassandra,” he says, when he opens the door, and nods her into the little house.

“Shisui,” she says, and a word he thinks is “ Wait ,” so he stops, and looks at her. Wordlessly, she gestures for him to follow her, but he shakes his head.

“Just another minute,” he says, and leaves the door open for her to follow, or not. He keeps a piece of his attention on her while he finishes sorting his gear, and getting changed. He has his own clothes; he’s not staying in that beige, mobility-restricting monstrosity a moment more than he has to.

Cassandra turns her back as he changes without him needing to ask, which is polite of her, and tells him something about the local manners and modesty standards. Not much, but more information is better than less, and he’s essentially in a blind infiltration mission here. Idly, he assigns it an S+ rank, and writes himself an IOU for hazardous back-pay, too.

He’ll never get it, but the idea that he might is a nice fantasy.

He deliberately makes noise as he crosses the room, and taps Cassandra's shoulder. She turns, just a little too fast, and Shisui has no shame in falling back half a step as she does. She says something that sounds like a reflexive apology, and he waves it off, before gesturing her to lead the way.

She does, and for the second time in presumably two days, Shisui is following her through a small, snow-covered mountain town. He's in better shape to appreciate it this time, without the blatant hostility. There are people of all shapes and sizes around, and people from all walks of life, moving about the town. He can hear music, faintly, from one of the bigger buildings; a gathering place of some sort, maybe a restaurant or a bar.

He can also appreciate that the town seems to be half refugee camp: tents fill what must have been parks, stacks of crates and barrels abound, and the mix of people includes several distinct clans and ethnicities, and a variety of clothes, as well, including people with blankets and makeshift cloaks bundled over lightweight garments of varying sorts.

Shisui files it all away as Cassandra leads him up a flight of stairs, past a fire where Varric sits, writing in a notebook—he waves, and Varric nods, and calls a greeting—and on, past people working, and talking, and in a few cases, he thinks, reciting poetry or religious scripture to nobody in particular.

Cassandra gets a couple salutes, a quick report, and they both receive more than one bow. Which is interesting, since Shisui was getting killing looks only hopefully-yesterday.

"Funny how all you have to do to get a bit of respect around here to avert some mysterious catastrophe," he mutters to himself, flexing his left hand around the faint ache that still lives in it. It's a deep ache, still, burned into his chakra in an unsettling and unwelcome way, and he is going to give Solas no rest until the man fixes it.

Not that the man in question is anywhere to be seen along the route that Cassandra leads him up the stairs and into the big building that she calls 'chantry' when he manages to ask, and looks like an overblown manor to Shisui.

He hides his trepidation, and shapes his chakra for a shunshin as Cassandra leads him into the building. To his relief, they go right by the dungeon without even slowing, all the way to the big doors at the back, which open to reveal a somewhat ad-hoc war room: bookshelves, a desk, and a large dining table covered in maps and markers serving as a war table. The maps are interesting, in that nothing looks familiar. Shit.

"Sorry," Cassandra says. Or he thinks she says. It sounds like a 'sorry', or something like it, even if the words are different than the ones he learned from Solas. And then she continues, "Shisui, [something something; words he doesn't know] Leliana; [more words] Cullen-" she gestures to the tall blond man in armour, with the bearing of a heavy swordsman "- [a new word, and the same words as before; an introductory phrase?] Josephine, our [he thinks; and then another word, sounds like a noun] ."

"Pleased to meet you," Shisui says, giving them a slight bow without lowering his eyes. He gathers his thoughts for another round of pantomime and the occasional noun...

Which is when Angry Shouting Council Man shows up again. And starts blustering about, shouting at Cassandra mostly, and Leliana a little bit, and pointing at Shisui like an object. Well. If he wants to ignore the threat Shisui poses...

Leliana deliberately catches his eye, and making the tiniest of negating gestures, not even a shake of her head. Shisui acknowledges her by very briefly flicking his eyes down, and returns the bulk of his attention to the argument.

Councilor Blowhard (yes, better name) thinks that he’s in charge, that much is clear. But he’s clearly a civilian, and whatever their organisation is, while it may have civilian involvement, it is not itself a civilian organisation. It’s perfectly clear to Shisui that Cassandra and Leliana share command, likely splitting overt and covert aspects.

It’s a good way of doing things, even if it does remind Shisui unfortunately of Sandaime-sama and Danzo. Neither woman strikes him as the type to order a genocide, though. Nobody he’s met here seems that way, yet, though it’s definitely something he’s on the lookout for.

Councilor Blowhard is still on his ranting, and Shisui really wishes he could justify giving the man a taste of KI; it would only be a little, and it would probably shut him up. He reminds himself he doesn’t know the local politics well enough to do something like that to a civilian, and, moreover, Blowhard is a civilian , and no self-respecting jounin of Konoha should be hitting civilians with KI, no matter how annoying they are.

Cassandra looks about ready to kill him herself, but instead of doing that, she slams a heavy tome on the table, one with the same eye-and-sword crest as is on her armour. Shisui has no idea what she’s saying to Blowhard, but her tone is hard as steel: ’This is the way things are, and you cannot contradict them,’ it says. Blowhard is unimpressed; Shisui glances at Leliana, but she doesn’t seem worried.

Blowhard's next words sound like a threat, though not, for once toward Shisui, but he does then leave. Finally.

“Is he always like that?” Shisui asks, thumbing back over his shoulder with an exaggeratedly perplexed expression. Leliana gives him a thoughtful look, before nodding and saying,

“Yes.”

Oh good, Shisui isn’t the only one working on picking up communication skills.

Of course that’s when his stomach has to remind him that he hasn’t eaten in... since... He frowns, unsure of just how long it’s been since he’s eaten anything. Since before he jumped off the waterfall, certainly, so at least two whole days, and... probably more, now that he thinks about it.

Cullen says something, words Shisui doesn’t really know, but his tone is both wry and kind, and has Cassandra nodding in agreement.

“Shisui,” she says, getting his attention.

" Yes? '" he replies, using their word, and not his own. It gets a smile from all of them, although Leliana's is a there-and-gone gleam in the eyes, and Cassandra's is a bare twitch of the lips.

She says a word, miming eating, and then says it again, as a question: "Food?" Shisui nods emphatically, as his stomach growls for emphasis.

"Yes!" he says, again in their tongue. Cassandra nods, and gestures for him to follow.

He does, moving back through the long hall again, just behind her. He looks around again, taking in the different people, filing away snatches of conversation, and activating his sharingan in split seconds, to take in details for later review.

(What he will find, when he does meditate on those split-second memories, is a great many pointy-eared servants, white-robed people with funny hats carrying themselves with some authority, and entirely too many people regarding Shisui himself with rather more reverence than any one person ought to be due. Ugh.

Bags and crates of supplies--food and medical for the most part--stacked up and counted, armed and armoured men and women in a proportion to the civilians that is entirely too few to Shisui's eyes, and... There's something to them, an edge of not-quite-paranoia that Shisui himself is all-too-familiar with. He doesn't like it.)

Cassandra leads him to one of the big campfires, and explains, largely through pantomime, that this is where he can get food at no charge. She also points out a trail of chimney smoke rising from a building downhill from where they are, and says,

"Food," but rubs her fingers together in what appears to be a universal signal of 'needs money'. Okay, fine, he gets it. He has some ryou on him, but he doubts that, as unfamiliar as everything is around here, they'll accept his currency. Although maybe he can sell some as a curiosity... He puts that thought aside for later, and takes the bowl of stew and roll of bread that he's handed.

Cassandra gives Shisui a wave--which he returns--and heads back toward the chantry. Assuming that that means that he's be left to his own recognisance, Shisui inhales his food (he's had worse), and a second serving that he's not sure he should be taking, but doesn't turn down, and heads off into the town to learn the lay of the land.

His first stop is the building that Cassandra pointed out as having food for sale. A restaurant or something like it is what he assumes, but when he pokes his head in--sparing a grin and a wave for Varric, who has a seat and a beer--it has more in common with a roadside inn or tavern than the restaurants he's used to. He supposes that makes sense; this isn't a big town, and the mines they passed through the previous day were probably the source of the majority of the local income. That, and religious tourism. Shisui's never been a religious man himself, but he can recognise piety in others when he sees it, even if he doesn't speak the language.

He can also recognise piety directed at himself when he sees it, and that is creepy. Really fucking creepy. Potentially useful, mind, provided he can talk to them. But still creepy.

Carrying on downhill and right of where he was was the shack-cum-cottage he had been sleeping in, so he turned to the left, taking note of where an enterprising merchant has spread out a variety of goods between his wagon, and several tables. A number of people were browsing, and someone in a uniform marked with the now-familiar eye-and-sword was haggling furiously.

Almost idly, Shisui hops up on one of the dog-statues that seem ubiquitous to the town, and settles in to watch. And listen, but mainly watch, so that he can get more exposure to the language. He watches while Uniform loses a haggling session, walking away with an oilcloth bundle, and the next customer steps up to make a purchase; much better dressed--striped silk skirts, and a necklace with a large red gem, probably ruby--and much less frugal, she doesn't even bargain before handing over a gold coin, and taking a truly hideous statue with every evidence of pleasure.

Shisui considers it for as long as it takes him to cast a subtle genjutsu and create a kage bunshin to send and relive the Tasteless Rich Lady of her pocket change. Sure, he could not do that, but on the other hand, her wealth is apparent, and if she didn't want a shinobi relieving her of it, she wouldn't have been so haplessly rich.

The clone dispels itself once it stashes the money--coins only, no bills--under his pillow, and then Shisui hops down from the statue, and makes his way back to his cabin.

He wonders if he really did just nab her pocket change, or if they just don't use paper money here. It'd be just his luck; coins have so much more mass, it's harder to carry them in quantity in a storage scroll.

He sorts the money, keeping one of the six gold coins, and half the silver and copper, storing the rest away in his scroll. He takes a coinpurse from his scroll (indigo, with the uchiwa on it), and tips the money in, before tucking it away, and heading back out to see if the merchant has anything worth purchasing. Or if there are any more pockets with picking; there's always a use for money.

There are several people ahead of him, when Shisui gets back to the merchant, but that's all right, it gives him more time to browse and observe.

The first thing that catches his eye of course are the weapons. Most of those displayed are... well, the sort he'd expect to see offered to civilians in a situation like this: usable with little training, and more effective than most would credit them to be. Maces, mauls, clubs and the like, of course, and a handful of knives of varying design and quality... he would rather stick with what he has, though. Kunai, shuriken, tanto, wire: he knows these things, and moreover, they're a piece of home. Made by Konoha weaponsmiths, or by Neko-baa and the ninneko, and... And he doesn't want to trade them in. Not for this kind of quality, anyway.

There's some basic clothing, but more important, the merchant has a couple bolts of cloth stashed behind the table, and even better, one of them is indigo. A quick survey of the tables lets him spot matching thread; it'd be good to get some more, even though he thinks he has enough in his stash...

By the time it's his turn, between the people ahead of him, and the watching he did earlier, he thinks he has a pretty good idea of the value of the coin in his purse, and the items for sale--even the cloth, since one of the people ahead of him had bought a length of the white cloth on display alongside the indigo.

"Hi," Shisui says, smiling at the man. He can tell his usual charm is working, because the merchant is relaxing the minute tension that had appeared in his shoulders the moment Shisui got in line.

"Hello," the merchant says slowly. "I'm Seggrit."

"I am Shisui," Shisui replies. And then the rest of the conversation has to be mostly pantomimed, beginning with Shisui tugging at his sleeve, and pointing to the bolt of indigo.

Seggrit obligingly unrolls a short length over his arm to demonstrate the drape. He also lets Shisui feel it—a soft wool, good for the local climate—before rolling it back up.

“How much?” Shisui asks, rubbing his fingers together, and tilting his head quizzically. The man holds out his own arm, and draws his finger down the length of it, from his shoulder to his wrist, and then holds up a finger—one length, yes, Shisui saw him measure it for the other customer—and then names a price, that, unless indigo is literally worth its weight in gold, is a gross overcharge.

“Nope.” Shisui counters with a gross underbid, and they’re off. The nice thing about merchants is, the don’t care who you are or where you’re from, as long as you have money. And Shisui has money; more than enough for the cloth. That’s not going to stop him from getting a bargain, and practicing his language skills while he’s at it.

He finally walks away down one gold coin and seventeen silver, and up one bolt of indigo wool and a few lengths of white, and every spool of indigo thread. Since something tells him not to open up his storage scroll out here—even civilians in a ninja village can overreact to that sometimes—so he just tucks the whole lot under his arm, and heads back to his cabin, again. The back and forth is getting to be a habit. Not one he intends to keep longer than he has to, but Shisui wants to keep the thick bolt of indigo wool safe; he knows Itachi would—

“Damn it,” he breathes. Pushes down the scrabbling, half-panicked sorrow, and reminds himself that Itachi is strong , and he’s smart , and he’s loyal . He has Shisui’s eye. With luck, he has a mangekyou of his own by now, maybe even more powerful than Shisui’s. He reminds himself that Itachi has Sasuke, has his parents, has Hound-taichou and

And

Shisui is all alone.

He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Lets it out.

The door is shut, he's in this cabin alone. All alone. He is fine.

He is not fine, of course, he is--

There is a knock at the door, and Shisui takes another deep breath, and bottles all the--the angst away, shutting it down tight, and putting his usual smile back on his face.

"I'm coming!" he calls, and takes three long strides to the door. On the other side is a pointy-eared man dressed in a less-elaborate version of Leliana's armoured robes; her people are well-trained, that much is evident. Shisui didn't even hear the man approach. He'll have to be more careful.

"Hello," the pointy-eared man says, and after a little exchange of pantomime, he hands Shisui a small stack of books. They're all very simple; primers for reading and writing. Which, great, but...

"You realised I have no idea what any of this says?" he asks, injecting as much facetiousness into his voice as he flips through one of the books--the simplest-looking.

The man tilts his head at Shisui like a crow, and in a flurry of hands, he finds himself shuffled back into his cabin, sat at his table, and being taught the local いろは by a soft-spoken man with dark reddish hair, who hasn't given Shisui his name. That doesn't take long, and the man with dark brown eyes and a mole under his right eye who still hasn't given his name is moving on to the picture book with people, animals, colours, and shapes.

The man drills him harder and faster until he has the whole damned stack memorised--without his sharingan even--and only then is he satisfied.

"Read more," the man says, tapping the stack. Shisui nods.

"Yes," he agrees. Can't hurt to hit it with the sharingan anyway.

Shisui leaves the books stacked by the bed when the still-nameless man with callused fingers and long knives sheathed against his back leaves the cabin.

(He realises that not giving your name is standard procedure in black ops, but the guy could have given a name, sheesh.)

A moment of consideration more, and then Shisui takes the chance to activate his sharingan, and start scanning through the books, filing it all away more completely than even the earlier drill had managed. He doesn't spend long on it, but the time he does spend is important to cement the vocabulary in his mind.

He has question words now! And the nameless black ops man taught him to say 'How do you say?' and 'What is that?' and by the Sage he is going to use them!

The sun is getting low in the sky when Shisui pokes his head out again; he doesn't think it's been that long, so it must be late in the year. There’s still enough light that he can resume his exploration; he wanders back by the merchant’s tables again, before carrying on to the little cluster of cabins roughly opposite the one his is in.

This cluster has a much better view than his does, and Solas is standing right there taking advantage of it, staring out over the valley in the late afternoon sun. Shisui can’t blame him; it’s a beautiful view, especially at this time of day, with the sun at a low angle making the snow glow golden.

“Solas!” he calls in greeting, hopping up beside the pointy-eared man—a clan or race (the book wasn’t specific) called Elf , much as Varric’s was called Dwarf —“You-er, ano -“ he points to his eyes, and then out to the valley “-see? Good.”

Solas blinks, and then gives a slight smile. “ View ,” he offers, echoing Shisui’s previous gesture. “A good view. I-“ he points to himself “- have -“ a holding gesture “-a good view.” And then he bends, and picks up a stone, holding it up, and saying, “ Stone. I have a stone .”

He tosses the stone towards Shisui, who catches it easily, and says,

“ You have a stone. It is your stone.” Solas turns to face the valley again, and adds, “It is my view.”

It clicks in Shisui’s head then, and makes him grin; pronouns! A new verb! Grammar and syntax! Learning a new language is exhausting.

“Your view is good,” Shisui says, constructing the sentence based on the provided examples, like he’s a six-year-old in the Academy again, practicing how to pass as a civilian for stealth missions. One of the few things usually harder for the clan kids than the civilian kids, for obvious reasons.

Who knew that he was actually practicing for an afterlife in a strange world where nobody spoke a decent language, and there were no shinobi, and he was all by himself with no Itachi, no clan, no village—

He shuts his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly. Opens his eyes to see Solas giving him a concerned look.

“Good?” he asks. Shisui shrugs, and smiles.

"Yes. No?" Another shrug, and he waggles his hand back and forth. And then he shrugs again, because really, he does not have the vocabulary to express what he's feeling right now. He's not sure that he has the vocabulary to express what he's feeling right now in his own language, actually, and he has a pretty decent one, he likes to think. He's always had to keep on his toes to stay just ahead of Itachi's after all.

“ Maybe ,” Solas offers, and if Shisui had a guess at the meaning, ‘maybe’ was at the top of the list.

“Hey Chuckles! Shisui.” Varric’s voice isn’t a surprise; his gait on the snow is distinctively light, deliberate in a way that speaks of training, and it’s one that Shisui got used to during the mad scramble to the rift.

“ Master Tethras,” Solas replies, as Varric comes up the stairs.

“Is Adan in?” the short man— dwarf Shisui reminds himself—asks.

“No, he-“ The rest of Solas’ words don’t entirely make sense, though he gets the gist: a man named Adan, who Varric is looking for, is out, looking for... something. ’Notes’ , whatever that is.

“ Damn. If you see him, tell him I’m looking for him,” Varric says. His next words aren’t something Shisui can make out yet, but they do get Solas’ interest, and so taking a moment to parse the unfamiliar noun, he says,

“Excuse me, what is ‘elfroot?’? ”

“It’s an herb ,” Varric says. “A plant , here—“ He pulls out a bit of vine with a heart-shaped leaf attached. “Here you go, take a look.” He offers it, and Shisui notes that his bare fingers touch the plant with no ill effect. The plant is a bright green and smooth, with no purple veins or tiny hairs that might suggest poison, so he takes it carefully, and brings it closer for inspection.

There is a strong astringent smell—medicinal—coming from the broken stem, and oh . Yes of course ; it matches the faint smell that he catches from time to time here in this cluster of houses. This Adan must be a medic of some sort, and it seems as if Varric has located a medicinal plant for him.

“Thank you,” Shisui says, and Varric grins at him.

“You’re welcome, kid . I’ll come back later. Let Adan know I was looking for him,” he says again, and gives a wave as he leaves.

“‘Kid’?” Shisui asks Solas, when Varric has wandered off.

“Ah, an affectionate diminutive ,” Solas says. Shisui mouths the unfamiliar words, and wishes he had a pair of goggles, or even sunglasses to hide behind. It would make learning this language so much easier if he could just use his sharingan. It is so, so tempting, but he can’t—won’t—give in. He'll just have to rely on his own prodigious intellect, talent, skill, and dedication. Easy-peasy.

“Hm. Well. This one may be difficult—“

It is. Shisui has to distract himself with manual dexterity exercises in order to keep his focus on Solas’ explanation, and he picks up another double-handful of words for his vocabulary along the way. He has to resist the urge to puff his cheeks out in annoyance; he’s not a kid , except maybe to experienced jounin and clan heads and the Council and the Hokage.

Okay and civilians who don’t know any better, but Varric Thethras does not strike Shisui as a civilian . He plays civilian very well, that much is clear, but he doesn’t move like it, doesn’t feel like it in the tightly self-contained coil of his chakra. He and Leliana have that same almost-shinobi air about them, but while she wears hers on her shoulder, drawing attention away from the other shadows, Varric shrugs it off and hides in plain sight.

Solas is something else all together, and all things considered, Shisui doesn’t exactly like him, but... he is affable enough, and actually really great at explaining grammar and vocabulary. Shisui would gladly keep up the studying through the evening and into the night—his night-vision is plenty good even without his sharingan—but the man named Adan came back, and introduced himself.

As it turns out, he is, along with Solas, responsible for Shisui’s current state of not being dead. Again. Double-dead? Something like that. What the hell do you even call it in his case? Shisui tucks the thought away for later consideration, sometime when he isn’t in unknown territory surrounded by unknown peoples speaking a barely known language.

There is still the outside chance that he would wake up and find that it was all a dream.

He thanks the pair of them regardless. Adan’s acceptance is gruff and matter-of-fact; Solas just brushes it off in the way of the powerful displaying humility. False humility, but well-done.

“You should probably get dinner,” Solas says, once Adan has left them for his cabin.

“Not hunger,” Shisui lies. “More learning?”

“Hungry,” Solas corrects. “And while we might continue, you will learn better if you eat something.”

Well. That's true.

“Come, this will be an excellent chance to practice your new language skills,” Solas points out, and even if he doesn’t know the adjective, Shisui can parse the meaning, and Solas is right.

“You will tell what I do not know?” Shisui asks. He finds that he's reluctant to leave the older man behind; he's the one responsible for the Breach, and for the mini-Breach in Shisui's hand, and he's also been an excellent source of vocabulary and general information, and...

He can't quite put his finger on it, but something about Solas makes Shisui not want to turn his back. Not let him out of his sight. There's something in his eyes, and something in his chakra, that makes Shisui think of eyes in the dark. A predator, and he is all too familiar with those . He is one himself. If it weren't for the language barrier and the thing in his hand, he might even be having fun with it. Maybe he's having a bit of fun with it anyway ; Shisui does enjoy learning new things. (His thoughts briefly go back to the raiton whip the giant demon had used. His hands itch to try it out.)

“Ah, of course,” Solas replies. “I would be happy to.” Shisui grins at him; of course he would. Solas is a man torn, Shisui can tell; on the one hand, he clearly wants to keep his distance from someone who saw right straight into what was apparently a big bad secret of his. On the other hand, he is clearly very, very curious about Shisui himself, and dinner is prime information gathering time.

For them and everyone else too, since, as they walk to the tavern in plain sight of the town, looks and chatter soon become unsubtle following and—

“Solas,” Shisui asked. “What is ’Herald’ and ’Andraste’ ?”

Solas blinks at him, and Shisui catches a flicker of surprise and interest in his well-guarded gaze.

“You have never heard of Andraste?” he asks. “I mean aside from here, in Haven?” Shisui shooks his head.

“She is a religious —ah, temple? Faith, hm...” He trails off, a wrinkle appearing between his brows as he tries to figure out the best way to explain it with Shisui’s limited vocabulary.

“I know,” Shisui says. Understand , he meant, but he hasn’t quite figured that word out yet. Or figured out how to get Solas to give it to him. He really needs a spot where he can sit for a while and watch people talking with his sharingan on, and a notebook.

Andraste, it seems, is some kind of goddess-made-flesh? Or something like that, connected to the god that most people around here—if Solas is to be believed—worship. The big building at the only reasonably defensible spot in town is apparently one of their temples, and all the people in the white uniforms are their priests. Or maybe monks? Shisui isn’t quite sure; clergy of some kind at any rate, which is mildly interesting, for a shinobi like him.

He has never had much to do with gods and temples, the Naka shrine and Uchiha clan legends notwithstanding; few people in Konoha did. What use do they have for distant gods when living ones walk among them? Oh, nobody forgot the spirits or their ancestors, but any awe and deep veneration tend to be reserved for the Hokage, and occasionally the other Founders; real people who had done real things, terrible, astounding things.

There are still people in the village old enough to remember when the Valley of the End wasn't a valley at all.

Shisui can do things too that are, objectively, terrible, and astounding, although he seldom thinks of them that way; people seldom do, about their own abilities. The strongest of a powerful clan (although he hopes, knows that Itachi can and will become stronger, he has to), and not just for his mangekyou sharingan; he can do things that other people, even other Uchiha people, just. Cannot. It doesn’t make him a god, but power, and his familiarity with it, make him less inclined to beg distant, unknowable beings for distant, uncertain favours.

“You seem lost in thought,” Solas says, pausing for a moment outside the tavern.

“Andraste people are strange,” Shisui admits. “God and... god-people? Chantry people? I think they are strange.”

“Do you not have gods where you come from?” Solas asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“Not like here,” Shisui replies. He looks for the word, but he doesn’t have it yet, so he just uses his own: “ Kami , and... the people who come before grandparents? Very before?”

“ Ancestors ,” Solas offers, and Shisui thanks him with a nod. That right there is what he actually kind of likes about Solas.

“We give very respect to kami and ancestors,” he explains. “Some kami , and some ancestors, might be think like gods, but not like Andraste and Maker.”

Really, the idea of one god —a male god at that—creating everything is a bit silly. Even the Sage had a brother. And he didn’t create the world, it was already there. So were people. He just taught people about chakra, and gave them ninshu.

Shisui’s stomach growls, and it makes him laugh, reminds him why they were there outside the tavern in the first place.

“I will try explain later,” he says, and pushes the door open into a wave of heat, and the mingled smell of food and beer of some kind, and oiled metal and bodies yet unwashed from the grime of the day. A bit like the jounin ready station, but with less blood.

“Hey Chuckles! Fluffy! ” calls a familiar voice. Shisui grins to see Varric waving from a corner table behind a tankard and a half-empty bowl. He takes the implicit invitation, and weaves expertly through the crowd, finally slouching into one of the chairs at Varric’s table, still unoccupied despite the crowd. Solas follows with slightly less grace. It looks intentional to his expert eye, but he doesn't so much as arch an eyebrow. Solas gives a quirk of his own anyway.

Solas' way, Shisui assumes, of letting him know that he isn't being as subtle as he thought.

"So, Fluffy , how're the language lessons going?" Varric asks.

"Talking learning," Solas clarifies without Shisui needing to ask.

"Ah, lessons is the noun, I know it!" Shisui says.

"Not quite kid. 'Lesson'-" Varric holds up one finger "-'lessons'-" he holds up two, then three, then his whole hand "- get it?"

"Is 'get' like 'know'?"

"Sometimes," Solas begins. "But that can wait; I believe this young lady is here to get our order." There is in fact a girl beside their table. She's maybe a year or two older than Shisui, with the pointed ears that mark her as part of the same 'elf' clan as Solas, though they don't look much alike besides that. It is more than just the difference between a civilian and someone decidedly not , although that is definitely part of it. He can't immediately put a finger on it, and so he adds it to the mental folder of stuff to think about later .

"Is there a list of food and drink?" Shisui asks, when the girl turns to him.

"Like a-a menu, sir? " she asks. ( Menu , that must be the word he's looking for there.) She shakes her head. "Sorry sir, no sir, we don't have any, um, anything that fancy here. Just the stew or the roast, or if you're cheap the bread and drippings. For drink we've got an, an Orlesian red wine, local ale, winter wine, and some kind of Antivan spirits, if you've got the coin. Oh! We also have a hot mulled wine, if you're, if you're feeling cold, sir."

Shisui drums his fingers thoughtfully on the table, nods to himself, and says:

"I'll take the stew." It's what Varric is eating, and what Solas ordered, and what most of the people in the room are eating, and so probably less likely to be poisoned. "And, sorry, do you have tea?"

The girl blinks in surprise, and nods hesitantly.

"Ye-es, would you like a cup?"

"A pot, thanks." He grins at her, and she nods, darting off through the crowd. She hadn't written down a single word; not a bad memory.

"Do you plan on staying up all night?" Solas asks, a wrinkle of distaste forming between his brows.

"No," Shisui replies.

"Then why the tea?" Varric asks, leaning forward a little, his hands automatically moving to pull out a notebook and a pencil.

"I don't want water?" Isn't it obvious?

"I believe what Master Tethras is asking is why you chose tea over one of the other drinks," Solas puts in.

" Oh -" yes he supposes it should be obvious, but maybe his competency in battle fooled them? "-my years are too small for wine-like drinks."

Shisui can see by the looks on their faces that he has momentarily baffled his dinner companions; whether it's his makeshift phrasing, or something else? Who knows. Not him.

"Chuckles? You've been with him all day, is he saying what I think he's saying?" Varric asks.

"'He' is right here," Shisui reminds him, more amused than offended.

"Shisui, are you saying that you are... too young to drink alcohol? " Solas asks, likewise amused as well as baffled. "How many years have you?"

"Ten plus five," Shisu says, shrugging.

Varric's pencil snaps.

Solas is very, very still.

Under his breath, Varris says something that feels like a curse, and he digs another pencil out. He turns to a fresh page of his notebooks, and scratches out a triple handful of hash-marks before he turns the notebook to Shisui.

" Fifteen . That many. That's how old you are?" he asks, not even making an effort to hide his disbelief. Shisui nods.

"Yes. Fifteen. " Oh fuck him are they going to make a big deal about his age? Even by civilian standards he's at least old enough for an apprenticeship or something, he thinks? And neither Varric nor Solas are civilians, or if they are they're the most uncivilian civilians he's ever met.

"Shit, Fluffy , I thought you just had a baby-face. You really are a kid. Fuck." Varric sits back, and drains his tankard, regarding Shisui with mild consternation.

"'Fluffy'?" Shisui asks, ignoring the matter of his age. His age doesn't matter.

Varric gestures above his own head, and then points at Shisui's.

"Yeah. Fluffy. Fifteen isn't actually too young to drink you know," he says.

"Where I am from, it is." Shisui shrugs again; it doesn't much matter to him, he supposes, but it's a good excuse to avoid inebriation, and... it really isn't good to drink when you're underage.

"I've never heard of anywhere like that," Varric says, plainly curious, and asking-not-asking for more information. Shisui grins again, wider this time; try harder, shorty.

"Nor have I," Solas says. "Not even in my deepest ventures into the Fade ."

"What is the Fade? " Shisui asks.

"You mean Chuckles hasn't talked your ear off already?" Varric asks, as Solas visibly --to an Uchiha's eye anyway--brightens.

"The Fade is the realm of dreams ," he starts "And of spirits . You are a mage , Shisui, you should be familiar with it, even if it is by another name."

"That is a lot of new words," Shisui says.

" Dreams ," Varric says. "Are things you see when you sleep. Spirits are demons--"

"Rather, the other way around," Solas interjects. Before either of them can continue, the waitress returns with their food and drinks. Shisui thanks her, and digs in like the growing boy he actually is. Solas and Varric both watch him with some amusement that he ignores in favour of hot stew. It tastes... beefy, but gamey at the same time. Some kind of wild cattle? He would have expected goat in the mountains, but he's not going to argue with it. Carrots, potato, something that's a bit like potato but less starchy... Plenty of salt, but otherwise under-seasoned to his taste; almost bland. Not as bland as what he ate earlier though.

The tea is oversteeped and astringent, but only a little bit, and it does the job of being a hot, and more importantly, safe and clean , drink. Neither inebriation nor dysentery shall claim Uchiha Shisui!

Solas follows his example, and so does Varric, in finishing his meal at least.

"All right, Fluffy. I'll let Chuckles here explain spirits and all that," Varris says. He pulls himself together, and rises from his seat. "I'll see you tomorrow kid."

"Sleep good," Shisui wishes him, having no doubt that sleep is not at all where Varric is headed. It's okay. He won't pry yet. That's what a subtle genjutsu, a shadow clone, and his trademark speed are for. Nobody sees a thing, although Solas seems to have noticed something ; a sensor of some degree, it seems. Good to know.

He makes note of it, and devotes some of his attention to keeping track of when and how Solas reacts to his use of chakra, and then turns his attention back to Solas.

"Fade, spirits, demons?" he asks, giving the other man one of his 'charming little shit' grins.

"Of course," Solas replies. "To begin with--"

This time, Solas produces a sketchbook--Shisui sees some frankly excellent drawings (local landscapes, and portrait thumbnails, scant detail still enough to make his subjects recognisable) as he flips to a clean page--to draw diagrams and little picture-scroll-like scenes as he explains... well. A lot. Enough that even Shisui has trouble following all of it, especially with the new vocabulary.

What he understands, in the end, is this:

The 'Fade' is a world of dreams, connected to, or divided from? The normal world. And spirits and demons--maybe the same thing?--also live there, but obviously sometimes come here. 'Demons,' as far as Shisui can tell, is just the word used to distinguish the aggressive ones from the benign ones.

"Yes," Solas says, when he manages to express this. "You are, in essence , correct. Any spirit may be dangerous to the unwary, but they do not mean to be."

"No different from us," Shisui says. "Small, young people can be dangerous."

"Children," Solas says. "Singular, child."

"Thanks. Children can be dangerous. Anyone can be dangerous, wary or unwary." Shisui taps his chin thoughtfully. "Spirits sound like kami , a little. Be respect, and you're fine."

"Respectful. The kami that you mentioned earlier? How interesting! The idea of a religion based on respect for spirits sounds quite refreshing. Tell me--"

"Ah, wait, I'm not very religious you know? I have to think about it," Shisui interjects, before Solas can ask him anything uncomfortable. While not precisely true, he doesn't feel at all comfortable discussing Uchiha matters of faith with anyone outside the clan. Even thinking about it makes his brain go nope , and he isn't anything like what you can call 'devout'.

"No? A shame," Solas replies, clearly disappointed.

"When I have more words, maybe I can tell you about something," Shisui offers. He'll have time to figure out what would be easiest to talk about. Safest. Something that the whole village celebrates, maybe some of the rites the monks perform in the Fire Temple.

"I look forward to it then. On that note, perhaps we should conclude for the evening; I would be happy to continue to aid you in acquiring the local language tomorrow if you like," Solas says.

"Yes," Shisui agrees. "I need to think. And I need to practice reading," he adds.

"Would you like me to compose a list of recommendations?" Solas asks. "I will base it on your current vocabulary, and what is perhaps the most urgent information for you to learn--local geography, recent history, and the like. Perhaps someone in Haven has a primer on how the people here tend to regard magic, as well. I think that that would be very helpful for you to know."

"Oh I'd definitely like that," Shisui agrees. Since 'magic' seems to be the local word for 'ninjutsu and genjutsu', if not chakra itself. "...actually anything about magic," he says. "I think people use it different here, to me."

"Differently. Yes, I suspect as much myself, and would definitely be interested in discussing the matter further. I will see what I can do," Solas says, before finally standing. Shisui finishes the last of his tea, and follows his example, and then follows him out; the waitress had returned for payment while they were talking about dreams.

"See you in the morning," Shisui says, and then takes off for his little cabin. Without really thinking about it, he sticks to the shadows, and avoids the few other people moving through the dark, including the quasi-shinobi who report to Leliana.

For the first time that day, the mini-Breach in Shisui's hand twinges, a crackle like a senbon to the common palmar nerves. It makes his fingers spasm briefly, and it makes him frown; if that happens in combat, it could be bad. A spasm like that could cause him to drop a kunai, or worse, a hand-sign. He needs to grill Solas about that, soon. Privately.

Nobody is waiting for him in his cabin, and there are no traps, so Shisui lights the lamp with a lick of katon chakra, and sits down to first check his hand--no visible changes to normal sight, and only minimal to the sharingan, which he takes note of--and then to check his gear, and catalogue all of his recent purchases. The bulk of his acquisitions go into the storage scroll, although he leaves the cloth and thread out. The bulk of his money does as well, with a decent handful of pocket change kept aside.

That's what he's tallying when his clone dispels itself, and his body and mind get the rush of returned chakra and information.

It's. Kind of sweet, really, how much Varric cares about how young he is. He'd be the first one; all his youth has ever gotten him before is praise for his genius and ability, and assassination missions where being small and cute makes it easier to shank someone in a kidney. But Cassandra and Leliana, and especially Commander Cullen were bothered by it, and one or more of them will probably want to talk to him about it. Likely Leliana; their skill-sets overlap, and so she'll be most likely to have an idea of what kind of training he's done to gain the kind of ability that he has.

That she has; she can walk in chain without a sound. He'll eat Hatake's dog treats if she hasn't, and that makes her more dangerous. Her and Varric. And Solas. He drums his fingers thoughtfully; his clone had watched them until they went to bed, before dispelling, so there's no getting ahead, and talking to them about it now , when he's alert, and they're not, and he can't decide whether or not he wants to let them make an issue of his age in the first place. He's been an adult member of society for nearly ten years now. Ugh .

That's a problem for future Shisui, he decides. It's not as if it'll be more than annoying.

Abruptly, he unseals a notebook and a pen from his storage scroll, and starts writing down everything he can remember since he woke in chains. He uses an old Uchiha code; only used for training anymore, but it'll be fine here, where nobody can even read hiragana , much less old Sage-script. When he's done with that, he tucks it in his weapons pouch, snuffs the light, kicks off his boots, and falls into bed.

He could stay up through the night, but if he doesn't have to, he shouldn't. 'Rest whenever you can' is one of the principles of being a ninja too, after all.

Falling asleep is just a matter of wanting to, with his mental discipline; Shisui only looks like a casual guy, thanks.

He's hoping for a solid, dreamless night.

A solid, dreamless night is not what he gets.

It starts that way, but almost immediately, his subconscious becomes aware of something impinging on it, and discipline shifts his mind into something halfway between consciousness and lucid dreaming, with the familiar sensation of active sharingan, and the genjutsu maze he's set in his mind draws on his chakra for the first time since his last training with the Chief.

Spirits is his first thought; Solas had mentioned that some of them--the aggressive sort called 'demons' for the most part--like to impinge upon the dreams of people, and even take control of them, somehow. Shisui likes to think that he wouldn't be any more susceptible to that than he is to any other mind-control techniques (the Yamanaka, for instance), but until he tests it, he has no way of knowing for sure.

With caution, he looks into the maze, and almost double-takes when he sees who has been caught in it.

Solas.

Naturally, he disrupts his chakra to prevent the possibility of being ensnared in a genjutsu himself; it's probably unnecessary inside his own mind, with his sharingan active, but he takes the precaution anyway, and only proceeds when he is certain that it is, in fact, Solas who is trying to get into his mind.

" Rude . And here I actually kind of liked you." Shisui lets a vague sense of disappointment ripple through his maze, along with the flutter of dark wings that he shares with Itachi: their crows. Solas starts, looking around himself.

Mist is all he'll see, and the dirt path beneath his feet, illuminated by the diffuse light of the moon, gradually reddening as he moves deeper into the maze.

"Curious," Solas murmurs to himself. The maze carries him closer to Shisui's mental copy of the Naka, and when he hears the sound of rushing water, he turns toward it all on his own.

Excellent.

For a moment, Shisui allows the mist to waver, shift in a non-existent breeze, and reveal the black silhouettes of trees, buildings, powerlines--before it all dissolves into the black wings and sharp cries of startled crows.

Solas covers his face reflexively as the birds scatter, taking the landscape with them, leaving the cliffs of the Valley of the End, and a perfect chance for Shisui to push Solas over them.

And right into the sense memories of T&I resistance training.

Solas flexes his chakra in an attempt to free himself from Shisui's snare, but he's too deep in for it to have any effect--if it could at all, given. Shisui is who he is, and he doesn't get the feeling that Solas is a genjutsu specialist.

He allows the sense memory to stop the moment Solas hits the water--ice cold, but not iced over, and full of the grasping hands of the dead.

They aren't Shisui's dead, and this is part of his maze that he's really proud of: they're Solas' dead, drawn by the genjutsu from the depths of his mind and his own guilt, and it makes his eyes fly wide, makes him gasp in sudden horror--and inhale a double lungful of icy dream water, as Shisui stands atop the lake, and looks down at him, and down at--

Oh.

Oh .

Wow.

He.

This is usually the part that's somewhat useful, as far as intel goes, but.

Shisui isn't sure his mind can quite handle the. Thousands? Millions? Of dead in Solas' grasping lake.

That is. A lot . Really a lot. That's. War . That's Warring Clans Era kind of war. More. Worse. This is--

Wait .

No, it's not that--or not just that. This is the dead of a war leader , of a man who considers every kill of his subordinates to be his responsibility as well.

Just who are you, Solas? He doesn't ask it, but he will. Later.

He feels Solas flex his chakra again, spend it on some jutsu that Shisui doesn't allow to happen; this is his mind, his dream. Solas is just an uninvited guest.

" Rude ," he says again, and this time he allows Solas to hear it, lets the other man meet his eyes for a brief moment, before the hands drag him down.

It's cold down there, at the bottom, and the pressure is like being two-hundred metres deep: black and crushing, almost as deep as someone can dive without specialised suiton. Solas manages to stagger to his feet, which is actually pretty impressive; Shisui is tempted to increase the pressure, but refrains. He's too curious about what Solas does next. Whether he realises he's drowning in blood, and that the sand and sticks below his feet are the dust and fragments of bones.

The sharp viridian of Solas' chakra crackles visibly in his eyes as he looks around; he seems to have remembered that in a dream he doesn't actually need to breathe. Shame.

Solas moves through thick blood and bone as if he's moving through air, trips over a skull, and lands on a jagged volcanic shore, cursing and spilling more blood all over Shisui's mindscape. It fails to blend in with the rest, and Solas stops to stare again as it sits there, bright red, wet and glistening in the moonlight, where it should be nothing but black.

Once again, Solas moves his chakra, something more complicated this time, and again, when he releases it, it has no more effect than Shisui allows it to, which is to say: none.

"How...?" Solas mutters, his frustration evident. He looks around, clearly considering the jagged rocks around him, and the perfectly still lake of blood behind him, the rest of the valley obscured in moonlit mist once more.

He shakes his head.

Sighs.

And tries to wake up.

Shisui laughs to himself, and doesn't allow it.

"Leaving so soon?"

("...soon... so soo.... n") whispers through the dreamscape maze, and Solas' head snaps up, eyes sharp--

"Shisui? Is that you? Where are you?" he calls, concern in his voice, a sudden resolve in his shoulders, and. Oh. Has he not realised that this is Shisui's maze? He has to know that he's in Shisui's mind, right?

Shisui refrains from answering, and watches as Solas decides on a direction, and tumbles ass-over-teakettle through another flurry of black wings and raucous cries. If Solas happened to look up just then (he doesn't, pity), he would see a pair of eyes watching him, wide and red, with slowly spinning black tomoe.

This time, Shisui just lets him fall, freewheeling through flapping wings and indistinct imagery drawn from his own thoughts and fears. It incidentally allows Shisui a few glimpses of those same thoughts and fears--a swirling green sphere, jagged red crystals, a massive black wolf with six glowing eyes--but not more than that.

For a second time, Solas tries to wake up, and for a second time, Shisui denies him that option.

For the first time, Shisui sees a thrill of real, true, fear in Solas' eyes, and so he allows him to land. Hard. On flat, smooth, black stone, the Uchiha mon etched and painted on it all but glowing, the only colour, the only feature, in the endless black of this little piece of Shisui's mind.

Shisui watches him impassively, curious, but also annoyed, and overall disappointed with him.

"Really Solas," he says, when the other man looks up, and foolishly meets his eyes. "How hard is it to not go poking around in someone else's head uninvited?"

I have made a terrible mistake Solas' eyes say for him, because he can't quite find his voice.

Shisui squats beside him, crossing the space between them even faster than he would in the waking world.

"I think we need to have a talk, Solas," he says. His tone is like conversational steel: mild, but brooking no argument. "We could have it right here, right now. It'd be really easy, super-convenient, don't even have to get out of bed!" Something passes through Solas' eyes; not quite fear, but denial, and he opens his mouth:

"If it is all the same to you, I would rather not," he says, his voice hoarse and rough, scratchy like he's been screaming, although he has barely uttered a word since he walked into Shisui's dreams.

It is, like so much else about him, actually impressive; the last person caught like this hadn't been able to speak for a day, even in the waking world; his genjutsu is more than powerful enough to affect the body as well as the mind after all.

"In that case," Shisui says, leaning closer, flexing his chakra. "It's time to wake up ."

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Mistakes Have Been Made

Solas wakes. And is terribly, painfully aware of just how lucky he is to do so.

His throat is on fire like he has been screaming; not as badly as it had been in the Fade, but the very fact that an injury has carried over to the waking world--more than one, he realises, as he becomes aware of the way his hands sting, and the ache in his lungs, and the heavy bruises, as if he had fallen a very great distance...

It is chilling .

His own emotions are a tangle, and he has to fight them into some semblance of order: fear, concern, anger, consternation, confusion, dread --

He worries that it is too late for Shisui. He thinks about the figure with Shisui's face, and glowing red eyes, and he worries that his Anchor is embedded in a body not in the control of its own mind, but that of a spirit, one of Fear perhaps, or one of Guilt, of Regret...

No. Fear, if anything, or Confusion. Pride, perhaps, is a possibility, but the overwhelming experience in that piece of the Fade connected to Shisui's mind had been one of fear, and of pain, and of his own mistakes dragged out and shoved before his face like--

Abruptly, Solas realises that he is not alone.

Shisui is perched like a bird at the foot of his bed, eyes glowing red like a man possessed, spinning slowly in an otherwise blank face. No, he realises, not the solid glow of a spirit looking out through the eyes of a flesh-and-blood person; only his irises glow, and it is a faint one at that. What are more disturbing are the three dots that circle each pupil, small but distinct, and each with its own little tail, like a tadpole.

Every hair on Solas' body stands on end, and he cannot hold back the urge to shiver; a distinctly uncomfortable sensation that he has not experienced since elder days.

Shisui grins, bright and cheerful, exactly the way that he had earlier that day when he grasped some part of their impromptu language lesson, and it reminds Solas that for all his deadly effectiveness in battle, for all his sharp intellect, and what he suspects is a keen wit behind a language barrier... Shisui is a child. A boy. Probably nowhere near his full growth, or the peak of his abilities.

It is not a comforting thought.

Likewise discomforting is the way that the boy has not blinked, nor spoken a word. His grin doesn't waver, and he waits, silently, his slowly spinning gaze fixed on Solas.

This is a game that Solas knows well; one of patience, dominance, and intimidation. It is also one that he refuses to lose to a child, no matter how unsettling the child may be. How powerful, because he is that without a doubt. Solas cannot think of when he last met someone with such a natural facility with the Fade, and dreams; himself, perhaps. Shisui might be even better than he is, or it may have just been a territorial advantage... Regardless, it is not a thing that Solas will be testing any time soon. No, not without consulting his friends in the Fade, and a great deal of preparation.

Shisui has still not blinked, and neither has Solas, but the boy's eyelids are drooping slightly, slipping, almost narrowing...

Solas blinks.

Shisui's eyes are as they ever were, and his grin is a hair wider.

Fenehdis. How had he done that? Solas had sensed nothing, no stirring of magic, no casting of a spell...

Solas' mind races as the boy's eyes spin, and--

His own eyes widen, and he averts them quickly, only to see the familiar walls of the cabin stretching up to the sky like a cathedral--

He curses, blinks again, and the cabin is as it should be, and Shisui's eyes are shining with mirth. It takes an act of will to keep from meeting them again.

"What are you?" he finds himself asking.

" Shinobi ," the boy answers. Solas does not know what that means, but it seems nothing but ominous. "Human," he adds, and Solas has the oddest feeling like Shisui is somehow taking pity on him. "Male, jounin , teenager, legal adult, oh! Big fan of my aunt's cooking!" He smacks a fist into the palm of his hand, still grinning, still not blinking.

Solas' eye is drawn to the movement, and Shisui is suddenly perched on his chest , all the weight of being at the bottom of the lake in Shisui's dream pressing down on him, and for a second, he knows , with all the certainty in his soul, that he is going to die .

"Also? Wondering just what the hell you thought you were doing. You know. Barging into someone else's mind like that is rude . If I weren't nice, you'd be dead. Or worse." Shisui tilts his head like one of Leliana's birds, and Solas catches a glimpse of his irises again, those tadpoles swimming faster for a split second. His words are, by contrast, cheerful--and surprisingly fluent.

Solas does not doubt for one second that Shisui is telling the truth; his lingering injuries are proof of that. If he had his true power, it would be a different story, of course, but the bulk of it remains locked within his Orb, which is still in the hands of Corypheus. And in Shisui's hand; he can feel it, hovering so close, and yet, completely out of reach.

"I was concerned," Solas says, finally. "About your ignorance with regards to matters of the Fade. Checking on the state of your mind was a precaution for our sakes, and yours."

"You could have asked," Shisui points out. "Or knocked."

"Your 'door' to continue the metaphor, was wide open."

"Yeah, to catch people rude enough to come looking without an invitation." Shisui tilts his head the other way, just a little. "Don't do it again. I’d hate to have to kill you before I get answers about the mini-Breach, but I will.”

Solas believes him.

“And if I... ‘knock’?” he asks anyway, curious.

“Then maybe we can talk,” Shisui says, cheerful like a carrion crow over a fresh kill. It’s less disturbing than the overwhelming aura of killing intent the boy had projected before.

Solas still can’t figure out how Shisui is suddenly fluent enough to be using colloquial turns of phrase—no. No, that’s lying to himself; he can follow the threads of logic back to the moment he himself entered Shisui’s dreams, and in doing so, exposed his own mind to the boy. It is, at least, a hypothesis.

What he does know, what he is certain of, is that whatever a shinobi is, it is nothing he has ever encountered before, awake or dreaming.

Shisui is gone from his chest then, swift as a thought, a Fade-step so smooth and natural that Solas barely feels the displacement of air.

“Glad we had this talk,” he says with a cheeky grin. “Sleep tight.”

And then he’s gone, without waiting for a reply.

Solas lets out a breath. Calms his elevated pulse. Relaxes back into sleep, resolved to find some answers—obliquely.

——

Morning comes, bringing the sun and reluctant wakefulness, and no more answers than Solas had had when he returned to sleep the previous night. Though not unexpected, the lack of information is frustrating; he has taken the first steps to finding things out, however, giving the word shinobi to several of Fen’Harel’s agents, along with a handful of the other words he recalled Shisui speaking in his own tongue.

The look of his weapons as well, his small throwing knives and the stars as well. And the symbols he wears, the one like a spiralling leaf on his forehead, and the red-and-white paddle, or fan, or... whatever it might be. Hopefully, answers would come to him sooner rather than later. Because there is, he thinks, something about Shisui that is... he is reluctant to put words to it, as the shape of it is not clear, but it makes him think of days long ago, and not in any fond, nostalgic way.

Solas will be glad when he can speak with Wisdom again; his friend’s insight into this matter will be invaluable.

He goes through his morning routine with no outward changes—wash his face, don his cleanest clothes, perform a short moving meditation in the open space beside his cottage. It is good for the people here to see that he takes measures to keep his power under control, and so he does these little, otherwise unnecessary things. Today it also happens to give him more time to consider the various problems presented by Shisui.

The first, and of course most important, was that the boy had his Anchor, and it could not be removed. Even taking his arm, or killing him would not guarantee removal or transfer, otherwise Solas would have done that while he was unconscious, and left these shadows behind. He has no solution to that problem, as yet, and he is uncertain of where exactly to begin to find one, outside of retrieving his Orb.

The second, is Shisui’s possible possession status. Solas does not think that he is possessed, but he is not yet certain of it, and while it remains a possibility, it remains a problem. Tonight, he will ask any nearby, friendly spirits if he is or not, and that will solve that. A far simpler matter than the first, and it will also help determine just what, if anything, he needs to do about some of the other problems presented by the boy.

The third problem is Shisui's sudden linguistic fluency. It is a much more personal problem for Solas than the others, considering the likely source of it... He will also have to find some way to deflect the perceptions of others away from thoughts of demons and abominations, particularly those of the Seeker and Commander Cullen; Leliana he suspects, will be a little more pragmatic about matters, at least until the Breach is permanently sealed.

Which leads him to his fourth problem. Intel gathered by his agents indicates that Shisui was not present at the Temple of Sacred Ashes when Corypheus made his attempt. He did, however, come out of a Fade Rift, and therefore the Fade. It is where he came from prior to that, and how he got into the Fade in the first place that troubles Solas, because it is beyond anything he knows.

His language, his clothes, the way he moves, fights, uses his magic... None of it is anything he has ever seen, in all his years, waking or dreaming, and that... he cannot help but feel as if that boy has, for the first time in a very long time, kindled some spark of wonder in him.

It is a dangerous thought, and one he can ill afford, but it is there, and he cannot deny it.

(Perhaps this is what these shadows mean when they speak of youth being the future.)

There are several more problems he needs to consider—not the least of which is just how to go about permanently sealing the Breach without his Orb—but those are the most significant this morning.

“One thing at a time,” he reminds himself quietly, before stepping out into the morning sun.

He is not the first person awake and about; he gets a nod from one of Cullen’s men heading for the catapults, and a wave from one of the quartermaster’s people. He acknowledges them in kind, and continues on his way, heading across town to where Shisui has been placed. He is, he supposes, curious.

“Hey Chuckles, are you going to check on the kid too?” Varric asks, falling in beside him. His face is a reasonable facsimile of cheer, but Solas can see the signs of concern under it; he wonders if Varric would feel the same if he had any idea what lurked under Shisui’s smile.

“Mm,” Solas agrees. “I would be remiss if I did not.”

“You shoulda been there when I told the Seeker that the kid is an actual kid,” Varric replies. “Nightingale talked her down, but she seemed like she was almost ready to put him with the rest of the mage kids—fancy hand or not.”

“That would have been a terrible idea,” Solas says at once.

“Yeah, I agree—but why do you think so?” Varric cocks a curious brow at him.

“Despite his age, and youthful demeanor, I believe that Shisui is functionally an adult,” Solas replies. “And we are all aware of just how formidable he is in battle—and how likewise formidable his control is. It would be a mistake to treat him as a child. Young, yes, but a child? No. No.”

Varric makes a complicated face at that, but he nods.

“Street kids are like that sometimes. Growing up too damned fast for all the wrong reasons. But he’s not a street kid.”

“I agree. But I cannot place him otherwise.”

“Yeah, me neither; kinda funny, isn’t it?”

“In a sense, yes. Quite the mystery, isn’t he? Speaking of,” Solas continues. “Has Sister Nightingale had anything to say about him?”

“Not to me,” Varric replies. “But nobody talks to me. ”

That, everyone knows, is a blatant lie; everyone talks to Varric, if only in the hopes of finding some representation of themselves in his next book. It is those who refrain from such things who are the exception, rather than the rule. Though he is ambivalent about it, Solas fully accepts that the price he may well yet pay for the information he gains from his conversations with the dwarf is the appearance of a threadbare elven apostate in some future novel or another.

“Certainly not; it is well-known that you are a reclusive, anti-social individual who abhors gossip.” His words make Varric laugh, as intended.

“And don’t you forget it, Chuckles. Hey, there’s Fluffy now,” Varric adds, pointing to the indigo-clad shape meandering vaguely in their direction. His nose is in a book, and Solas can just see his eyes moving rapidly across the pages, even as he weaves deftly through people. Yesterday, Solas would have called him adequately literate—for a child. Today, he is as competent in this as he was in his speech during his nighttime visit, and Solas isn’t the only one to notice; he sees Varric’s eyebrow tick up at the sight.

“Hey, is it just me...?”

Solas shakes his head.

“No, it seems our Herald is indeed a fast learner,” he replies.

“You buy all that Herald of Andraste stuff?” Varric asks. “ You? ”

“Whether or not I do is completely immaterial,” Solas says. “They-“ he nods to the people moving out of Shisui’s way, bowing, murmuring “-do. And it gives them hope.” Varric doesn’t have a chance to answer aloud, though the turn of his lips and the narrowing of his eyes speak volumes.

“Hey! Varric, you’re just the guy I wanted to see!” Shisui says, approaching them. “See, I had a few questions—“ He shuts his book, and holds it up, revealing the cover: The Tale of the Champion.

Solas finds himself smiling faintly; at Varric’s face, at the twinkle in Shisui’s eyes. Charcoal grey again, and bright with nothing but teasing mirth.

“It came highly recommended,” Shisui continues. “And I’ve been taking notes, but then I thought to myself, ‘Shisui, instead of slogging through a poorly-organised collection of secondary sources, why not interrogate the primary source? Since he’s right here and all.’ I was trying to finish it before finding you, but I guess I wasn’t fast enough.” He almost looks embarrassed at that.

“Weren’t fast—kid, yesterday you could barely read ‘A is for Apostate’, I think you’re doing just fine. Let’s go get breakfast, and I’ll answer some questions for you—if you answer some for me.” There’s a familiar sharp look in Varric’s eyes, and he grins at Shisui. The boy returns his grin, bright and cheerful, and it feels completely honest; in the bright winter sun, with a child’s bright smile, the red-eyed being of shadows from the depths of the night feels very far away.

That, he suspects, is the entire point. He wears a similar mask himself: the mild-mannered elven apostate, the bright cheerful child. The Dread Wolf, and...? Something with crows, surely, given the perching, and the endless black wings in his dreamscape.

“Deal!” Shisui says, laughing. He stows the book in the pouch at his waist. “Are you gonna join us, Solas?” His grin is a challenge.

“I suppose,” Solas replies, taking it up. “I haven’t eaten yet.”

“And you hate gossip just as much as I do, right Chuckles?” Varric elbows him lightly, grinning up at him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Master Tethras,” Solas says.

“Sure you don’t, Chuckles, sure you don’t. Come on you two.”

Varric leads the way to Flissa’s tavern, and Solas and Shisui both follow.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Shisui says, as they round the turn in the path. “Call this question zero: is it true that everyone here puts their personal name first, and their family or clan name second?”

“Is that not the case where you come from?” Solas asks in return.

“Nope! It’s completely the other way around,” Shisui replies. He raises his hands as he does, one finger on each raised, and he moves them one to the other side.

“So I’d be ‘Tethras Varric’?” The dwarf makes a face as he considers it. “Sounds kind of weird.”

“I feel the same way about ‘Shisui Uchiha’,” Shisui replies with a careless shrug. “But since I’m here, I guess I’ll have to get used to it.”

Uchiha. The name is another piece of the puzzle for Solas, and he’ll be sure to pass it on to his agents tonight. An almost unnoticeable flutter of movement draws his attention to one of Leliana’s agents as they pass by; off, no doubt, to update their mistress on this new piece of information.

“So it would be ‘Uchiha Shisui’ then?” Solas asks. “I must confess, I cannot say that I have ever heard a name like yours before.” Not quite, at any rate. He kept the thrill of new knowledge down, again, barely; he allowed some to shine through though, the better to maintain his mask of scholarly, humble apostate.

“Not even in the Fade?” Shisui asks. At Varric’s arched eyebrow, he adds, “I spent most of the night reading. Why do you think my vocabulary’s so good now?”

“From reading.” Varric’s skepticism is mild, but evident.

“Well, sure?” For once, Shisui sounds... hesitant. “I can’t think of a better reason, can you?”

Ah. Solas understands. This, then, is something of a test for the explanation for his fluency that Shisui has decided upon: if someone as worldly as Varric finds it plausible, then it may well serve.

The dwarf in question eyes the boy thoughtfully, and, as they reach the tavern door, he shrugs.

“I’ll let you know if I do, Fluffy.”

Shisui gives Varric one of his cheerful grins, and then leads the way in.

A wave of warmth and sound washes out from the tavern as Shisui opens the door, and Solas is tempted to change his mind about joining the breakfast-slash-mutual interrogation session; the crowd is noisy and unappealing, and he can almost sense Shisui having similar thoughts.

“Let’s get food and sit somewhere else,” the boy proposes.

“I concur,” Solas says, without reservation.

“Yeah,” Varric agrees after a moment to look over the crowd. “A bit loud in here for a conversation right now, isn’t it? How about we set up at my usual spot?”

“What’s wrong with the roof?” Shisui asks, as if sitting on the roof were a perfectly reasonable, every-day option when faced with a crowded dining establishment.

Perhaps for him, it is, Solas thinks, recalling his easy mobility.

“You’re kidding, right?” Varric asks. “Height, sloped roof, cold wind, need I go on?”

“I guess the cold bothers me less than most people,” Shisui says. Varric half-laughs, and glances briefly at the boy’s shoes—sandals, leaving his feet almost as exposed as elven footwraps—and says,

“I’ll say.”

“Perhaps a compromise,” Solas offers. “I presume, Shisui, you would prefer a good view and a modicum of privacy?” He waits for a nod, and continues: “Then perhaps on the ramparts, near one of the catapults. I am certain no-one will stop us from lighting a fire for your comfort Master Tethras.”

“That sounds great,” Shisui says. “Let’s split up: you guys get breakfast, I’ll get wood and build the fire. I’ll meet you there!”

He slips around both of them, and out the door on the lightest feet Solas has never heard.

“I guess the kid’s decided for us,” Varric says, and he really does laugh this time, before pushing his way through the crowd to the bar. Solas follows in his wake, and remembers to order tea for Shisui, along with the hot, spiced wine he and Varric choose. It’s a weak drink, but he has the feeling that Shisui would object regardless.

To no surprise, by the time they meet him, Shisui has built the next best thing to a bonfire out near the catapults; the heat is pleasant, although it has also ensured that they have somewhat less privacy than Solas thinks Shisui originally wanted. Perhaps that matters less to him than he thought though, given the animated conversation he is having with one of Cullen’s men.

“—plenty of pitch to be had here! Fireballs of any kind are way better than just rocks! Explosives’re even better than that, obviously—hey! Solas, Varric! Anyway, nice chat-“ he clasps the man on his armoured shoulder “-think about it, okay?”

He strides over, confident, with a bounce in his step that far better suits his age than the catlike tread he has used before.

“We don’t really have use for siege weaponry where I come from,” he says, gesturing for Solas and Varric to follow him. “Talking about it with someone who actually uses it is really cool! I still think that they should just coat all the rocks in pitch instead of only some, since we’re surrounded by pine, but what do I know?”

He sits easily on one of the flat, square cushions set around the fire, and gestures for them to join him. Solas does, and notes that covered in a sturdy cloth, clean, but patched and frequently mended, and the colours are a mix of browns and greys of the sort that might be faded blues. He wonders where Shisui found them; he has not seen the like here in Haven, at least. Under his fingers, the cloth is heavy, tightly-woven, and once, very fine. His eyes drift to the broad-collared shirt Shisui wears, and then flick up to meet his eyes, getting a grin for his trouble.

Ah. So, somehow, he had brought them himself. Likely with the rest of his mysteriously-appearing inventory, though Solas would dearly like to know the ‘how’ of that, as well.

“Not bad, Fluffy,” Varric says, as he settles on his own cushion. “Not bad at all. Let’s eat.”

Breakfast is sausage rolls, some with cheese and some without, along with tea and hot spiced wine—heavily watered of course, this time of day. He would prefer not to drink with breakfast, but a little lightheadedness is far preferable to tea, and he neither trusts the water here, nor can he afford to be seen using his magic frivolously—as the ignorant and foolish would no doubt see it—to purify it.

Not that he expects himself to be vulnerable to any plague or parasite that might present itself, but... he is as yet not what he once was, and if taking the precaution is foolish, well, he is the only one to know himself for a fool.

“All right so first of all ,” Shisui says, once he has inhaled three of the sausage rolls, and half the rough clay jar of tea. “Varric. My friend. If your other friend, Hawke, is anything like she is in your book? I want to meet her.” The boy grins, and Varric pales.

“Uh, huh, sure Fluffy. Sure. That can happen. Sometime. You know, the Seeker wants to meet Hawke too, and I’ll tell you what I told her, and that’s that I have no idea where Hawke is, or what she’s doing right now,” Varric says. “You probably didn’t realise it, but I was half a prisoner too when we met; Seeker kept trying to get me to spill, but I can’t tell what I don’t know, get it?”

Shisui listens, with his head tilted slightly in a manner reminiscent of a cat, or perhaps a crow, his wide eyes slightly narrowed. When Varric finishes, he nods.

“I get it,” he agrees. “Just so you know, I don’t have any ulterior motives; I just think she sounds neat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. So now—“ Shisui interrupts Varric by raising a finger.

“Hang on. Seeker? Who’s that?”

“That would be Cassandra,” Solas interjects. “She is one of the Seekers of Truth, a militant arm of the Andrastean Chantry, one both older and nobler, I dare say, than the Templars.”

Shisui jots something down in the notebook that he has produced from—somewhere, although given the size of it (small), in this case Solas would wager that it is a matter of sleight-of-hand rather than any of his unknown magic.

“Taking notes?” Varric asks, smiling a little.

“Things to look up for later,” Shisui replies. “Especially if I can find a less biased library.”

“Good luck with that ,” the dwarf snorts, shaking his head. “Anyway, I was wondering, what’s the symbol on your shirt? A fan? A mushroom?”

The boy laughs.

“You were right the first time! It’s a fan! It’s the symbol...? Sigil? Uh, crest I think might be the right word,” he mutters to himself a little. “Or maybe seal? Yeah, I think that’s right. The seal of my clan.”

“That’d be ‘Uchiha’, right?” Varric asks, sparing Solas the need to.

“Right,” Shisui agrees. Runs a hand through his hair. Sighs. There is a barely perceptible line of tension in him that Solas suspects he is allowing them to see.

“What’s bothering you, Fluffy?” There’s real concern in Varric’s voice, because he has yet to be treated to the red-eyed being of dark wings and nightmares.

“Neither of you have ever heard it before today, have you,” Shisui states, rather than asks.

“I cannot say that I have,” Solas admits with a shake of his head.

“Me neither,” Varric agrees. “Should we have?”

“If we were anywhere remotely near where I come from? Yeah, you should have.” The boy grimaces, and drinks his tea. “I didn’t introduce myself with my clan name because I wanted to be judged by my own merits, rather than my clan’s.” He reaches for the last sausage roll, and neither Solas nor Varric stop him.

“The price of fame, or rather, famous relatives,” Varric suggests. Shisui just shrugs.

“Yeah, one or two. Nobody you’d have heard of,” he says. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Varric agrees. “Mind sharing one or two, just in case?”

Shisui frowns, and his eyes go distant as he considers it. Solas wonders what calculus he is using to determine his answer.

“I guess it can’t hurt,” the boy says finally. “Madara. Uchiha Madara is probably the most famous member of my clan. He’s dead now, but he’s still famous. His legacy towers over all of us.” Shisui’s lips twitch slightly, as if laughing at some joke he’s made to himself; there is, Solas presumes, a monument to this Madara in his homeland then, possibly quite a large one at that, given his phrasing.

“You were right, Fluffy, I’ve never heard of him,” Varric says. “You might drop the name to Nightingale or Ruffles—“

“Sister Leliana or Lady Josephine,” Solas interjects.

“—right, yeah, they might’ve heard of him, or your clan. Seeker, too.”

“They have a lot on their plates right now.” Shisui pours himself some more tea, turning the cup in circles in his hands, making the liquid shiver.

“They won’t mind. It'd even make them happy, I think, to have something to look for. I don’t think you fully understand just how much of a buzz you’ve been making, Shisui.” Varric points to the boy with his pencil, overtop his notebook.

“I know I don’t!” Shisui laughs. “I’ve only just got the language enough to have a chat! I don’t even know—well, a lot?” He scratches his head sheepishly, sips his tea, warms it with such a deft piece of magic that Solas almost misses it, and sips it again.

“Speaking of, it’s my turn: what the hell do people here have against mages?”

“Hooooo, you don’t ask the easy questions, do you Fluffy?” Varric runs a hand through his hair, and then again back over it, smoothing it back into place.

“Indeed not; the entire history of human civilisation could be described by that one question,” Solas agrees.

“That just makes no sense to me,” the boy admits, and Solas feels some sympathy for him, for the genuine frustration in his voice.

“I don’t know if I’m the right guy to ask,” Varric says. “Dwarves can’t even be mages, for one.”

That, Solas knows, is not the only reason he is trying to deflect the question, and he is likewise sure that Shisui won’t be put off by it; for all that he apparently has yet to reach the end of The Tale of The Champion , he surely cannot miss the roots of the current conflicts that lie in it.

Indeed, Shisui blinks, and blinks again, a little furrow forming between his brows as he looks at Varric.

“Why not?” Shisui asks. It is not at all the question Solas expected him to ask.

“Come again?” Varric seems as taken aback as Solas feels, though he hides it well, letting only a hint into his voice and posture.

“Why can’t dwarves be mages?” Shisui asks.

“Because a mage must be connected to the Fade, and dwarves are not connected to the Fade, to put it simply,” Solas says. “Do you not have any dwarves in your homeland?”

“Of course we do! Not nearly as many as here, but—“

“Dwarves aren’t just short humans, Shisui,” Varric interjects. “If you didn’t know that, you probably don’t have real dwarves.”

For the first time since he has met the boy, Shisui looks genuinely perplexed. He sets down his now empty cup, frowning, and looking back and forth between Varric and Solas, his dark eyes all but unreadable.

“I honestly thought you were a clan. It wouldn’t be unusual where I come from,” he adds, to Varric’s skeptical look. “People come in all shapes and sizes! And sometimes colours! Being short and stocky isn’t any big thing as far as a clan ‘look’ goes.”

“I dunno what to tell you Fluffy. I’m not a healer or anything, but the differences are there, and they’re big enough to matter: dwarves, elves, humans, qunari... we’re all different species. Although,” Varric adds after a moment, “Humans and elves are close enough to have kids together, and I’m no expert, but I think that means the difference is smaller?”

“In some respects, yes,” Solas allows. Reluctantly, though he tries not to show it; the idea of conflating his people, through however distant a body as that of modern elves, with the humans who have hounded, battered, and enslaved them is repugnant at best. “In others, no; the details are far more complex than might be discussed in a fireside conversation, and—“

“‘Scuse me!” A high, bright voice interrupts them: a young elf woman in a scout’s uniform. “Seeker Cassandra and Sister Leliana would like to speak with the Lord Herald-“

“-Shisui-“

“-Lord Herald Shisui-“ the boy sighs “-at his earliest convenience.”

“Which means ‘now’,” Shisui says, with an exaggerated eyeroll.

“Well...” the scout hedges, and finally nods sheepishly when Shisui arches an eyebrow at her.

“Ehh... not like there’s anything better to do right now I guess. Go tell them I’ll be there soon, nee-chan.” He gives her one of his bright, charming smiles, and she gives him a salute, before darting off back in the direction of the Chantry.

“Guess that means we’ll have to do Q & A Round Two sometime later,” Shisui says. He pulls a small scroll from somewhere on his person—his sleight-of-hand is skillful enough that Solas cannot determine where, which is impressive—and unrolls it, revealing, from what Solas can see, a series of sigils and symbols, arranged in careful patterns and arrays—like runes, or inscribed spells.

Shisui presses his fingers to the centre of one of the arrays, and with a puff of smoke, pulls a book out of the scroll.

“Andraste’s tits ,” Varric breathes, at the same time as Solas gasps,

“ Fenedhis! ”

Shisui pauses in the process of rolling the scroll back up to look at them again. Something like flat disbelief sits blatantly on his face for a moment, before he finishes rolling the scroll, and stowing it away.

“Here,” he says, offering Varric the book. Solas cannot read the writing on the front, though it looks similar to that on the scroll.

“This is what we call a bingo book—kind of a who’s who of badasses,” Shisui explains. “I don’t think you can read it, but the photos should give you an idea of what I’m used to as far as human variety goes. Please make sure the cushions get back to my cabin when you’re done, and the book too; it kind of has sentimental value.”

“Hey, wait,” Varric starts, even as he takes the book. Shisui just grins at him, and vanishes in a soft breath of wind, fresh green leaves left swirling behind him.

“Damn it,” Varric mutters. “The kid just pulls a book out of a piece of paper, and then takes off like—Did you catch what he did, Chuckles?”

“Just now? Something like a Fade Step; advanced, but not too unusual. The scroll on the other hand... I have never seen the like,” he admits, shaking his head. “And I am uncertain how it might be accomplished.”

It certainly explains where Shisui had produced all of his things—things not evidently part of his equipment when he arrived.

Varric opens the book, makes a curious noise, and then turns it around, and opens it again. Solas moves so that he can look over the dwarf’s shoulder, and Varric obligingly tips the book so that they both might see. It is a fascinating sight: the lettering is incomprensible, but... beautiful. Elaborate in a way that Solas has never seen in a human creation.

“It appears to be divided into sections,” Solas observes, pointing to the edges of the pages. They’re marked by staggered coloured blocks, each with a symbol marked for every page; Solas recognises none of them but the leaf-like spiral that Shisui wears on his forehead.

“Yeah.” Varric’s thumb runs along the edges, feathering them rapidly. “Their printing is really sophisticated, Chuckles. Miles beyond ours; look at all the colours, look at the precision—my publisher would kill for one of these presses, and I’m pretty sure Fluffy has no idea what that says about his homeland.”

“It says that much?” Solas does not know much about printing; it has never interested him to know beyond satisfying his curiosity of the basics, and he finds himself feeling a twinge of regret for that. Perhaps when this is all over, when he has undone his mistakes and corrected his errors, he might find time to learn more.

Or he can just listen to Varric right now.

“It really does. On the presses I’m familiar with, a single pass gets you a single colour, so for every colour, you have to go again. It increases the chances of an error, and it gets more expensive the more passes you make. You wouldn’t waste it on some mass-produced pulp novel—you couldn’t anyway, the paper can’t handle more than one, maybe two passes,” the dwarf explains. “And this paper is just a step or two up from pulp.”

There are, Solas notes, at least a half-dozen colours on the page edges alone; the page they’re open to, shows a white-haired young man, with a headband like Shisui’s pulled down over one side of his face, and a black mask pulled up over to the lower half, leaving slightly less than one quarter of his face visible; he is dressed in green and black, and the detail is so realistic, so lifelike that he might well spring out from the page. After Shisui’s earlier display with the scroll, it would not be a surprise.

“And a portrait of this detail would not likely withstand such a process, either.”

“Honestly, I didn’t know you could print portraits like this—I didn’t know you could paint them,” Varric admits. “A master printer would lose their shit over this.”

“Speaking as an artist, I am very impressed with the portraiture technique to begin with, never mind the printing,” Solas admits. He turns the page, revealing two more portraits, and the same combination of horizontal and vertical text present on the first. Two more young men, one with shoulder-length brown hair and a stick in his mouth, the other with a distinct facial scar, both dressed similarly to the first, though wearing blue under their green vests instead of black...

“Hm. Looks like a uniform,” Varric comments, paging a little further into the book. He stops on a dark-haired man with a square jaw and an otherwise narrow face, stern. He wears the same green vest as the others, but beneath that he has the same high-collared indigo shirt as Shisui, and present on his page is the same red-and-white symbol that the boy has told them is the symbol of his Uchiha clan.

The next twenty-odd pages are likewise marked with the Uchiha clan symbol—not that it’s necessary, with the men and women being almost uniformly dark-haired, dark-eyed, pale-skinned, and indigo-clad. It is harder to tell under their layers of loose clothing, but they seem to have a certain uniformity of build, as well.

“Kid said this was a ‘who’s who of badasses’, right?” Varric asks, as he turns to the last page with an Uchiha—this one Shisui himself, recognisable despite the younger, softer face that looks out from the page. It’s clear from the way the pages fall as Varric holds the book that this is the page most-oft turned to, held, and looked at—as any child might, with a great accomplishment.

“And sentimental, yes. Possibly for his own entry into the list,” Solas observes.

“Kids always want to be badass instead of being kids,” Varric agrees.

The next page holds a man as pale-skinned and dark-haired as Shisui and his Uchiha clan, but with eyes that are the undifferentiated white of the blind.

“Interesting, that in his land blindness doesn’t keep one from the exalted ranks of the ‘badass’,” Solas comments, before Varric turns the page, and reveals two more people with identical eyes. He sees Varric’s eyebrows rise at the same time as he feels his own.

“I don’t know, Chuckles, there might be something else going on here,” the dwarf says. There’s a symbol in common on these pages as well—a V-shape with an arc inside it, containing what looks like a stylised flame. Solas makes a note to himself to look back over the other pages for other clan markings; they surely must be present.

“I suspect you may be right.”

There are more of the arced-flame clan, a good dozen of them, before the book turns to a different clan. These people hide behind dark glasses and heavy clothes, showing less skin even than the white-haired young man from the beginning. There are four of them listed.

The next is a clan of people who can best be described as vast : tall, broad, muscular, fat; thick-haired, thick-boned, and wearing heavy armour that would surely cush a lesser being.

“If this is what Shisui is used to being ‘human’ maybe mistaking dwarves for a clan of short, stocky humans isn’t really a surprise,” Varric allows, after staring for a while at one of the clan of the vast—one so large a small drawing of presumably a typically-sized human is included for scale.

“Indeed, it would be the same thing in the other direction,” Solas agrees.

The next page is a woman(?) who seems more beast than human, with a maw full of fangs in her smirk, and claws ready to gut the unwary. Three dogs—or maybe wolves—the size of ponies share the page with her.

“I find myself uncertain what to say,” Solas says.

“No shit, Chuckles?” Varric turns the page, revealing two more people with canine partners included. Neither look quite as fierce as the woman on the facing page, but there is still an enticingly primal energy about them that practically radiates off the page. The next several pages are of almost disarmingly ordinary-looking people, some with clan symbols, some with animals, some with distinctive weapons.

At the very end of the section is a large, fold-out piece, depicting three people: a short, pretty blonde woman, a tall man with a wild mane of white hair, and an individual with ink-black hair and chalk-white skin and slit-pupiled golden eyes to whom he hesitates to assign a species much less a gender. The portraits are the same size as all the others; what takes up the entire fold-out is a depiction of three animals: a slug, a toad, and a snake, each one easily the size of a palace , if the tiny humanoid figure sketched in on their heads is anything to go by.

“What the fuck.” It is a flat statement rather than a question, and Solas feels the sentiment down to his bones.

“Oooh, yeah, you got to the Sannin, don’t worry, that’s a normal reaction,” says Shisui, who is suddenly there . Varric jumps , cursing, and the only reason the book doesn’t go flying is that Shisui is there to deftly catch it.

“Hey! Careful with that!” the boy says. He folds the large sheet back into the book in a subtly different way than it had been before, one that allows the three people featured—the ‘Sannin’—to be paged through like any others.

“I meant it when I said it has sentimental value,” he says softly.

“Because you’re in it?” Varric guesses.

“That too, I mean, yeah it’s my first bingo book entry, but my best friend gave me this copy,” Shisui replies. “It’s the only bingo book I have on me right now, or I would’ve given you another one.”

“I see. I apologise; we should have had more care,” Solas says. A gift from a best friend... important, yes, and even more so to a child. Particularly a best friend who is now in some far off place that is unknown to all those around him... Yes, he understands. All too well.

(He should have had more care for his own best friend; none of them would be in this position if he had.)

“It’s fine. Nothing’s hurt, so... it’s fine.” Shisui takes a slow breath, and lets it out. “Anyway, the Sannin! They’re really famous; if you haven’t heard of them you haven’t heard of anyone back home.”

“They got names?” Varric asks.

“Yeah.” Shisui nods. “Most people do.”

“I walked right into that one,” Varric says, half-laughing, to Shisui’s grinning face. “All right, what are their names?”

“Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Tsunade,” Shisui replies, pointing in turn to the white-haired man, the black-haired... person, and the blonde woman. “Senju Tsunade actually; she usually foregoes her clan name when they’re introduced as a group. They’re living legends.”

“And they’re all human, even this... Orochimaru?” Solas asks. There is something just... uncanny about that person, even in a portrait; the artist captured that strangeness well, he thinks.

“Well, yeah? Why wouldn’t he be? I was trying to tell you that humans can look... well, really different, sometimes. Look—“ Shisui takes the book, and turns to a section marked in blue, with four wavey lines as its symbol.

The very first entry is a... being, with blue skin, black hair, and a maw full of razor-sharp teeth, like a shark’s. In fact, the man’s eyes are also like a shark’s, dark and round, and Solas is not sure, but he has what might be gills...?

“This guy’s human. Why wouldn’t Orochimaru be?”

Why not indeed. Whatever has prompted the people of Shisui’s land to broaden their definition of ‘human’, it is not a thing that Solas has seen, even in the remotest parts of the Fade. The day is still young, and already he finds himself eager for it to end, so that he might return to his dreams and perhaps find answers there. Or if not answers, then at least more questions.

Varric runs a hand through his hair, lets out a low whistle, and says, “Not it.”

“Huh?” Shisui says, as Solas himself says,

“Excuse me?”

“Not it. I’m not going to give Fluffy the darkspawn talk,” Varric says. Solas feels himself involuntarily wince.

“Ah. Yes. Perhaps we should leave that to Sister Leliana? She was part of the Warden’s party, who ended the last Blight was she not?” he asks.

“I—yeah. Yeah she was. Good idea. Hey, speaking of Nightingale, what did she want, Fluffy? You weren’t gone very long.”

“Apparently there’s a cleric who wants to meet me, in the Hinterlands,” Shisui offers. “Leliana’s already sent scouts, and Cassandra’s coming with, but I wanted to ask the two of you along as well.”

"Why us?" Solas asks, meaning why me? After their confrontation in the night, Solas would have imagined himself to be the last person that Shisui would want along on a mission. And yet, for the most part, today he has been behaving no differently than he had before... Not that he has any reference for what the boy is like normally. Nothing is normal about the current times, not for any of them.

It would be exciting were it not so terrible.

It is exciting, even though it is so terrible.

"My considerations are honestly largely tactical," Shisui says, his face sobering. "I already know something of what you two are capable of in combat--Cassandra as well. And I intend to learn more along our way there; Leliana says that there are at the very least two warring factions there already; I hope the scouts come through with better intel-- anyway , if you're coming, I want you there for the briefing."

"Sure, Fluffy," Varric says. "I'll come. Be nice to see something other than snow for a bit."

"While not quite the way I would put it, yes, I concur," Solas replies.

"Great!" Shisui grins, and produces his scroll again. "Pass me the cushions, then, I'll just pack all this up now." Varric and Solas both move, and hand over their cushions. Shisui unrolls the scroll to a particular place, stacks the cushions, and presses the tips of the first two fingers of each hand to the array of runes and letters beneath them. There is a surge of--something. Once again, too small and too fast for Solas to quite determine what it is he is doing, and the cushions vanish into the scroll. He does the same with his book, and then vanishes the scroll back wherever it is that he keeps it.

That done, he eyes the fire, shrugs, and gestures for them to follow him.

"I figure the folks out here will appreciate it," he says. Indeed, even as they move away, several of the soldiers working on the catapults move in to warm themselves.

"So, you said a cleric wants to meet you?" Varric asks.

"Mother Giselle," Shisui replies. "From the Chantry." He glances back over his shoulder as he says it.

"I've heard of her," Varric replies. "She's well-respected; if you can get her on our side, that might get the Chantry off our necks."

"Yeah, apparently some of them want to execute me, like that Roderick guy?" Shisui shrugs; it doesn't seem to bother him.

"I think all of Haven heard his shouting, yes," Solas agrees. "But I sincerely doubt that either the Seeker or Sister Leliana would allow that to happen, at this point."

"Cassandra doesn't take any shit," is what Shisui says, after a moment of consideration. Varric throws back his head, and laughs.

"I'll say," he agrees. "Just don't let her push you around, Fluffy."

"Don't worry, Varric. I won't." There's a gleam in Shisui's eyes that reminds Solas of that night; something that sends a little shiver up his spine, and makes the metaphorical wolf inside him prick its ears in alert. The look is there-and-gone, but Varric doesn't miss it either, and his lips twitch in something like a smile.

"Somehow Fluffy, that doesn't surprise me."

The briefing, when they reach the makeshift war-room, is, in a word, brief. There just is not much actionable intelligence from the Hinterlands as yet, and Sister Leliana says as much once she has passed on what she already knows.

"Until my scouts can establish a safe forward base, I am afraid that reports will be sparse at best," she explains. "My ravens know better than to risk taking an arrow until then." That catches Shisui's attention, his eyes bright and curious.

"Ravens? Do you use summons, or trained birds?" he asks.

"Trained birds of course. I am not certain what you mean by summons," she replies.

"It's," he starts, and stops, frowning. "You know, I'm not sure how to explain it. I'll let you know when I figure it out; I'm still not really fluent in this language, you know."

"I would hardly think so, after barely more than a day," Lady Josephine interjects. "I am very impressed with your progress so far, though; you have quite the natural facility with language. We should get you started on Orlesian, next."

"That's a very good idea, Josie," Sister Leliana agrees. "We can assemble texts for Shisui for his return. In the meantime, please use the journey to continue your study of the Fereldan tongue."

"Yes ma'am," the boy replies, giving her a cheeky grin. "I was already planning on it."

They break up then, scattering to perform their preparations; the party leaves at dawn, which leaves little time.

Solas has agreed to collect potions for the entire party, as his quarters are most closely adjacent to Adan's workshop; aside from that, he thankfully has few preparations to undertake himself, which leaves him plenty of time for checking dead-drops and leaving orders for his agents.

"I got the message from the Seeker," Adan says gruffly, when Solas walks through the open door of his workshop. "This is all I can spare-" he taps the pack "-twenty. That's five each, if you don't need to heal anyone else. I'm not a healer any more than you are, you know that."

"And yet, they keep pressing us into the role. Thank you for your hard work," Solas says.

"Thank me by finding a real healer out there," Adan says. "This Inquisition won't get anywhere with amateurs like us."

"Indeed not. I will keep my eyes open, and see if I can make it plain how much of a priority it ought to be."

"Bring that kid back alive, huh? Or all my hard work will go to waste."

"You can count on it." For all his gruffness, Adan is not a bad man. Solas leaves him, and heads for the blacksmith; the way the sound carries, he can hear Shisui down there, speaking with the man.

"Aye," Harrit is saying, as Solas approaches. "I can do that."

"Good," Shisui replies. "It's very important that the weight and balance match exactly. "

"Like matched throwing knives," Harrit says. He jumps a little when Shisui is suddenly holding a trio of the knives--shaped like a spearhead, roughly--between his fingers.

"Exactly like!" the boy says cheerfully. The knives vanish like they appeared, and Harrit laughs.

"All right, all right, I've equipped enough rogues to have your measure. I'll get my apprentices on these 'koonye' and I'll work on the 'shooreeken' myself."

"Thank you Master Harrit. I'll come pick them up before we leave in the morning." Shisui gives him a slight bow, and then turns, hopping lightly over the fence, and crossing the street to join Solas.

"Hey! Just the guy I was looking for! Are those the potions?" he asks.

"Yes," Solas replies, falling in beside him as he starts walking. "Adan had them all ready for us."

"He uses too much saltpeter in his bombs, but he seems like a good guy," Shisui replies.

"Pardon?" The non-sequitur takes him aback. Shisui taps his nose.

"I can smell it. Without going into the details, if you're making bombs, saltpeter is one of the ingredients; you need to get the ratios right if you want a good boom. That's all really fiddly though, so most people just use exploding tags where I come from," Shisui explains.

"And what is an exploding tag?" Solas asks. It is, he realises suddenly, very still around them, and very quiet. The bustle of Haven can just be heard in the distance, but even that slowly fades. Somehow, they have crossed a great distance without him even noticing. He considers Shisui's demonstrated speed, and his ability to warp perceptions, and his blood runs cold.

"Something I'm going to teach you how to use before we go," Shisui says. He is holding a slip of paper between his fingers; the edges are red, and the rest of it is filled with an array of runes and symbols not unlike those on Shisui's mysterious scroll.

"Why?" Solas asks. Shisui smiles. Solas is once more put in mind of a carrion crow. He almost expects the boy's eyes to change again, but they remain dark like charcoal, not a hint of crimson to be seen.

"Because," Shisui says. "I want to see if you can. And if you can, it'll be very useful in the field. Much easier than training in the use of explosives."

"And?" Solas prompts. There is an and here, he can sense it.

"And nothing," he says. "Come here, I'm going to demonstrate."

In spite of himself, Solas' curiosity pushes him to do so.

"Exploding tags are made with fuuinjutsu ," Shisui explains. "The... sealing arts, I guess it would translate to. The seal creates an explosion, and holds it in potentia until it is activated by the application of chakra. You only need a tiny amount to activate an exploding tag; touch the tag, and I'll demonstrate."

Solas does, and--

"Oh. I can-- yes, I can feel it, in the ink, like a rune, but more... ephemeral? More flexible--" There's a very faint surge of power, flowing from Shisui into the paper, and then the boy is pulling it away.

"Yeah, all that. I gave it a five-second timer--" He snaps the paper, flinging it like a knife, straight into the air, where it bursts with a substantial explosion. "See? Tiny amount of chakra, big boom. We'll talk about flexible use later, " he adds, as Solas starts to ask about timers .

"Very well," Solas agrees. Wordlessly, Shisui hands him an exploding tag; on a purely tactile level, it doesn't feel like anything but a piece of slightly heavy, high-quality paper. To his magical senses, it buzzes with a familiar energy, the 'explosion in potentia' that Shisui described being much more evident with the paper in his hand alone.

"Once you activate it, get it away from you quickly; the tag doesn't care who gets caught in its radius."

Solas nods, and thoughtfully feeds a very tiny bit of magic into the paper; to his surprise, he can feel it catch , and he flings it quickly away, giving it an extra push with his power. In the next breath he covers them both with a barrier, and the tag explodes less than a second after that, leaving Shisui laughing in delight, as the heat washes over them.

"Right on the first try! That's great! " Shisui's eyes are bright and young for once, lighting up his face. He offers Solas two sheafs of tags, one substantially thicker than the other.

"These are for practice," he says, waving the thicker stack. "I made them earlier. They make some smoke, and about as much fire as a match. So maybe don't play with them in a pit of dry tinder, but. These-" the shorter stack, four in all "-are the real deal. Don't mix them up. If you run out, let me know."

"...thank you, Shisui," Solas says, accepting both sheafs, and tucking them away after a quick inspection.

"Thank me by getting good," Shisui says.

The sounds of Haven start to come back, slowly, still distant, but there . It is both a relief, and... not entirely terrifying, but certainly a little bit frightening, the ease with which Shisui can manipulate perceptions.

"I've already told Varric and Cassandra, but come meet at my cabin for dinner, and logistics," Shisui says. "Varric will bring dinner, and Cassandra has promised to bring something to drink. I have some space in my scroll if there's anything bulky you want to bring along."

"I appreciate the offer, but I have few possessions I cannot easily carry with me," Solas says. "The life of a wanderer."

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. All right. I’ll see you tonight!” And then with a wave, he is gone, once again leaving a swirl of leaves in his wake. Not, Solas thinks, so much intentionally, but rather as a part of whatever spell he is using. It suggests a use of nature energies, rather than the ice he uses to fuel his own Fade Step, and it leaves him curious.

He bends this time to take up one of the leaves. Fresh and green, despite the time of year, and not a species that grows in the area, nor even one that Solas recognises . He slips it, along with two others, between the pages of his sketchbook, for later, before heading back toward Haven.

Chapter Text

Varric wakes up, and it is just too damned early in the morning for his taste, which is to say, it’s before dawn . Oh, the false-dawn is there, pale grey light on the eastern horizon, coming up over the mountains like a literary metaphor, but the real deal won’t be there for at least another couple of hours.

Yeah, he could have slept a bit longer; he could have taken Fluffy-stuff’s offer to wake him up. But the kid had a sense of humour, and a particularly wicked gleam in his eye when he had made the offer during ‘dinner and logistics’ (as if that was a perfectly normal thing). All in all, Varric is pretty sure that making himself wake up is the lesser of two evils.

(It is kind of disappointing that neither Chuckles nor the Seeker had taken him up on it either; Varric is actually curious about what the kid would have done.)

Thanks to the logistics meeting last night, Varric actually gets himself together and is ready to go pretty quickly. He's feeling pretty good about things, until he looks outside and sees Fluffy perched on the pillar he'd specified the night before, waiting. Nobody else is there yet, which shouldn't matter, but...

The kid's staring at the moons like he's seen a damned ghost, and on top of that, he looks so lonely it makes Varric hurt, so what else is he going to do but go out and join him. He uses his softest step, one that's gotten him past darkspawn and drunks alike, neatly avoiding the crunch of snow in favour of exposed stone, and the occasional piece of frozen mud.

"Hey Fluffy, having second thoughts about the early start?" he calls. To his mild disappointment, the kid doesn't even twitch; he's not surprised , but it would have been a little funny, and given him something to tease Fluffy over. For all that he's definitely a mage though, Fluffy's also probably the best damned rogue Varric's ever met, and he would know. Wherever he's from that teaches mages rogue skills... His thoughts go briefly to the contents of the 'bingo book' Fluffy had shown them, to the page after page filled with faces like his--clanmates, family.

"About the early start? No. About everything that's happened since I woke up here? ...also no," Fluffy says. He hops down from the pillar, landing soundlessly on the snow, not even leaving a tiny indent in it. Varric wonders if Chuckles or the Seeker have any idea how hard that is, to walk that softly, without changing your gait, or speed. To leave no trace in your footsteps as you do?

Actually, Varric isn't sure how the kid does that one; it must be some combination mage-rogue trick, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't jealous. He can be as quiet as any cat, but he still leaves footprints.

"Then what's eating you?" Varric asks. He thinks the kid needs someone to ask, and more importantly, he's curious . Fluffy tilts his head like one of Nightingale's birds, looking at him without blinking. Varric doesn't think for a moment that the kid isn't perfectly aware of how unsettling it is when he does that; despite the disarming smiles, he's entirely too self-aware to be un aware.

Fluffy tips his head back to look at the sky again, and sighs, before pointing up.

"The whole sky is different," he says. "I mean, I knew I was a long way from home, but this is really ..." He shakes his head, and looks over to Varric again. "I'm even farther away than I thought. It complicates things, you know?"

"Yeah, kid, I get it," Varric says. "I can't speak for anyone else, but once we've got that mess in the sky taken care of, I can put out some feelers, and see if anyone knows how to get there from here." He's not entirely certain why he makes the offer, just... Fluffy's a kid . A kid who misses his best friend, and probably his family, who's here through no fault of his own, no matter how deadly and skilled he is.

"Thanks Varric. I appreciate it."

The next one to join them is Chuckles, and only a short while after, the Seeker.

"I see we are all prepared to depart in a timely fashion. I am pleasantly surprised," she says, eyeing Varric. He resists the urge to roll his eyes at her.

"Hey, just because I'm young, doesn't mean I'm lazy. The early departure was my idea in the first place," Fluffy says.

"I did not mean to imply--"

"I figured." Fluffy flashes a grin. "All right, Cassandra, you know the way, so you're on point. Solas, Varric, you're in the middle. I'll take rear guard. We'll take the first leg easy, so I can get an idea of everyone's limits. Any questions?"

"Your formation sounds reasonable," the Seeker replies. "I have no questions at the moment."

"As the Seeker said," Chuckles agrees, leaning on his staff and inclining his head slightly toward her.

Come to think of it, he isn't leaving any footprints in the snow either; maybe it's a mage thing? Or an elf thing? Fluffy's not an elf, but he could easily be elf-blooded, depending on how his clan's inheritance and membership work.

"Plenty," Varric says. "But nothing about the marching order."

"Then it has to wait," Fluffy says cheerfully. "We march until an hour after dawn, and then we'll stop for breakfast. Go."

The Seeker nods, and starts down toward the gate without any further delay. Varric loosens Bianca's straps, and falls in beside Chuckles, whose fingers have the familiar look of a mage readying a barrier. A glance over his shoulder shows Fluffy, strolling along just close enough to be within the barrier range, if it comes to that, but far enough to give himself a wide range of options. Speaking of options--

"Hey Fluffy, you remembered to pick up your stuff from Harrit, right?"

The question actually makes the kid stumble, and scuff the snow.

"Shit! No, I forgot! Thank you Varric! I'll meet you all at the gate!" He bows quickly, and vanishes with the now-familiar flurry of wind and leaves; Chuckles snatches one from the air, and turns it over in his hands.

“Curious,” he says, pulling out his sketchbook and tucking the leaf into it. “It is not the leaf of any tree that I have ever seen before, awake or in dreams.”

“His homeland is very distant,” the Seeker points out, still at the head of their formation. “Would it not be more surprising to find that the trees are the same?”

“Perhaps,” Chuckles allows thoughtfully.

“There’s an apprentice mage doing naturalist work back in the Chantry,” Varric says. “Mostly on things coming out of rifts, but maybe she might recognise it.”

“Her name is Minaeve, and I believe her work is somewhat broader in scope than that, Varric, but your notion is sound,” the Seeker says.

“In that case, when we return, please remind me,” Chuckles says. “Even if she does not know, I suppose it cannot hurt to try.”

“Or you could just try asking me,” Fluffy says, appearing out of nowhere like he does. Varric manages not to jump this time, but his heart is racing. Seeker does jump, a little; she clearly hasn’t been desensitised to Fluffy’s antics yet, but beside him, Chuckles doesn’t twitch.

“ Maker’s Breath Shisui! If you are not careful, one of us may injure you!” Seeker says, and Varric nods his agreement.

“Seeker’s got a point, Fluffy,” he says. The kid just shrugs.

“If your reflexes are good enough to hit me, then I deserve to get hit. Until they are, I’m not worried.”

“Your confidence is beginning to sound like reckless arrogance.” Seeker frowns over her shoulder, a flicker of worry in her eyes.

“Don’t worry, I promise you guys will be the first to know if I’m in danger,” Fluffy says. He’s still not worried, but he is concerned about the Seeker’s worry, which is nice of him; a lot of kids, even really self-aware ones, don’t think about other people very much. Fluffy-stuff is the exception; he’s thinking about all of them all the time, in ways that go beyond the tactical.

It’s nothing that the Seeker will pick up without having it pointed out, she’s too straightforward, but Varric sees it, and Nightingale sees it, and he’ll eat Bianca if Chuckles doesn’t see it. The kid’s always watching : their feet, their shoulders, their eyes. He’s watching the spaces between people, and listening to the things they say, and don’t say, and Varric can see him lining it all up, and putting it away somewhere, for some purpose, that he just hopes is benign.

Not that Fluffy strikes him as malevolent, but he’s been wrong about people before, and he’d really rather not be again, considering how things went the last time he had misjudged someone. Sure, that mess wasn't all on him--not at all on him, really, no matter how it feels --but he likes to think he's learned something from the clusterfuck of Kirkwall.

His fingers itch to write Hawke; she'd like Fluffy-stuff, he thinks. The fact that he's travelling with the Seeker gives him second thoughts, but if he can find an unaffiliated courier somewhere along the way, maybe he'll send one.

As the point, the Seeker sets the march for the first leg of their journey, and Varric can feel Fluffy's eyes on them--on him in particular, which he guesses he can't fault. But even though his legs are shorter, he has no trouble keeping up with the Seeker's pace, and he says as much when Fluffy comes up to talk to him and Chuckles a bit.

"Good," the kid replies. "I thought that might be the case. Cassandra told me she's commanded mixed forces before, which is half the reason I put her on point."

"You get many dwarves in the Seekers, Seeker?" Varric calls up to her.

"Not as such, but that hardly stops me from commanding dwarves," the Seeker replies. "Nor elves, for that matter."

"What about those other guys, uh, qunari?" Fluffy asks.

"I have not; few have, outside their own forces. Of any of us, I believe Varric would be the most qualified to tell you what they are like in person," Seeker says, looking over her shoulder, right directly at him. Fluffy gives him a glance, and he shrugs; the kid's read his book, he should know the basics anyway.

"We can table that discussion for now," Fluffy says, falling back to his rear-guard position. "Since we're not likely to run into any in the Hinterlands, right?"

"Right," the Seeker agrees. And then she sighs, “But the way things have been going, perhaps we had best prepare for the worst, just in case.”

“Hm.” They walk in a thinking silence for several minutes before Fluffy finally says, “When we stop tonight, you and Varric prepare me a brief on their tactics. Just an overview: we can save anything more in depth for later.”

“Can do,” Varric sighs in reply. Just what he didn’t want to think about.

“Of course,” Seeker says a moment later, glancing back over at him. She looks back again a moment later, hissing under her breath as the dawn finally breaks, brilliant and gold on the crisp white snow, making it glitter like fucking diamonds right into all their eyes, because this part of the road has them facing east.

“Hey, Cassandra?” Fluffy says, squinting off to the side.

“Yes, Shisui?” she replies, doing the same. It is, objectively, a funny sight, even if Varric is doing the same himself.

“You know the lay of the land here pretty well, right? So,” he continues, without waiting for an answer. “Is there any reason not to just cut across the wilderness to the south?”

“Wolves and bandits are both known to stalk the region,” the Seeker says. “And there was a landslide not long before the Conclave.”

“So, unstable terrain.”

“Precisely.”

“I think it’ll be less of a problem than the sun, for now though. We’re going to cut through. Change of formation though. I’m on point. Varric, you’re rear guard. Cassandra, with Solas. Everyone stay alert.”

The Seeker and Chuckles cooperate without protest; maybe they agree. Varric definitely does; the higher the sun climbs the worse it’s getting, and they don’t need to deal with snowblindness or anything. Fluffy’s idea to cut through this section of wilderness isn’t really that risky, and it puts the sun to one side of them, and quickly enough behind a pine-covered ridge, filtering through to provide gentle illumination instead of the eye-searing glare.

The switch in formation is nice in that it allows Varric to compare Chuckles’ and Fluffy’s strides. They’re both definitely moving lightly, although now that they’re in deeper snow it looks like Chuckles is leaving some kind of mark, while Fluffy still definitely isn’t. He wonders if the other two notice.

They probably do, right? That’s not the kind of thing you can miss when it’s right in front of your face like that.

In the near distance, a wolf howls, and Fluffy stops, head cocked to one side, listening. A second wolf joins the first, and the Seeker loosens her blade and shield, ready to draw the former, and pull the latter around. A third and a fourth howl join the first two, and Varric follows her example. Chuckles still looks relaxed, staff at rest on his back, but that doesn’t mean much for a mage, and the elf’s gaze is fixed on Fluffy’s back.

“All right, it’s nothing to worry about,” Fluffy says after a minute. “They’re just talking.”

“They are wolves,” Seeker counters. “They do not... talk.”

“On the contrary,” Chuckles interjects. “Wolves are very intelligent, social creatures, and Shisui is correct that howls are often used for long-distance communication.”

“Exactly. It’s just call-and-response, not hunting,” Fluffy explains. “If we stick to the ridge, and follow at this vector-“ he points “-we should stay out of their territory, and rejoin the road once the sun is higher, and less likely to blind us.”

“Your observations are very astute,” Seeker observes.

“It helps that the terrain is similar to what I’m used to back home—forest and mountains,” Fluffy explains. “If we were in the middle of the desert, I’d probably be a bit lost.” He scratches his head sheepishly. “I’ve only been to a desert once, and only for long enough to realise that I kind of hate it.”

He starts walking again as he talks, following the path he indicated pretty perfectly. The rest of them fall in, and despite Fluffy’s reassurances, Varric keeps a hand on Bianca; maybe the wolves are a danger, maybe they aren’t, but Seeker said there are bandits out here too. And sure, bandits would have to be dumber than rocks to attack a party like theirs, but bandits tended to be dumber than rocks.

The wolves keep howling though, and it makes Varric’s hair stand on end.

“You sure they’re not giving each other directions to find a four-course breakfast?” he asks. Fluffy-stuff just laughs.

“I’m sure! And unless they’re starving or rabid, they’d probably leave us alone anyway,” he adds, not at all reassuringly.

“I don’t think Master Tethras found that at all reassuring,” Chuckles says, because he gets it. The wandering apostate lifestyle probably involves a whole lot of avoiding hungry and hostile wildlife.

“Oh! Sorry, I thought the implication was obvious,” Fluffy says, glancing back over his shoulder. He does look genuinely contrite. “If they’re howling like that, they’re not rabid, and if they were starving, they already would have attacked.”

"That's still not very comforting, kid," Varric points out. Fluffy-stuff shrugs.

"I'm not very good at being comforting," he admits. "But I can tell you the truth, and that's that I'm completely unworried about the wolves. The bandits too," he adds, continuing, "Unless they're of a much higher calibre than the ones I'm used to, anyway."

"I cannot speak for the bandits you are accustomed to," Seeker says. "But those in this region are typical examples of their kind: rag-tag and ill-equipped, with only the barest organisation."

"Anyone with a substantial bounty, or anything?" Fluffy looks back over his shoulder again.

"Not here, no," the Seeker replies. "But it is possible there may be something of the sort where we are going; I expect such information to be part of the briefing we will receive from Leliana's people."

"All right then, I won't bother with them. It's about time for breakfast, so keep an eye out for a good place to stop!"

Has it really been that much time already? Apparently it has; the pace has been easier than Varric expected, given how energetic Fluffy is.

It's not much longer before Chuckles spots a low tumble of stone that might once have been a wall, sometime so long ago that not even his dreams know what it might have been. Fluffy nudges the stone with a foot, and hums to himself.

"No fire. We won't be here long. If anyone wants a hot drink, I'll warm it up."

"I'll take you up on that," Varric says, handing his flask over, and before long, hot drinks and hot food are all on the metaphorical table, all without a fire anywhere but Fluffy's hands. It's certainly the most casually convenient sort of magic-use Varric's ever seen.

“You have impressive control, over a volatile element,” Chuckles comments. Huh. Maybe that’s all it is?

“Not really,” Fluffy replies. “My control is better than average-“ something shifts in his eyes that tells Varric he might be understating things; why? “-but fire comes naturally to me. I’ve been doing tricks like that since I was a kid.”

“You’re still a kid,” Varric feels compelled to point out. Fluffy-stuff rolls his eyes.

“An actual kid, Varric, shorter than you and everything,” he says.

“A child as opposed to an adolescent,” the Seeker says.

“Yeah,” Fluffy laughs. “Something like that.” He doesn’t elaborate, for all that Chuckles is radiating curiosity. Varric’s curious too, but he likes to think he’s got it under better control.

When they’re done eating, Fluffy neatly incinerates the detritus, and hesitates a moment before wiggling his fingers and blowing the ash away with a small burst of wind. There’s a look of concetration on his face that hadn’t been there when he was playing with fire.

“Time to get back on the road,” he says. “I’ll take point until we get there. Afterwards, we’ll be rotating point and rear until I’ve had a chance to chat with everyone.”

“What about?” Varric asks, as they all fall into formation.

“I just want a better grasp of what you’re all capable of before we get in a real fight,” the kid explains. “That dash up the mountain gave me an idea, which is why I wanted you on my team in the first place, but the better I know what you can do, the less risk we’re all at, collectively.”

“And will we likewise learn something more of your capabilities?” Chuckles asks. Fluffy gives him a toothy grin, the kind with secrets in it.

“Maybe,” he teases. “Not that I’m anything special back home, but you all seem to divide people into ‘mages’ and ‘everyone else’, and never the twain shall meet. It’s different for us: everyone learns everything that they can, more or less.”

The pace he sets is a harder one that before, and it’s a bit much for Varric to ask what he wants to ask, so it’s nice when Seeker takes the bait.

“‘More or less’?” she asks. She doesn’t sound as breathless as Varric feels, which he charitably ascribes to her longer legs.

“Not everyone has the same talents, affinities, potential, or desire to reach that potential,” Fluffy says. He’s about as bothered by the pace as he would be a lazy spring walk. “Some people—and I know this might be shocking—are civilians. By choice!” His honestly baffled tone makes Varric laugh in spite of his efforts to conserve breath.

“I think that most people prefer a civilian life,” Seeker says. “Though much like you, Shisui, I do not entirely see why. Still, I find it surprising—mages are part of your normal forces?”

“Why not? There’s nothing about a ninjutsu specialty that prevents you from learning taijutsu , or bukijutsu or anything else,” Fluffy replies. He wrinkles his nose a bit; it’s adorable, and another reminder that he is, in fact, a kid.

“Uh... throwing fireballs doesn’t make you incapable of throwing a punch or stabbing someone,” the kid says. “Or setting traps, or... anything else. It’s nothing special , not any more than any other talent.”

“Do you not worry about possession?” Seeker asks. “If mages are part of your regular forces...”

“See, that’s the thing,” Fluffy says. “All of that... possession, demons, abominations...? That just doesn’t happen. Well,” he amends. “I guess it can happen, I’ve definitely heard of it, but everyone knows you just need to get a seal master, or maybe a professional exorcist, and they’ll take care of things.”

All three of them stumble to a halt, with Fluffy coming to a stop a moment later, and turning to face them, his head tilted like a bird again.

“I don’t see what’s so shocking about it?” he says. “It’s just looking after people. But... like I said, I’ve only ever heard about it. Like-“ he waves a hand “-in books, and old stories.”

“Why do you think that is?” Chuckles asks. Fluffy shrugs.

“There’s probably a reason, but it’s not important right now,” he says. “We need to keep moving.”

Without another word, he turns, and sets the pace again, leaving them no choice but to fall in or be left behind.

It’s not long until they reach the road again; less than an hour, by Varric’s estimation, but the sun is indeed no longer glaring off the snow quite so badly from its current position.

“Cassandra, swap,” Fluffy calls, as they set off down the road. “Varric, Solas, swap.” Their marching order thus rearranged, the kid continues, “We’ll keep going until we need to stop. Lunch will be a walking lunch. Half-speed for now Cassandra.”

“Aye,” the Seeker replies with a reflexive salute. Half-speed is still a good clip, but slow enough that Varric can talk, which is probably the point.

“So you’re probably wondering why I wanted to talk to you first,” Fluffy says.

“I won’t lie and deny it,” Varric replies.

“Well, it’s because you’re my favourite for rear guard.” Fluffy shrugs a bit, and nods to the front and back. “Aside from me, you’re the most versatile, and the most mobile; you can use traps in a melee and that’s one hell of a skill. Trapsetting is also vital if we have to do a running retreat.”

“Huh. You think like a rogue.” Fluffy’s not wrong; everything he’s said is true.

“A rogue?”

“Sneaks, thieves, trappers, assassins... You know, people like me,” Varric teases.

“Oh yeah! I probably do,” Fluffy agrees. “That’s pretty normal; even frontliners like Cassasndra need basic skills, you know?”

‘Basic skills.’ Varric mouths to himself.

“I mean, I get that standards are different in different places, but it’s just weird to me,” the kid continues. “So! You’re my go-to guy for rear-guard, Varric. And I want you out of position for the minimum possible time.”

“I. Huh. Wasn’t really expecting that,” Varric admits. “All right, let me give you the rundown.”

Most of it is what Fluffy has already pointed out, but he includes it for the sake of completeness. There are also some other rogue skills like stealth, disabling strikes, poisons... Nothing surprises him, and a few things make him grin.

“And then there’s Bianca,” Varric says, patting his beloved crossbow. Fluffy’s eyes gleam with the genuine appreciation of an afficionado.

“You’re really good with it-“

“-her-“

“-her,” Fluffy-stuff corrects without missing a beat. “I’ve never seen anyone so versatile with a crossbow before! It’s really great; you can even use her at point-blank range, and I know that doesn’t usually work for... any kind of bow.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Varric agrees. He gives Bianca another affectionate pat. “Bianca’s one-of-a-kind.”

Fluffy’s grin widens, and Varric spends the next hour being thoroughly grilled on Bianca’s range, rate of fire—everything—and how it all fits in with the rest of Varric’s capabilities. He’s feeling a bit like the kid scraped his brain out by they’re finished, and Fluffy’s grinning like a cat in cream.

When they rotate, Varric’s back at the rear again, with Chuckles on point, and the Seeker getting her brain scraped. The way they’re spaced, he can about hear most of what they’re talking about. It’s pretty interesting, and Fluffy has some good suggestions; he’s just mentioned the possibility of the Seeker launching him from her shield when he flexes his left hand with a hiss, and Chuckles signals a halt.

“I sense a rift,” the elf calls back to them.

“Me too,” Fluffy agrees. Varric can actually see the green light crackling faintly in his palm again. “I’m going to scout. Varric, you’re with me. Solas, Cassandra, follow, but not closely. One of us will signal when it’s time for you to move in.”

“Let me give you a barrier before you go,” Chuckles offers. “It might fade before it is of use, but then, it might not.” Fluffy nods, and Chuckles casts it; to Varric, it always feels like nothing, right up until some attack that should have hit him, doesn’t. Which is good, since he’s covering Fluffy as they sneak up on a rift.

It’s a little way off the road, at the peak of a gentle hill. The terrain is easy, but there’s not much in the way of cover; luckily they’re both sneaky bastards, able to get right up on top of it.

Varric recognises the Rage demon circling the rift; the ‘walking pile of magma’ look is hard to mistake for anything else. The rest look like shades to him, maybe a half dozen, though it’s hard to keep count.

They observe for several minutes before Fluffy signals them to move back. Instead of having Chuckles and the Seeker join them, they go all the way back.

“Okay, there was one that looked like ambulatory lava,” Fluffy starts.

“Rage demon,” Varric explains. “The rest looked like shades, between four and six; I couldn’t get a good count.”

“Six,” Fluffy confirms. “They’re moving in staggered cycles around the crown of the hill, which looks random at a glance, but if you can see all the shades and follow their movements, the ordered nature of the pattern becomes apparent.” He takes a few minutes to describe it then, and Varric can definitely square what the kid describes with what he saw himself. Still—

“Damn, Fluffy, you got all that? What the hell was I along for then?”

“Enemy identification and watching my back,” Fluffy says matter-of-factly. “I can scout alone, but I really prefer not to.”

The fact that he chooses to rely on Varric of all people to watch his back is less surprising than it would have been before he had been given the list of reasons Fluffy-stuff picked him for a rear guard, but it’s still kind of nice.

“Anyway! My hand is literally itching to close that rift,” Fluffy continues. “But since the demons don’t know we’re here, we have some time, so let’s talk strategy.” He produces one of his spade-shaped throwing knives, and uses it to draw a top-down map of the hill.

“The rift is here-“ he marks it “-at the crown of the hill. The Rage demon moves around it without any particular pattern. The shades are further out-“ again, he draws a circle to denote their rough location “-and moving in the pattern previously discussed. I want you three to focus on the Rage demon; I’ll provide a distraction and take care of the shades in one blow, and then—“

“All of the shades? At once? How?” the Seeker demands.

“ Housenka no jutsu ,” Fluffy replies immediately. “It’s katon —um-“ he hesitates, looking for the right word “-fire elemental? Like a fireball, but scattered over a wide area, even wider than my fireball can hit. I can take all the shades, but I doubt the Rage demon, being made of lava, will care. It will be distracted though, which is a great time for Solas-“ he points at the other mage, and grins “-to hit it with his ice element. I don’t know much about using ice in battle, so please use your best judgement, Solas.”

“Of course.” He inclines his head slightly. “I ought to be able to freeze it solid, however briefly, whereupon Master Tethras and Seeker Cassandra can take the opportunity to shatter it, before it can reassert its will upon its form.”

“ Exactly what I was thinking. Okay, I’ll come around the other side of the hill, and cast my jutsu-“

“-spell,” Chuckles provides.

“-spell, and that’ll be your cue. We’ll call this tactic Formation Zero.”

“Which implies the eventual existence of additional formations,” Seeker comments. “I approve; it is an efficient way of conveying a battle tactic in nearly any situation.”

“Exactly,” Fluffy agrees, pointing at her. “Now let’s do this.”

The battle goes smoothly; extremely smoothly, since true to his word, Fluffy fries all the shades in one go. The Rage demon literally doesn’t even get a chance to know what hit it, since Chuckles ices it hard. Varric’s shot cracks the ice, and the Seeker’s shield bash—directly on top of the bolt—shatters it to pieces, leaving just a trace of... something behind. Fluffy goes to check it out, and Varric falls in behind him, watching his back, just in case.

“Careful Fluffy, demons can be tricky,” he warns. The kid nods.

“I gathered. It’s gone though,” he says, pressing one hand to the scorched and frostbitten ground, before carefully picking up what looks like a still-smouldering fragment of the Rage demon. “Mostly,” he corrects, frowning.

“This small piece of what that demon was is inert,” Chuckles says, coming up beside them. “More importantly, Shisui, you should take care of that rift before it attracts more curious spirits to the other side, and creates more tragedy.”

“Right.” Fluffy tucks the bit of Rage demon away, and raises his left hand. In a matter of seconds, the rift is sealed away, without any trace more than the marks of battle.

“That didn’t take too long,” Fluffy comments, as they head back down to the road. “I think we have our timing down pretty well; it’s nice to work with professionals. I still want to discuss the battle when we stop tonight, and look for holes, and room for improvement. For instance, if the rift had produced another wave of demons, or we had been set upon by bandits in the middle of things, that kind of thing. We can give it some thought along the way.”

When they reach the road, they fall back into formation, and Fluffy picks up his interrogation of the Seeker exactly where they left off, to the word. He has a sharp memory, one of the best Varric has ever seen.

Fluffy and the Seeker’s discussion eventually moves from individual capabilities to small-unit tactics, and then to larger-scale strategy (including logistics; Varric would never have pegged that fluffy head to hold so much information about logistics), until Fluffy breaks off with a laugh, and says:

“We should eat. I need to talk to Solas afterwards, but we can definitely talk later, Cassandra.”

“I look forward to it,” she replies. “You should also make time to speak with Commander Cullen when we return; I am certain you will both benefit.”

The party rotates again then, and Fluffy and Chuckles quickly fall into a rapidfire exchange about magic, and elements, and... A lot of it goes right over Varric's head, though he takes note of the vocabulary at least, because he's got ideas , and if he's going to feature a mage in his next book--and why not feature a mage?--it'd be nice to get the details right if he can.

Not that even half of what they're saying makes much sense, especially when they start getting esoteric... and using Fluffy's words. It's a reminder of just how quickly he apparently picked up the local lingo; when he thinks about it, it makes Varric's hair stand on end, actually. There's smart, and then there's... that . He wants to like the kid--he does like the kid, actually--but he can't ignore the nagging voice that says there's just something off here.

Maybe it's just a matter of culture; it clear that wherever Fluffy-stuff comes from, it's really different. Mages in the normal forces, mages who double as rogues--or is it rogues doubling as mages? Varric adds 'Ask Fluffy what the hell his people call themselves' to his mental to-do list, draws Bianca and shoots in the same moment that Fluffy throws one--two--three--of his knives, and they nail the would-be ambushers on either side of the road right between the eyes, right in the throat, or in the case of one of Fluffy's knives, right through the foot, pinning the poor sap to the tree branch he's standing on. It takes him several seconds to start screaming.

They have all this done before Chuckles and the Seeker even have their weapons drawn.

"Nice shot," Fluffy calls, as he hops lightly over to the screamer.

"You missed one," Varric teases, following him to retrieve his bolt.

"You know I didn't," the kid counters. He stops by the screaming man, and shushes him with a pat on the cheek. It should be nothing but a taunt, but somehow it works, the man--a scrawny bandit rogue, with mis-matched long knives, and a belt full of interesting things--stops screaming, instead just staring at Fluffy, as the kid moves to retrieve his knives and anything else that looks worth taking from the fallen.

Varric helps, and they have the bodies stripped of anything useful very quickly. The kid even checks their mouths for hollow teeth and suicide capsules; not actually something Varric would think of on a normal daily basis, but things haven't been normal since before Fluffy-stuff got here, and so: it is something that he should do, he reminds himself.

The screamer keeps watching them passively, until Fluffy walks up to him, and pats him on the cheek again.

"Okay, time to tell us all about any other friends you have lurking around here, guy," he says.

"Another ambush a mile up," the man says. "And a toll at the bridge."

"Hm. How many men at each?" Fluffy's tone is mild and conversational, like he's just making small-talk.

"Six at the next site, and ten at the bridge, not countin' the knife-ear apostate bastard."

"Hey, no need to be rude," Fluffy chides him. "What about fortifications?"

"Barriers and them spikey things for horses," the man replies. It's creepy , and it's clear that Fluffy-stuff did something to his head, but Varric thought that you could only do something like that with blood magic? Only he didn't see any blood when Fluffy started in on the guy, and he still doesn't see any, not beyond what's been spilled by their weapons, and that's all right where it should be...

He glances over to see Chuckles holding back the Seeker, his eyebrows drawn together thoughtfully. Varric raises an eyebrow of his own, and gets a little shake of the elf's head; not blood magic then, as far as he can tell. That's a relief.

Of course it also means that now instead of one idea of what Fluffy's doing, Varric's back to zero ideas, but it's still better than being hit with surprise blood magic.

"What about your base?" Fluffy asks. "Hey, I know, how about you show me where it is, yeah?" He produces a map, and for the first time since this whole surreal interrogation started, the bandit shows a spark of something other than utter passivity. He takes the charcoal that Fluffy produces, and makes a mark on the map.

"Twenty more men at base," he says. "Got an alchemist and a Templar t'keep the apostate in line, too."

Seeker's frown deepens, and she shifts slightly. Fluffy shoots a warning look back at her.

"How about fortifications?" he asks the bandit.

All-in-all, Varric thinks it takes about twenty minutes for Fluffy to coax the details of every bandit hidey-hole and stronghold out of the bandit, before finally sending him to sleep with a simple command.

"Not killing him?" Varric asks, surprised.

"Nah. At least—Cassandra, does Commander Cullen know about all of this?” Fluffy strides over, and offers the Seeker the annotated map. She takes it carefully, and looks it over, before shaking her head.

“He does not,” she says. “We... should delay our journey; there is still time to return—“

“Negative, I have a better way.” Before any of them can ask, Fluffy bites his thumb, and crouches to the ground, speaking a word in his own language that Varric doesn’t quite catch. A spiderweb of runes spreads from beneath his hand, and after a moment, a cloud of smoke that quickly dissipates into... a crow? The bird caws a greeting, and flutters up to Fluffy’s shoulder, blending almost seamlessly with his hair as it starts preening him. On the ground, the runes are gone, but a smear of blood remains.

Chuckles and Seeker are both staring; the Seeker baffled, and Chuckles... if Varric didn’t know better, he’d call that a look of startled recognition. Neither of them seem to notice the evidence of blood magic, and Varric decides for all of them that now is really not the time to have that (admittedly inevitable) confrontation, and he uses a subtle shift and gesture to just cover it up. Neither of them notice, but Fluffy does. Well, Varric didn’t mean to hide it from him. And...

Shit, he’s so young, and maybe his home’s like Tevinter, and nobody cares if you do blood magic? Varric thinks of Daisy, thinks of Hawke, and remembers that as bad as blood magic can be, sometimes it’s just a tool.

“My friend here can take the intel back to Haven,” Fluffy explains. “And deliver it right to Leliana. He can also find his way back to me if she has any reply.”

“I thought you and Leliana understood each other too well, even without a language in common,” Seeker says. Fluffy gives her a cheeky grin.

“We do understand each other. Now give me just a minute here.”

It really does take him just about a minute to get the annotated map rolled up with a quick report, and tucked into a scroll case fitted on the bird’s back. Fluffy gives the bird a series of instructions in his own language, and then the bird takes off, heading directly for Haven.

“How will it—he—know how to find her?” Chuckles asks.

“I told him what she looks like,” Fluffy says. “And let him know there are other corvids there, too, who can probably help.”

“He understands that much?” the Seeker asks, incredulously.

“Crows are smart to begin with,” Fluffy replies. “And summons aren’t normal animals; my friends are easily as smart as people, even if they aren’t sage animals. But we can save any further discussion for later. We’re going to go around the ambushes, and skip the bridge, here-“ he pulls out another map, and describes the new route “-because right now, dealing with bandits is not our mission. Cullen’s troops are perfectly capable of handling what our unconscious man over there described.”

“It does not sit right with me to leave those bandits when we know where they are,” the Seeker says. “But you are not wrong. Let us go.”

They go. Fluffy and Chuckles get drawn into something that's less a friendly interrogation, and more... Varric's not sure what to call it, but it's very intense, and very esoteric, but they both seem to get something out of it that satisfies them magically and tactically, and really, good for them.

The path takes them away from the road, and then roughly parallel to it, heading for the river that they have to cross to get further down from the mountains. It's a rough river, glacial runoff tumbling over black and grey stone, and carving ravines as it twists its way down, to join the bigger waterways in the Hinterlands. And that's when a thought occurs to Varric.

"Hey Fluffy, how were you planning to get us across the river? The only bridge is the one under the bandits' control, and there aren't exactly any fords anywhere inside a day or two's march," he calls.

"I thought of that!" Fluffy says. He turns to grin at Varric, walking backwards beside Chuckles with just as much grace as he has facing forward. Damn, that kid's good.

"What, don't tell me you can walk on water, too?" Varric asks. Fluffy's grin widens.

"Of course! It's not hard; if we had more time, I'd try to teach everyone--I still don't believe that dwarves are completely without chakra, you probably just use it differently --but since we're in a hurry right now, if we need to, I can carry everyone across, like I did going up the mountain to the Breach."

Varric grimaces, and says, "I don't know, Fluffy, you sure we can't go back to take on the bandits?" Fluffy of course just laughs, because he's not really wrong; it is faster to do it his way, even if Varric doesn't really like the idea of experiencing that dramatic rush of speed again.

"It's just a river," Fluffy says. "I shouldn't need to shunshin across; that was just easier with the vertical distance." He flattens his hand, and raises it up, describing the cliff. Varric shakes his head.

"I'll believe it when we get there," he says, and gets another laugh for his trouble. Fluffy turns back around, and ends up swapping places with the Seeker, and taking point again.

It seems like he has more faith or confidence in them as a party, this time, because instead of staying within sight, he ranges out, in different directions, returning every so often to check in and adjust their course.

"The river's up ahead," he says finally, around the time the sun is starting to pass behind the mountains. "We'll need to go downstream for about half an hour; the ravine here is really deep, but it flattens out again in a bit."

"After we cross, we should begin looking for a place to make camp," Seeker suggests.

"I agree," Chuckles adds. "This part of the region is poorly mapped, and it may be some time before we find something appropriate."

Fluffy gives Varric a questioning look, and Varric nods his agreement. It's a sound plan, and it's going to start getting much colder very soon.

"All right," Fluffy says. "We'll do that."

They get to the river quickly enough, and then downstream. The edges of the banks are frozen, and the water sounds cold, and Varric does not want to fall in. Luckily it turns out Fluffy actually can walk on water, and he gets the rest of them over without trouble--or weird speed tricks.

"There, see? No trouble at all," he says. A cold breeze runs down the ravine, ruffling Fluffy's hair. He shivers a little, one of the few reactions Varric has seen him have towards the weather. But the temperature is dropping fast now, and the light is fading even faster, and Fluffy frowns up at the sky.

"How is everyone's vision at night?" he asks.

"Good, actually," Varric replies. "Dwarves see a lot better in the dark than humans and elves, usually. Even those of us who haven't spent our lives crawling around in caves."

"Mine is no better than any other human's," Seeker says, shaking her head.

"I see slightly better in the dark than most, I think," Chuckles says. "But I doubt I see better than Master Tethras. What about you, Shisui?"

"Oh, I'm just fine," the kid says. "I have no problem seeing in the dark." He taps his chin thoughtfully, looking at each of them in turn, before nodding to himself.

"Keep the same formation. I'll start scouting specifically for a place to camp, and if we can't find something by the time Cassandra can't see, I'll make one."

"With magic, I presume?" Chuckles asks.

"Sure, why not? I'd prefer not to leave such an obvious trail, but we're not in enemy territory, and I'd really prefer not to freeze to death in my sleep."

Varric laughs; he can't fault the kid's sense of humour.

"All right kid, let's get going, then," he says. "I've got things here--you go find us a place to pitch a tent." Fluffy flashes him a grin--straight teeth bright in the dimming light--and a salute, and he takes off, leaping up into the trees that are thicker and older here, less frequently harvested by the people in and around Haven.

Chuckles looks after him, startled for a moment, before shaking his head, and focusing and moving through--across--the snow. He and the Seeker shift slightly, so that she's a step in front of him, and Varric lets himself drop back a step as well, staggering their ranks a little further, and giving himself more room to work. There haven't been any signs of anything bigger than a rabbit or a squirrel, but they're still close to water, and just because they haven't seen a bear yet doesn't mean they won't --

Like a fucking charm , just thinking about it makes a low roar come from the trees ahead. The three of them have weapons in hand, ready, when the sound just. Cuts off.

"He may still need our aid," the Seeker points out, saying what all three of them are thinking--or not thinking. They pick up the pace, but it still takes several minutes before they reach the small clearing by a rocky outcrop over a small cave in the side of the mountain.

The contents of the cave are on fire, and so is the corpse of the bear. It looks unnervingly skinny there in the flames.

Fluffy's keeping his distance, upwind of the fires, with his face wrapped in a scarf, and uncharacteristically serious eyes reflecting the red-and-orange firelight. He holds up a hand to halt them.

"It was rabid," he says. "Probably why it was awake..."

Without waiting for another word, Chuckles casts a barrier.

"It won't protect against a bite or anything like that, but it should keep any stray blood from us," he says.

"Thank you," Seeker says, nodding her head.

"That's handy ," Fluffy agrees. "So, we're going to see that all of this is safely burnt out, and then we're going to see if we can find a less occupied cave nearby."

"I can scout while you watch the fire," Varric offers. A cave would be nice, if they can find one; the breeze is picking up, and he can almost call it a wind now, and it's very, very cold.

"Good idea," Fluffy agrees, and gestures for him to go.

Varric first eyeballs the cleavage of the outcropping over the cave, and then picks his direction, taking a wide circle around the clearing, upwind, until he's sure it's safe. There are bear tracks up here, in a loop around the outcrop, and back, but thankfully only one set, hopefully one belonging to the bear Fluffy already took care of. Varric changes direction to move away from the tracks, as the last light of the sunset stretches his shadow before him over the snow.

The wind is definitely picking up as Varric inches down a short slope, past a stand of trees, and down into a sheltered little dip in the landscape. Not a cave, and not free from snow, but the wind is cut, and there's nothing down there. It looks good, in short.

On his way back up, Varric spots an elfroot vine growing behind the arch of a root, and he takes the time to harvest it before carrying on. Never hurts to have more of the stuff on hand.

By the time he gets back to the clearing, the fires are almost completely burnt out, leaving nothing but ash and embers--not even bones are left. He gives a low whistle.

"That's some hot fire, Fluffy."

"I made it that way, to make sure," the kid replies. "Blood is made in the bones, and it has to be hot enough to burn the bones. Did you find something?"

"Not a cave," Varric replies. "But it'll work."

"Good," Fluffy says. And when the fire finally dies, "Lead the way."

Varric does, and before long, they're settled down in the little sheltered spot. There's only room for one tent, so that's all that Fluffy pulls from his 'storage scroll', as he calls it, along with their bedding. It's a good thing he had demonstrated it to the Seeker during their 'logistics dinner' the night before, is all he can think, because even as it is, Varric still doesn't miss the way it makes her jump a little. Fluffy's a good kid though, doesn't hold it against her, or maybe just used to a bit of jumpiness from non-mages. Although given what he's said, Varric isn't entirely sure that there are non-mages in his homeland, which has to be... interesting . It also makes a good story-seed: a mage coming from a (plausibly fictional) country of mages? Not like Tevinter, but a place where everyone just casually uses magic the way most people use ordinary tools...?

A bit far-fetched, but worth writing down. There's something there. Once camp is set up, Varric takes the time to jot it down in his 'ideas' notebook.

Fluffy takes cooking, after checking for spice preferences from everyone, and starts putting together something that smells quite reasonable, if... unfamiliar.

Seeker sets up the tent to her liking, and Varric's pretty sure that all the men in the party just silently agreed to allow it; she's the only woman, she should be comfortable.

Chuckles... Varric has to look around, and he finds the elf back upslope, keeping watch on their backtrail. Varric puts his eyes back on the downslope for now, until Fluffy calls them all for dinner.

It's--different. Not bad, but definitely different. By the looks of things, it will be breakfast in the morning too, and Varric's all right with that.

After a quick discussion about the logistics, the three men bundle into the tent, leaving the Seeker with the first watch. It's funny, he doesn't feel that sleepy, but the second he hits the bedroll? Varric is out like a light.

Chapter Text

Shisui wakes in the comfortable crook of a Hashirama tree, and immediately knows that he is not, in fact, awake. A quick check reveals no intruders in his mind this time, which is a pleasant surprise--Solas seems like the type to be persistent --but there is a rather peculiar sound .

He's halfway through his mental inventory of 'peculiar sounds' when he realises that it's just knocking . If 'knocking' came from the bottom of a stone well on the other side of a forest. It sounds distant, but distance is an illusion, no more real than anything else in the mind, and the door appears beneath his hand the second he reaches for it.

"Oh look," he comments, as he pulls the door open. "You can learn."

"In my defence, your dreams did not seem closed," Solas says. His shoulders are squarely tensed, but he doesn't hesitate to meet Shisui's eyes. "I realise now of course that that was a trap, and a very clever one at that."

"I hope you realised that it was a trap sometime before now," Shisui replies. He steps to the side, leaning on the doorframe, but leaving Solas the room to join him, or not, as he chooses.

For now, it seems, he chooses not, leaving them speaking on the borders of Shisui's mental space; it probably makes him feel more comfortable, not quite touching Shisui's 'territory.'

"I confess, until you directly confronted me, I had thought that you had been possessed by a Fear demon, and I had stumbled into its trap," Solas admits, and there it is. The thing that's had the man giving him sidelong looks the last two days, and it's.

Shisui just.

He has to laugh.

"I'll take that as a compliment! It's supposed to be scary!"

Solas gives him a look of incredulous disbelief, and then pinches the bridge of his nose, and shakes his head.

"Please do not say that aloud in the waking world," he says. "I understand taking pride in crafting a fearscape to rival the territory of a Fear demon, but few others will."

"I don't see why," Shisui replies. "No, don't get me wrong," he adds, holding up a hand to forestall a reply from Solas. "I understand why it might be upsetting for a civilian, but frankly, aside from the big one that first day, none of them have been frightening, or even worrying."

"The Pride demon," Solas clarifies. "Yes, I understand why you may find yourself unworried; your physical and magical capabilities far outstrip those of most people, even most trained, skilled people. There are those who will be troubled by it, and who will make trouble for you on account of it."

"I hear that water is also wet," Shisui replies, rolling his eyes. Solas doesn't laugh, but humour does spark in his eyes.

"Yes, fear and envy are the ancient companions of all peoples, I am afraid," he says. "But I would have been remiss had I not mentioned it. I would also be remiss if I did not mention that you should have a care to whom you show your eyes." Solas meets his gaze, and Shisui does not misunderstand him. "Though I believe you are yourself and none other, the sight of such a thing might well convince most others that you are possessed--or worse, a demon all together, merely wearing an admittedly convincing human guise."

Shisui tilts his head slightly, regarding Solas as he considers what to say. It costs him nothing, he decides, to just tell the truth.

"That's nothing very different from what I'm used to," he says. "Outside my clan and village, it's pretty much what I expect."

"Do you expect them to try to kill you?" Solas asks. In response, Shisui raises his left hand, and waves it about, leaving a faint trail of acid-green light. Solas watches his hand with wary eyes, and slightly pursed lips.

"Not as long as I have this. But don't worry," he continues. "Nobody will see anything I don't want them to. I am a professional, you know~!" He grins at Solas' skeptical face, and reaches out to pat him on the head.

The combined surprise and affront on Solas' face sets Shisui to laughing again. Solas pinches the bridge of his nose and heaves a sigh again.

Somewhere behind him, something moves, catching Shisui's eye, and Solas does not fail to miss his reaction: he turns, scanning the--Fade, Shisui guesses, based on what he has been reading.

"Just a wisp," Solas says after a moment. "Attracted no doubt to your mirth. They often are." Shisui cocks his head curiously, and so Solas continues, "They are the least of spirits, with no purpose yet to define them--you may perhaps think of them as the purest of spirits, for they have felt little influence from others."

"Are they dangerous?" Shisui asks, activating his sharingan, and scanning the Fade again. This time he definitely sees the wisp, and several others as well, including one that has a roughly-defined humanoid shape. It puts him in mind of a curious kid more than anything else.

"To you or I? No. But anything can be dangerous, Shisui. I believe that you know that very well." The faint note of admonishment sounds so much like Elder Kaede that Shisui can't help but automatically respond.

"Yes Honoured Elder," his mouth says for him. Solas actually laughs.

“I keep forgetting that you really are very young,” the man says, still amused.

“Yeah, but I kicked your ass,” Shisui reminds him. “And I will again, if you try to get in my head without permission.” Solas raises his hands in surrender.

“I understand. And I am in no way denigrating your abilities or experience, however, the fact remains that you are young, and you will be seen as such by most people you encounter.”

“Then they’ll underestimate me, to their detriment. Why did you come knocking?” he asks abruptly, before Solas can respond.

“I wanted to warn you where we would not be overheard,” Solas replies. “And to assure you that I will not try your mental defences again. Although others likely will.”

“Other mages?” Shisui asks.

“Not likely. The ability to seek the dreams of others, and move freely through the Fade is very rare in this age. I was speaking of demons, and other curious spirits.”

“They haven’t bothered me yet.” Which is kind of weird, from what he’s read. Actually... “That’s weird isn’t it?” he asks, frowning a little. “Based on what I’ve read, shouldn’t my dreams be swarming with things trying to eat me, or something?”

“Yes, that is the impression you would get from the materials available to you in Haven, isn’t it?” Solas asks, a wire-thin sharpness to his usually mild tone. “They would have you believe that all spirits are malevolent demons, out to ravage and kill. But the fact of the matter is that most spirits are harmless, and unlikely to bother anyone if left in peace.”

“So the same as anyone else, you’re saying.”

“Precisely. And to be quite frank, you have likely not sensed any intruding upon your dreams because of the Breach, and the rifts it created; any spirits near enough were forcibly drawn through, becoming demons when they were torn from their purpose,” Solas explains. "Regardless, the further we get from the site of the Breach, the more they will be drawn to you. If there is a way for you to ensure the innocent do not get caught in your defences..."

"I can do that," Shisui says.

"I appreciate the consideration." Solas inclines his head, radiating sincere relief. Shisui watches him silently a minute, two, three, sharingan spinning slowly, cataloguing everything he can see. It is... interesting, he thinks. There are phantoms around Solas, shadows of himself, as if he is more than he presents himself to be--well, Shisui already knew that. That he can see it like this, at a meeting of minds in the Fade, comfortably (for Solas) far from the control of his own 'territory'...

There is nothing concrete, not even to his sharingan, but it is enough that it is there , and later, Shisui will meditate on it, and try to parse what information he can from it. For now, he just says,

"Taking it a little personally?"

"I know many spirits who would be drawn to you, for the mark on your hand if nothing else, and thence drawn into your mind and its traps. I fear what would become of them," Solas replies. "They do not deserve it."

"No," Shisui agrees. "They probably don't." He lets his gaze rove over the spirits hovering on the edges of their conversation, and on impulse, reaches through his 'door', and beckons to the wisp that had drifted close enough for him to spot in the first place. Solas holds his breath as it comes, lighting curiously on Shisui's hand.

"Hey there fella," he says to it. "I know it's interesting to look at other peoples' thoughts, but some of us consider it a bit rude, you know? And some of us are dangerous enough that maybe you should keep your distance. You can say hi when it's like this," he hurries to assure it, when it starts to feel sad. "I just don't want to hurt anyone by accident, okay? All right, go on." He gives it a gentle push, and it hovers for a moment, before moving off to join the others again. Solas looks after it for a long moment.

"That... is not an approach I was expecting," he admits, turning his attention back to Shisui.

"Not what I was planning on either," Shisui says. "But spirits are like kami , I think, so asking respectfully can't hurt." He waves a hand at all the spirits hovering in their vicinity. "They're not hurting anything. If we treat them well, they'll do the same. Right?"

"That is exactly right," Solas replies. He smiles broadly, pale eyes bright with genuine pleasure. "You surprise me. Pleasantly, this time."

"It shouldn't be a surprise." Oh look, Shisui's turn to chide him! "I already told you about the kami ."

"So you did," Solas allows. "And I do not even have the excuse of youth."

"No, just old age. Ah, and that's my alarm," he adds, pointing to the faint chiming back in his mindscape. "Time for my watch. See you on the other side!"

Shisui gives Solas a cheerful wave, and shuts the door in his face, before making himself wake up.

His sharingan are active when he opens his eyes, and he can see the shapes of Cassandra and Solas' chakra moving through them as they dream. It's very different, and not just because Solas has so very much more than Cassandra. Hers is diffuse, spread evenly through her body, while his is clear and sharp, and moves in specific patterns, concentrated mainly in his head and his hands, and moving through his core. He would need a byakugan to make out more detail, but the difference is quite telling.

Looking out of the tent, he can see Varric sitting in the light of the fire, staring out into the dark with Bianca in his hands, but what he cannot see is any chakra. At all. He might as well be a piece of the stone he's sitting on.

Shisui rubs his eyes, and glances at the sleeping members of his party again.

Chakra.

Back out at Varric.

No chakra.

Shisui squeezes his eyes shut, and stops his sharingan before opening them, and slipping out to join Varric by the fire.

"Your turn to sleep, Varric," he says.

"Hey Fluffy, good timing," Varric calls back. "It's been quiet, if you were wondering."

"I was, and thanks," Shisui replies. He sits beside Varric, and accepts the cup of tea the dwarf passes over to him with a nod. "This was a good idea."

"You can thank the Seeker when she gets up," Varric replies. He takes a minute to get Bianca set up for the night, and then heads to the tent. Shisui sips his tea, and activates his sharingan; on his own, it's perfectly safe, and even wise.

There isn't much life around here right now, aside from the trees and other plants. It's quiet, but not an unnatural quiet, just the quiet of winter, of the still time, when everything sleeps.

A tiny prickle of cold touches his cheek, very briefly, before melting into water. Reflexively, he tips his head back, and sees several more flakes of snow drifting slowly toward his face. It's lovely... and both useful, and annoying. Useful for covering Varric’s and Cassandra's tracks, annoying in that it will weigh down and wet things. Hopefully, there won't be more than a light dusting, and it won't delay them getting out of the mountains.

His briefing from Leliana had included the fact that although it is still cold, outside of the mountains the snow in Ferelden is mostly melted. Shisui isn't exactly looking forward to the squish of mud beneath his sandals, but he'll be glad to get out of the snow for a while.

After he finishes his tea, Shisui hops to his feet, and does a short, silent sweep of the camp perimeter. To his dismay, outside of their sheltered little dip in the rock, the mountainside appears to be in the grips of a full-blown snowstorm. It is. Not fun. At least he already has his cloak and hood, even if they aren't exactly designed for full howling winter storms.

Back down in camp, he builds up the fire, and refills the teapot; it was strong, the leaves can probably go through another brew or three. And then he deliberately exudes a low, deliberate amount of KI--just enough to make any wildlife think twice about taking shelter in this little spot. He feels a little bad for the animals, but not that bad. The comfort and safety of his team takes precedence.

A glance at the tent lets him see some restless shifting, but his KI is low enough not to wake them; good.

While the tea brews, he pulls out his whetstone, and starts working on his kunai; it gives him something to do, and puts a weapon already in his hand if something desperate--or rabid--enough to ignore his KI should come upon them.

Still, a quiet watch is a good watch, and Shisui's watch is a quiet one. His tea is good, and the weather isn't too bad, as long as he doesn't think about what it's doing just outside the bubble of their camp. His tools are cleaned and sharpened well before it's over though, and he has to resist the urge to start throwing them into patterns on the nearest tree, just to avoid thinking.

It's hard to avoid thinking, in the still, silent time.

It's hard to stay out of the crystal-clear memories of his sharingan, especially when he has them running, a constant steady pull on his chakra.

They shouldn't be. He shouldn't have them. He shouldn't be alive , and yet, here he is, alive and breathing, and so far from home that he's pretty sure that words for that kind of distance haven't even been invented yet, by anyone.

His last sight of Itachi's face before he removed his own eye forces itself into his consciousness, and he snarls softly, breath yellow-grey in the firelight, and pushes it away with the other sights he's given himself. Itachi in better times. His Ma. Little baby Sasuke puffing out his little baby cheeks, because he's a little baby. Itachi's face, watching his little baby brother.

Sunny spring days, with civilian children playing safe and innocent, fallen sakura filling the Naka, and making it terribly, terribly fun to tip deserving prank targets into. Wet flower petals can be a bigger pain in the ass than a lot of people realise. ...And he needs to stop that line of thought, because it's leading to melancholy, really fast . He has met himself, and he has no time for that.

A deep breath, and another; he can't afford to meditate while he's on watch of all things, but a little bit of centering won't hurt anything, and it will let him put those nagging thoughts and memories aside, for a little while longer.

It's harder than it should be.

The night is still utterly black outside the circle of the fire when he notices the change in Solas' chakra, the shift as it moves more evenly through his body as he wakes. It isn't long before he joins Shisui out by the fire.

"Yo," Shisui says. "There's tea. And snow," he adds. "It's worse outside of here; a real storm, wind and all."

"Ah, thus the... aura of dread," Solas comments. "To deter animals, I presume, though it has also affected the Fade."

Oh, now that's interesting.

"Yeah, to deter animals. I don't want to be sharing space with a wild bear, even if it's not rabid." Shisui gestures upslope, and continues, "It's called Killing Intent, KI for short. People aren't smart enough to be deterred, unless I crank it up, which I don't like to do, but animals recognise that there's something here that will kill them, and stay away unless they're really desperate."

"Fascinating," Solas murmurs.

Shisui's finely-honed fire-related instincts tell him it's time to feed the fire, so he does.

"Do you... mind if I stay up?" he asks after a moment. "Going back to sleep is a bad idea right now, and so is sitting up alone." A beat, and, "Also if I go to sleep, my KI turns off, and the animals might come in."

"You do not think I could handle them?"

"I think they'd give you more trouble than they would me."

"Then perhaps," Solas replies. "You ought to stay up, and we can continue our conversation from the road." Shisui finds himself sitting up straighter.

"Yes!" he agrees. That sounds like an amazing distraction, and just what Shisui needs. It seems like Solas really is trying to make up for poking his nose where it doesn't belong. Good for him. Shisui still doesn't exactly trust him--fuuinjutsu lesson notwithstanding; it remains to be seen whether or not Solas can make any real use of those tags, and Shisui wants to know . It's a bad impulse, but Solas is smart , and powerful, and moreover, old. Shisui isn't sure how old, but it's not just a feeling: he saw it, that time, when Solas was in his mind.

Old, powerful, and smart: a dangerous combination, but maybe something Shisui can use to get back home, somehow. And if not, he'll definitely learn something, and that is always a goal.

“I am curious,” Solas says. “That bird you summoned—it was not a spirit, nor was it some phantom or illusion.”

“No, summons are real, flesh-and-blood creatures that come from somewhere else,” Shisui replies. “‘Where’ depends on the summons. I’m not going to go into the details, but summoning is technically a kind of time-space jutsu-“ Solas’ eyes light up with interest “-and in order to gain a summon, you have to contract with them.”

“Ah, and I take it that going into the details too much about the particulars of the contract and the summons would violate said contract?” Solas asks.

“Unless you were to sign it yourself, yes,” Shisui confirms easily.

“Could I?” Solas asks, trying to be casual. His microexpressions give him away: the minute dilation of his pupils, the way the capillaries in his skin expand.

“Nope. I gave the contract to my friend. I’ve signed, so it’s mine, but I’m not the one who carries it any longer.” There’s no-one better, in Shisui’s mind, than Itachi.

“Ah, a shame.”

“I don’t think the corvid contract would be right for you, anyway. Both sides have to agree. No, if you really want summons...”

“If I really want summons?” Solas prompts helpfully. It’s always so nice when people play along. Shisui really appreciates it.

“Master those tags, first,” he says, pointing to the belt pouch where Solas has them stashed.

Shisui is fairly certain, after meeting the man twice in his dreams now, that Solas won’t blanche at the fact that signing a contract, and summoning, both involve blood. But he’s not certain yet, and he has been reading. ‘Blood magic’ is only vaguely alluded to in the texts he’s been able to get ahold of, but it’s always with horror, and dire warnings, as if using the power in your own blood is going to immediately turn you into some cartoonish villain, consorting with demons and eating babies or something.

"I am curious," Solas says, pulling out one of the low-powered 'training' tags Shisui had made for him. "I studied this for many hours, and no matter how I looked, I did not find any rune that I recognised. Most runework is based on that of the ancient elves, or dwarves, but this resembles neither."

"That's because it's not based on any of that," Shisui replies. "Really, it's just the cursive version of my normal written language, describing the desired effect in the correct language, with the degree of effect included, and space for modifiers." He points to each of them as he goes, and he wonders if that context alone will allow Solas to gain a better mastery.

He can definitely use them; his test yesterday proved that much. And answered some of his questions about magic and chakra; in his reading, he had started to wonder if they were the same thing at all. But no, one simple test seems to have confirmed his initial assumption that they're the same thing, so mark a win down in his column.

He is also sure now that no-one here knows what a shinobi is, has ever heard of ninja and kunoichi, wouldn't know a Sage if it bit them on the ass. It's disheartening, and he's trying very hard not to think of it, especially not right now, in the middle of a mission.

"You'll understand if I don't plan on teaching you right now," he says, gesturing around their campsite. The snow is falling a little thicker now; it must be bad 'outside'.

"Perhaps there is something else we could discuss then," Solas replies, tucking the matchstick tag away.

(The best Shisui could do with the materials available, and his own skills; Josephine had been kind enough to take his stationary request at least. Hopefully there will be some better supplies waiting when they conclude the mission, otherwise he'll have to work on improving his fuuinjutsu skills more than he ever really planned on. Not that any of this has been something he planned on.)

His discontent is well-hidden enough that if Shisui's eyes weren't already on, he might not see it, but they are, and he does. Shisui himself doesn't let slip what he sees, and he doubts that Solas can read his expression correctly right now; it's not like it's hard , but it does take more than one or two looks to get the hang of reading sharingan.

"Yeah, actually, I was wondering if you would show me how to cast that barrier thing?" Shisui asks. It can't hurt, right? And it's much easier than trying to sneak a decent look when everyone else is watching; the last thing he needs is someone deciding he's possessed.

Well. No. The last thing he needs is for Shimura Danzo to magically appear in the middle of the camp, and try to rip out his eyes again . And also take his hand for good measure.

"You mean you do not know?" Solas asks. The genuine surprise in his voice matches his raised eyebrows and widened eyes, and the little tick in his pulse. "I assumed that you were leaving the defence to me, given your style of combined physical and magic combat."

"That makes sense tactically, but no, I don't know it," Shisui admits easily.

"Hm. You should. There is no telling what the rest of this journey will bring, to say nothing of the Crossroads and the rest of the Hinterlands. Very well." Solas rises from his seat, and gestures for Shisui to do the same. He does, easily, and they both stand atop the snow.

"I will demonstrate without using a staff, first, as you prefer not to use one," Solas says, and does so. Watching with his sharingan Shisui can easily follow the way he moulds his chakra--yin--and releases it with a broad, three-fingered gesture. "Most mages prefer to use a staff, as it makes channelling mana faster and easier, and can even reduce the draw on your personal mana by pulling directly from the Fade, if they are crafted correctly."

Shisui considers that, and also considers the way that he can see the expelled chakra from Solas' jutsu--spell--slipping back under his skin from-- somewhere else . The Fade? His words certainly make it seem that way, if a staff can draw chakra from the Fade in order to lower the draw on the caster, and oh don't the possibilities there fill him with such delight .

"Are those properties limited to a staff?" Shisui finds himself asking, suddenly, the words coming out before he can properly consider them.

"I am no expert in enchantment," Solas cautions him. "But a sufficiently skilled arcanist can accomplish many things, I am given to understand."

"That's not a yes," Shisui points out, still caught in the thought. There are jutsu that he knows in theory , but doesn't dare try yet, but maybe with something like that...

"It is likewise not a no," Solas says. "I have seen many things in my journeys through the Fade, and I do not doubt that someone has at least attempted something of the sort. Now, a demonstration of the spell with a staff, and then we can discuss the learning."

"Oh, that? I've got it." Focus the chakra--a tiny amount really-- inton , easy enough for any Uchiha, gesture like so , and the now-familiar shiver of light and sensation that settles over the body. (He really needs to learn the basic hand-signs of their magic, their meanings, and other elementary, Academy student bullshit, but he hasn't been able to find a book, yet.)

Solas blinks, clearly startled.

You'd think he'd never seen an Uchiha nab someone's jutsu before. Heh.

"That was... fast."

"It usually is," Shisui agrees. "I mean, I have seen you do this a few times by now. This time, I just got to watch up close."

"In that case, let us skip the second demonstration; your aptitude clearly does not require it. Sit, and I will tell you the specifics of the spell. And of others, if you wish," Solas adds, a flicker of wariness in his eyes. Wordlessly, Shisui plunks himself down again, and pours another cup of tea. Solas relaxes minutely, and joins him.

"Good. Now..."

As it turns out, he doesn't need to find that book after all; Solas is more than happy to tell him anything and everything he wants to know about the basics of casting spells here. The gestures, like hand-signs, but seldom used, because staff-casting makes them unnecessary. The schools--his own skills seem most like Entropy and Primal magic, although the analogues are inexact.

It's fascinating , and exactly the distraction Shisui needs to keep himself out of his own head. It keeps him distracted until the thin grey light of dawn manages to struggle down to them. The snow is still falling, though not thickly down in their sheltered pocket.

"I'm going to go check on the storm," Shisui says. "Get breakfast started, and wake Cassandra and Varric." Solas nods his agreement, and smiles as Shisui casts his own barrier before heading out into the storm.

The sun is definitely up, but even with his sharingan, Shisui can’t see much more than diffuse grey and white beyond the trees. He does a circuit of the camp, and then another, wider circuit, before putting his eyes away, and returning with a shunshin. All three of them start, though Solas’ reflex is more a twitch than a jerk. He also reaches out and catches one of the leaves the shunshin brings with it.

“I was wondering,” Solas says abruptly, before Shisui can give his gloomy, snow-filled report. “What kind of tree do these come from? I have never seen them before.”

“I’d be surprised if you had,” Shisui replies, plucking the leaf from him, and turning it between his fingers, before handing it back. “They only exist in my homeland. They’re called Hashirama trees,” he adds. “They’re huge, and they’re everywhere.”

He misses them, actually. Nothing beats a Hashirama tree for napping, or reading, or hiding, or spying...

“Anyway, it’s still a blizzard up there,” Shisui says. “Although the wind has died down some, everything is a blur of grey and white.”

A frown goes around the fire, even as Solas hands him a bowl of hot oats, and he can’t blame them.

“No,” he says, to the unasked question. “We don’t really have good options right now. I’ll go check again after breakfast.”

“Very well,” Cassandra agrees. “I do not like it, though.”

“None of us do, Seeker,” Varric replies. He points with his spoon for emphasis. “But we might be stuck here until it stops.”

“Or longer,” Cassandra points out.

“We won’t be,” Shisui says firmly. Better to cut off catastrophising before it starts. “In the worst case, either Solas or I can use shunshin —um, Fade step?—to rapidly travel back to Haven for help.”

He spends the next few minutes listening to conversation without much contribution as he inhales his breakfast, watching the snowfall the whole time. It’s slow, but it seems like it’s tapering off as he moves onto his second bowl, and it’s definitely reduced by the time he’s finished his third, and moves on to tea.

Cassandra follows his gaze, and then looks back to him.

“Shisui. You see it,” she states.

“Of course. I’ll go check,” he replies. He drains his tea, and stands into a shunshin back out into the storm.

It has definitely calmed down some, but not enough to safely drag Varric and Cassandra through. (Solas can use hyoton and walk on top of the snow. He’s not worried about Solas.)

“It’s getting better,” is what he says when he returns.

“But?” Varric prompts, as Solas hands him another cup of tea.

“It would still be much too easy to get lost,” Shisui replies. “I can see to the next ridge, but not any farther.”

“Perhaps if we wait until noon,” Solas suggests.

“A good idea,” Cassandra agrees, nodding.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Shisui says. “If it’s clear enough, we’ll head downslope as quickly as we can, pushing into the night if necessary to get below the snow line.”

“That’ll put us right in the middle of pouring rain, you know,” Varric points out. “I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, but it’ll be a wet night.”

“We’ll survive. In the meantime, let’s start packing up under the assumption that we’ll be leaving in a few hours.” Shisui downs his tea, and starts doing just that. The others join him, and as they break camp and get things sealed up again, the snow continues to slow, and thin, and eventually, comes to a stop.

The skies above are still a uniform pale grey, thick and heavy-looking, and if Shisui’s any judge (he’s not), the snow will eventually start up again.

“I will go check,” Solas volunteers, and Shisui nods, since he’s the only one who can use a storage scroll. He both leaves and returns on foot, swiftly enough, without using shunshin.

“The snow has indeed stopped. I suggest we make haste,” he says, and Shisui nods.

“Double time then,” he says, and Cassandra starts moving with gratifying speed. Surprising speed too, for her heavy armour. Shisui’s impressed; that kind of thing isn’t easy. He’s tried on old-fashioned warplate a couple of times, and it’s not a treat, that’s for damned sure. He has no idea how people in the Warring Clans era dealt with the stuff, honestly, and the only ones who regularly wear anything like it are the Akimichi, who are, well, the Akimichi .

“Is something wrong?” Cassandra asks, as she hands him the tent poles for storage.

“Just admiring your ability to move in heavy armour,” Shisui replies. “I’ve tried it a couple times, and it’s hard .” She smiles a little.

“When I began my training, I wore weighted plates everywhere, waking and sleeping. The only time we had any relief was during prayers. Now, I barely notice my armour,” she explains. “Because it is well-fitted, and well-crafted. And not so heavy as what I trained in.”

“And now you’re stronger and faster as well as accustomed to the armour. I’m familiar with the idea,” Shisui replies. Solas and Varric arrive with the tent canvas, and he seals it in next to the poles. Everything else can go easily in their packs.

“Personally, I prefer something a bit lighter,” Varric says, patting his coat. “Covers all the vitals, but leaves room for more mobility.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Cassandra is nearly as mobile as you, actually,” Shisui says, even as Cassandra opens her mouth to retort. “With the right training, there’s nothing preventing someone in heavy armour from doing just about anything you can do even without armour entirely.”

“What, really?” Varric asks, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it?” Shisui asks. “I have. I don’t want to try it myself, if I don’t have to, mind. I prefer a flak vest or light armour if I have to wear something.”

They take a minute or two to sweep camp then, before heading out, moving downslope as quickly as possible, with Cassandra leading the way to break the path. Shisui and Solas take the flanks, and as always, Varric is watching their backs. Shisui really appreciates having such a reliable guy at the back.

The party moves quickly; once or twice Cassandra calls a halt, and sends Shisui or Solas ahead to check the stability of their path, but for the most part, she just sets her shoulder and ploughs on through. The snow starts up again when they have been on the move for about half an hour, but it quickly becomes the cold, dreary rain that Varric was dreading, and before long, they're trudging through slush and mud instead of snow.

Shisui has never been happier to be able to walk on top of all that shit in his life, and that includes the series of D-ranks he did at the Morihana's dairy farm when he was a kid.

(Never. Again. Cows are terrifying. )

He thinks they're all glad when they reach the road again. It's cobblestone here, and elevated slightly from the land around it, letting the rain wash down into ditches beside.

"Finally, back on the actual road. You know, I like you Fluffy, but I'm not really keen on all these off-road experiences you've taken us on," Varric says.

"If I had any idea you hated a bit of mud and snow so much, I would have definitely taken us through the bandit blockade," Shisui replies. "Just for you Varric, I won't go around the next fight we see."

"Now I never said we shouldn't avoid fights. Just... avoid them on the road."

"Oh, you mean with bribes, tricks, and sneaking?" Thunder cracks overhead, but the trees are apparently too thick here, even over the road, for the lightning to have reached them.

"Yeah, like civilised people," Varric agrees. He's half-joking, Shisui thinks, but honestly, it's not a bad idea. He should have thought of it in the first place; sure, Cassandra's not a sneaky type, but Shisui's genjutsu is more than good enough to compensate.

"Then we'll do that next time," Shisui declares. "It'll be fun!"

Yes he could just sneak up and slit throats, and he probably will at some point, but that's not always the best tactic, and he knows it.

"I am not sure that we agree on what counts as 'fun'," Cassandra says, disapproval heavy in her voice.

"Probably not," Shisui allows cheerfully. "But we can agree on what counts as efficient tactics, right? And refraining from engagement with extraneous parties is much more efficient. I just think that we should try it the fun way next time."

He sees the flicker of lightning overhead this time, and he counts out seven seconds until the thunder rolls.

“What do you do for fun, kid? You know, when you’re not doing all... this?” Varric asks.

“Hmm... for fun?” Shisui considers it. It has been a long time since anyone actually asked him that. And lately, even before he woke up here, he hadn’t had much time for ‘fun’ or ‘relaxation’—tensions in the clan and the village, trying to balance his duty to both with the demands of each, and also trying to make sure Itachi comes out of it all alive and in one piece...

“I like to read,” he says, just when he senses things are starting to get uncomfortable. “And I like learning new things. I like spending time with my best friend, Itachi; then it doesn’t really matter what I’m doing, it’s fun ‘cause we’re doing it together.”

He has been a much better best friend to Itachi than he was to the last one.

Except for the ever-encroaching rumble of thunder, they walk in silence for a minute or two.

“I am sorry that whatever brought you to us took you so far from your home,” Solas says, finally. “Though I cannot say I am entirely so; who can say where we would be if you were not here?”

“The Maker’s hand brought you to us, and I believe that we can trust in—“

Shisui is not Hatake Kakashi, with his legendary raikiri . He is not the Fourth Hokage, with his hiraishin .

He is Shunshin no Shisui , with his training and experience and the feeling of hair rising on the back of his neck is all he needs to grab Cassandra and move , trusting that Solas will do the same with Varric.

The shockwave and the sound of a natural lightning strike roll over them, but Shisui doesn’t feel the electricity itself, even touching Cassandra’s armour.

“Sound off!” Shisui calls.

“Here!” Cassandra obligingly calls, even though she’s right beside him. (She’s military, and it shows. It’s useful.)

“Here!” Solas calls. “Varric took part of it, and he cannot speak yet.”

“We’ll be there in a sec,” Shisui calls back, before turning to Cassandra. “What about you?”

“I am fine,” she replies. “Your speed saved us both.”

“Yeah, it does that,” Shisui agrees, to another clap of thunder.

The road is cracked and scorched where the bolt struck, and yeah, that was right where Cassandra was standing; that was too close.

“Over here,” Solas calls, probably having spotted them. There’s a faint greenish glow about his hand, not unlike the glow produced by shousenjutsu , where he’s holding it to Varric’s shoulder. Solas glances up at both of them, the familiar calculation of a medic performing triage.

“We’re fine,” Shisui says. “I’m fast.”

“An understatement, if I have ever heard one,” Cassandra adds. “That bolt blackened the ground, but it never touched me. What about you, Solas?”

“I have some resistance,” Solas admits, lips twitching like he wants to grimace. “Varric took the worst of it, I think, but it is not outside my ability to heal.”

“Lucky. Me. Huh?” Varric grits out, his voice rough with pain and muscle constriction.

“Ah, good, you’re talking. That means I’m almost done,” Solas says. He moves his hand down, and Varric automatically lifts his arm in the fashion of someone who’s had more than one trip to the medics over the years. Shisui watches him, but doesn’t interrupt Solas’ concentration; medical ninjutsu is hard , even for dedicated medics, which Solas definitely isn’t.

“Thank you for your patience, Master Tethras,” Solas says, when he finally pulls away, the glow of his hand fading. “Healing is not my specialty, but I—“

“Chuckles, you saved my life,” Varric interjects. “And healed the damage. That’s good enough for me. Shit.” He rolls his neck, and flexes his arm, pulling his coat and kit back on.

“Are you good to walk?” Shisui asks.

"Yeah kid, I'm good. Might have to start calling you 'Thunderbolt' rather than Fluffy, but I'm fine," Varric replies. Shisui laughs.

"I don't know, I'm not sure I look like a 'Thunderbolt'. Fluffy suits me much better. It's disarming." Varric laughs in turn, and gives Shisui a friendly clap on the arm.

"All right, fair enough. Fluffy it is, Fluffy," he says. "Let's get back on the road. There's a roadhouse along here that we can make, if we push it."

"If it is the one I am thinking of, it is barely a step above a bandit flophouse," Cassandra says, with a disapproving scowl.

"Perfect!" Shisui declares. "We can get some intel on what we're going into, and that sounds like the kind of place we might find one of Leliana's people lurking around, right?" Cassandra looks like her skin is crawling at the thought, and maybe she's not really the kind of person who usually ends up in that kind of place, but she'll have to put up with it, especially if it'll get them out of the weather. And Shisui honestly loves that kind of place; full of gossip, and fuller of people who want him to take their money and important papers.

"I don't care if it's full of darkspawn, if it gets us out of this weather," Varric says. Thunder obligingly rolls to punctuate his statement.

"He raises a good point," Solas adds. "It is only due to the fact that both Shisui and I can Fade step that we are all alive."

"If you're worried about fleas and lice, I have some repellent," Shisui offers.

"I am worried about them now," Cassandra mutters. "Very well. Let us go to Varric's flophouse."

"Roadhouse," Varric corrects. "There's a difference."

The petty argument continues for a while as they get back on the road--or rather, the woods that parallel the road, not willing to risk attracting the wrath of the storm gods again.

(But no, seriously, Shisui's not religious, but he'd really like to know who offended the storm gods, and what the local kami accept for offerings.)

Shisui takes point again, hopping into the trees to do so; it's much more comfortable for him, than slogging along through the mud and underbrush. The perspective is helpful too, letting him see further down the road, and pick up any trouble.

Luckily, the weather is bad enough that it seems to be keeping any wildlife or bandits or other travellers somewhere warmer and drier. Unlike Shisui and his team, who have a mission, and can't put it off.

Sigh .

It's still pouring when they take fifteen minutes to eat and re-adjust their gear, and it's still pouring when they get back on the road again, still moving at what Shisui considers a snail's pace. It's not just that Varric has short legs, though he does. Cassandra is slow, and even Solas, who he feels should be moving faster, is slow, however light he is on his feet.

He swallows down a noise of frustration, and leaps for the next tree. And.

...he’s an idiot.

Maybe it’s a dumb idea, but he can afford the chakra cost of a single kage bunshin , leaving the clone to lead the party, and scouting ahead himself. He wants to gauge the character of the roadhouse, and more importantly, he needs to stretch his legs. The trees here feel different to what he's used to, and it's not just because they aren't Hashirama trees.

It's not that he's a sensor-type, because sharingan aside, he's really not, but you don't need to be a sensor to feel the difference in the trees around Konoha, he thinks. This is quieter. Colder. The negligible effort needed to stick to a tree is even different, and the longer he's here, the more he notices it.

He knows that he is unfathomably far from home, the night sky is proof enough of that --two moons, two moons , what the hell --but he's trying not to think about it while he's on a mission. Or at all.

Moving at a normal pace, it isn't long at all before he reaches the roadhouse. It actually looks fairly well-appointed: less a roadhouse, and more a proper roadside inn. He can see the kitchen, a long, high-roofed portion of the building with several smoking chimneys, and the two stories of what a quick investigation reveals to be rooms for rent of quality running from 'shared bunkroom' to 'the Chief wouldn't disapprove.' Not fancy, but definitely more than a couple of steps above 'bandit flophouse'.

Slipping into the common room is almost enough to change his mind about that assessment, because the woman behind the bar (dwarf, blonde hair, tattooed face, missing part of one ear) is the least suspicious person there, and he's including himself. (He puts himself somewhere in the middle of the scale, if only because nobody has noticed him yet, and you can't be suspicious of someone you aren't aware of! But he is aware that that in itself is inherently suspicious. It's important to be self-aware.)

There's a hooded elf in one corner, watching the room with piercing yellow eyes; a staff leaning in the corner next to them goes a long way to explaining why the tables around them are clear. Most of the rest of the clientele are humans of varying types, the most outstanding being a tall man with what looks like half an entire tree for a prosthetic leg. Three dwarves--two with the same facial tattoo as the bartender sitting at one end of the bar, and one with a bare face at the other--and two more elves, both carrying serving trays and dancing nimbly through the crowd round things out.

A young human woman comes in through the swinging door that leads to the kitchens, another tray--full of steaming dishes--hefted on her shoulder. Her arms are as thick as his own; it's pretty impressive.

Shisui climbs to the ceiling, and moves across the room, pausing now and then to listen in. One asshole makes an unwarranted comment about women, the kind of thing that'd make Ma put a kunai through his foot, so Shisui feels no regret about fishing out his coin purse with a bit of wire. Nobody notices.

Civilians.

Mostly.

He heads over to the kitchen, just to take a look, and it’s pretty much what he expects: busy cook, busier helpers, a huge pantry, cellar access, hidden compartments perfect for valuable and rare ingredients, or clandestine exchange of goods, or both. From the kitchen, there's a back door into the rooms for rent that he slips through when an Academy-aged boy comes through with an empty tray.

Twenty minutes of poking around confirms his guess that the bottom floor is all bunkrooms, stacked three tall against each wall, for a total of nine in each room. He takes a look, but nobody's been dumb enough to leave any of their things unattended in a shared room. Shame.

The second floor is single rooms with locks, and only one is occupied; he can hear two people inside, arguing quietly, but it's in one of the languages he doesn't know. He spends and idle couple of minutes listening anyway, until he hears the sharp report of a smack, and an outraged gasp, followed by a dark-haired woman of middling height stomping out in heeled boots, leaving a fuming blonde woman with a reddening mark on her cheek behind.

Keeping his snickers to himself, Shisui peeks into their room, and moves on, promising himself another look later, if it warrants it.

He finds little of interest until he encounters another sneak in one of the rooms. He stays on the ceiling to watch, sharingan spinning as he memorises what the other spy is taking, copying, or otherwise paying attention to.

None of it means anything to him; everything is written in a language he doesn't know, what he thinks is Orlesian , and he guesses Leliana is right. He'll have to learn it sooner rather than later.

Still unnoticed, he slips out onto the roof through the window the other spy left open, and heads over to check out the stable. One horse, one stableboy whittling something, and paying not much attention at all to said horse. No saddlebags.

A survey of the area around the roadhouse reveals a number of traps, all of them crude, and likely intended to catch animals rather than people. Given the rabid bear they encountered, he's not surprised.

In the distance, the thunder rolls again, and he looks up out of habit, watching the clouds. The rain here is relatively light, compared to what it was before he went into the roadhouse, and he doesn't mind it, what little falls on him, perched up in a tree the way he is.

A pair of armoured people comes up from downslope, toward the Hinterlands. They're both wet, and muddy, and rather sad looking, and wearing tabards with the sword symbol that he now knows is the symbol of the Templars. One of them points to the roadhouse, and the other shakes their head.

Curiously, Shisui moves closer, to listen.

"--make it to Haven tonight. I know what the map says, but it's a bad one!" says the one who pointed at the roadhouse.

"I don't want to stop when we're almost there, Lia!" the other complains. Two Templars, heading for the Inquisition. From what Shisui understands, that should make Commander Cullen happy, at any rate. If they make it. He thinks about the weather ahead on their way, and sighs silently to himself.

A quick henge to the form of a rather average-looking woman--medium brown hair, and eyes, a little pale, maybe thirty--and he drops to the ground and clears his throat.

"Hey, I couldn't help but overhear, you're on your way to Haven? You're at least a day and a half out on foot. And there's a bad snowstorm upslope," he says.

"What, really?" the still nameless Templar say, at the same time as Lia says,

"I told you!" and thumps her partner on the shoulder. "Thank you, miss...?"

"Mina," Shisui offers. "Ask for the second floor middle-side room; it's unoccupied, and away from the common room and the stables."

“I’m Lia, and this is Triss—“

“—Patrice—“

“—Triss. We were heading to the Conclave, but got delayed. Lucky for us, I guess. Now we’re going up to Haven just to find out what happened—what really happened, I mean, and not all those rumours that are going about.”

Shisui smiles a little.

“Good luck,” he says. “I hear there might be bandits, too.”

“We’re not worried about them,” Patrice says confidently. “But thanks for the warning, anyway. Come on, Lia, we’d best go in.”

When Lia hesitates, looking at Shisui, he waves them off.

“Don’t wait on my account, I’m just enjoying the rain.” They both laugh, and head for the roadhouse, and easy as that, Shisui melts back into the shadows, hopping back up a tree as he drops the henge.

He spends perhaps another hour surveilling the roadhouse, but the most interesting thing that happens is the stableboy trading shifts with another, slightly younger, stableboy. So he leaves another clone (he can still spare the chakra), and heads back up the road to rejoin the rest of his party.

A quick kawarimi while his clone is ranging ahead, a few seconds to process its experience, and no-one is the wiser when Shisui comes back from his ranging.

“Shouldn’t be more than another hour,” Varric is saying when he gets back. “You find anything likely to eat us this time, Fluffy?”

“Just the mud, as usual,” Shisui replies, grinning as Varric laughs.

They arrive at the roadhouse without any further incident. Cassandra looks pleasantly surprised at the state of it, but when they open the door, Varric’s eyes go right to the bartender and the two tattooed dwarves at one end of the bar, and narrow.

“Carta,” he mutters. “They’re trouble, but I’ll explain later, kid,” he adds, before striding off across the room to talk to the bartender. She flirts with him, or tries to, before whistling sharply. A human man playing cards at one of the tables folds his hand, and waves Varric over.

It takes about five minutes, but Varric secures them rooms and baths, and dinner, and breakfast.

“Dinner they’ll bring up,” he says, as he hands out keys. “Breakfast in bed is an extra charge, so I told him we’d just come eat with the rabble.”

“Tell them to bring cold water if it’s faster,” Shisui says. “I can heat it.”

With all the rain outside, he could cast a suiton jutsu or two to fill the tubs as well, but his suiton is really not very good at all.

“Save your mana,” Solas interjects. “I know it is tempting to use magic for every little thing, but you have been spending yourself all day in little ways, that will eventually add up.”

“Tree-running doesn’t really take anything,” Shisui protests.

“Be that as it may, you know that is not what I am talking about.”

That. Wait. If Solas is some kind of sensor, then he can probably sense that Shisui’s missing half his chakra from having the clone on surveillance. Which means...

Shisui dismisses the clone at a distance (nothing interesting), and watches with some satisfaction as Solas’s eyebrows rise up, fractionally. Shisui just grins in response.

“I suppose cold water will do after all, if you can do something like that.”

Varric shrugs, and goes to tell the cards-playing man (and likely proprietor of the roadhouse; salt-and-pepper hair, dark eyes, male-pattern baldness, missing his left pinky), who actually looks at their party, eyes Solas, and nods.

“Lucky for you, Gregor’s a practical man,” Varric says, as they head upstairs. “And doesn’t mind mages. We’re down at the far end.”

They have two rooms, and some quick discussion has Shisui rooming with Cassandra, and Varric and Solas in the other one. The rooms are across from each other, not adjacent, but that doesn’t much matter with a trapper in each room.

Baths and dinner arrive at the same time, and they all pile into Shisui and Cassandra’s room to eat.

“Gimme just a sec,” Shisui says, taking a quick taste of everything, waits, and then nods. “Probably not poisoned.”

“Probably—ah, well, the Carta presence here means you’re right to be a bit paranoid,” Varric says.

“You mentioned they’re trouble,” Shisui replies. “You also promised to explain.”

“So I did. All right. We eat, and I’ll give you the quick-and-dirty on the Carta.”

And, as it turns out, the structure of dwarven society—‘proper’ Orzammar dwarven socity—as a whole, because at least basic knowledge of their complex caste system seems to be vital to understanding the whys and wherefores of the Carta.

It reminds Shisui of Kiri in a way, and he doesn’t like it. When he says as much, Varric replies sardonically,

“Why do you think so many of us chose to live up here? I won’t say we don’t have our own troubles, but at least if someone can’t tell a hammer from a rock we don’t try to make them be a smith just because that’s what their parents were. But that’s not your problem, or even my problem,” he adds.

“All right,” Shisui agrees, letting the matter go for the moment. He wants to know more, but it can wait. “What’s important is whether these Carta people are a threat to us right now.”

“Probably not,” Varric says, some reluctance in his voice. “I mean, technically speaking, I don’t even know for sure that they’re Carta—they might just be poor casteless bastards kicked out of Orzammar. But you get to know a certain type, and sometimes, you just know .”

“I believe we all understand,” Cassandra says. There’s a deep frown on her face. “I do not like leaving them to their own devices.”

“Nobody does Seeker, but we’re not exactly in a position to do anything about them. Even with the bartender, they might be just passing through.”

“Organised crime can be troublesome, but they also have their uses,” Shisui says thoughtfully. “There are smuggler’s holes here, built into the structure of the roadhouse, so they’ve probably been part of the local flavour for a while now. I think we should leave dealing with them to Leliana, and stick to worrying about our own mission.”

“I—yes,” Cassandra agrees, frowning. “You are right; Leliana will know best how to handle them.” She doesn’t seem happy, but her type—straightforward and honourable—never is about these things. Shisui has seldom had to work with them back home, and it’s kind of... strange. The Inquisition had limited personnel though, and an even more limited list of people Shisui feels comfortable with at his back in a fight. Cassandra is solid ; if they ever have real differences, she will, he thinks, tell him to his face.

It’s nice.

After dinner, Shisui heats baths for everyone in turn, and pulls out something clean and dry for them to wear. After baths, their wet, muddy clothes get dunked in the least-messy tub—Shisui’s—and wrung out to hopefully dry overnight.

A rapidfire discussion afterwards, and they decide on traps rather than setting a watch; everyone deserves a good night’s sleep after the weather they’ve been through. It’s fun discussing trap philosophy with Varric, however briefly, and before long, the two rooms are as safe as they can be.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: A Brief Detour On The Road Of Life

Shisui wakes the next morning to sun in his face from a north-facing window and oh gods and spirits he’s in the Southern Hemisphere. That explains a few things, and at the same time is unsettling enough that he slides to the wooden floor, and sits seiza for some morning meditation.

It... bothers him, that he hasn’t realised until now. Bothers him more than the unfamiliar stars, more than the two moons—two moons!—that hang in the sky, far too close for comfort. Bothers him less, he thinks, than being alive, less than having his eyes, right where they should be.

Slow, deep breaths settle that discomfort for the moment, let him set it aside for later consideration—when he has an atlas, a globe, something more than the local maps he has been looking at here, and—

His left hand twinges in prickly pain, almost enough to jolt him out of his meditation, but not quite.

In, and out. He runs through his passive genjutsu defences, and tweaks them all a little, minute adjustments to account for little things he has, and has not seen, or heard, or otherwise sensed.

In, and out. The mini-Breach in his hand prickles again, and he allows it, and follows it down from where it goes down to where it comes from. It does not interfere with his own chakra—he would have noticed that right away—but it is there, and it is different.

In, and out. Sparks crackle again, and this time Shisui activates his sharingan and watches what happens, as well as feeling it under his skin, and he thinks, he is almost sure—

Cassandra stirs, sitting up, and Shisui shuts down his eyes, and settles back into a more ordinary meditation. Shallow, light, because she settles in the sunbeam not far from him for her own meditation and prayer. Her words are a soft murmur, just under her breath, and even paying attention he can’t quite make out all the words; something about Andraste, about grace, and the guidance of the Maker’s Hand. It’s a lovely sentiment, really.

There is an unexpected calmness to her when she finishes, the stillness of surety, and he feels as though he almost understands something. It’s gone by the time he opens his eyes and looks at her, but something of it lingers, and he finds himself smiling a little.

“I had not taken you for a man of faith,” Cassandra says, when she opens her own eyes.

“Everyone believes in something,” Shisui replies. “Meditation and contemplation are important; I don’t come from a prayerful people, but we are contemplative.”

“What do you believe in, then?”

“That’s a bit of a loaded question,” Shisui replies softly. After a surprisingly comfortable minute of silence, he says, “I used to know. I’m not sure anymore.”

“I am sorry,” she says. “I hope you find it again.”

“Thanks, Cassandra.”

They don’t talk about it any further, instead getting properly dressed, and putting away everything else, including some of the trap-parts. They step out the door to find Varric doing the same thing with the traps on his and Solas’ room.

“You know Fluffy, I like these ‘senbon’ of yours,” Varric says, handing them back as Shisui returns his vial of paralysis toxin.

“They’re great, aren’t they?” They chit-chat a little as Varric finishes picking up his triggers, and Shisui ends up trading a half-dozen senbon for that vial of paralytic back. It’s nice talking shop for a while, even if it does make Cassandra’s eyebrows rise into her short-cropped hair.

Shisui maybe shows off a little, balancing three senbon on a fingertip, and then tossing them into a neat line along the grain of the wood of the doorframe. Gratifyingly, they all stare a little.

Varric looks from that line of senbon, to Shisui, and back to the senbon again.

“Kid, you wanna go win some extra travel funds for us?”

“Not this time Varric,” Shisui replies regretfully. “I want to take advantage of the good weather.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Varric agrees.

They don’t take much longer, just dropping the keys with the sharp-eyed proprietor, and getting sausage rolls and rough clay jars of tea for the road. Varric also spends a minute chatting with bartender—a human man, who looks like a younger, slightly prettier version of the proprietor—and exchanges a small stack of coin for a dusty bottle from the back of the top shelf. He wraps it in a spare shirt, and stuffs it into his field pack.

For a second, Shisui wonders if his scroll is full, before remembering that he doesn’t have one, maybe can’t even use one. So weird. When he offers, a little later, to stash the bottle in his scroll, Varric says,

“You know what? Sure, kid. Won’t have to worry about it breaking then, will I?”

“Nope!” Shisui affirms. They take fewer than thirty seconds to get the bottle out, and get it stashed again, spare shirt and all.

It’s maybe twenty minutes down the road when they pass the first farm—former farm, actually, the house half-reclaimed by the forest, with the roof caved in, fields overgrown, and stone walls in disarray. Signs of war, within the last generation. Ten years, twenty? Something like that, he thinks, recently enough. He doesn’t comment on it, but does make a mental note to review recent history when he can.

The glint of something bright under a toppled piece of wall (toppled in, stones scattered and broken by great force, briars growing out of a crack in the ground) catches his eye, and he takes a moment to scoop it up.

“What’s this?” he asks, holding it up for the others to see. It looks like a piece of stone, flat and smooth and about as long and wide as the last joint of his thumbs, etched with a character or symbol of some sort that shimmers with its own light. It tingles slightly in his fingers, a slightly electric feeling, as if he’s going to be zapped by static.

“Good eye kid,” Varric comments. “Let me have a look?” Shisui rolls it over his knuckles, and flips it over to him like a coin. Varric catches it neatly, and turns it over in his hands.

“Lightning rune. Looks like journeyman work. Not bad for a roadside find.” He flicks the rune back over to Shisui, who catches it and vanishes it into his weapons pouch. He has second thoughts a moment later, and has it back in his fingers, rolling it like a coin. The hum of anticipatory static is pleasant.

“It may have been there since the Blight,” Cassandra muses.

“Or longer,” Solas puts in. “Who knows how many people have walked on by, oblivious, until our young friend and his sharp eyes happened to glance that way?”

“That’s nice and all, but what does it do?” Shisui asks, admiring the glimmer and flash of the symbol on the stone. It’s enticing. Like candy.

“In the hands of a moderately skilled modern craftsman, it might usually be incorporated into a weapon or piece of armour to provide a certain benefit,” Solas explains. “In this case, the discharge or absorption of a certain quantity of lightning. More unusually, it might be use for some other purpose—a basic example is to use a rune of fire to provide flameless heat—“

He goes on for several minutes more about the possible uses of runes, and a bright zing of excitement runs through Shisui.

“Can these be made for any element?” he asks excitedly.

“Yes, of course,” Solas replies. Shisui gestures for Cassandra to take the lead position, and falls back to walk beside the older man. “Any element, and a number of other disparate properties besides—warding and barriers, paralysis and poison, the very wellspring of life: these are just examples. Naturally, there are other means of enchantment, however it is believed that inscription with a lyrium rune is the only means of creating a permanent enchantment.”

“It has to be a dwarf that does the work though, Fluffy. Working with lyrium will kill anyone else,” Varric says.

“The Tranquil can also work with lyrium,” Cassandra says. Something dark passes briefly—very briefly—through Solas’ eyes.

“Why?” Shisui asks. “And what’s a ‘Tranquil’ besides a synonym for ‘perfectly calm’?”

That, as it turns out, is a question so heavy Akimichi Chouza couldn’t lift it, and starts an argument that lasts until lunch, and leaves an icy silence between Solas and Cassandra.

What Shisui learns, to his horror, is that the ‘Tranquil’ are mages that have been cut off from the Fade—explained finally as not just a source of power, but also a very real world of dreams—and thence all their power and all their emotions. He thinks of Shimura Danzo and suppresses a spike of anger. But this is the very thing that allows them to work lyrium, as anyone who touches it goes mad—especially mages—except for dwarves and Tranquil. Because dwarves, like Tranquil, are not connected to the Fade.

“Dwarves don’t dream, kid,” Varric explains, to his bafflement. “Don’t ask me how it works.”

Because that is how it works: lyrium drives you crazy, unless you’re not connected to the Fade. Crazy and worse; Varric makes a point of describing a case to him in florid, literary detail.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” he finally says. “Don’t lick the glowy blue stuff.”

“The glowy red stuff is even worse,” Varric adds pointedly.

“Oh, is that what that is?” Shisui remembers it, remembers seeing it, up in the mountains that first confused day he had awoken here. He had instinctively given it a wide berth, and none of his attention, as if acknowledging it would give it a foothold in his thoughts. Actually even thinking about it makes his skin prickle, like that instinctive warning before an ambush.

“Red lyrium is bad news. Bad, bad news,” Varric affirms.

“Avoid lyrium, got it,” Shisui says, making a mental note to research the details further. It’s not that he wants to go mad, but the time may well come when he has no choice but to interact with it in some way, and the more he knows, the more likely he will be to be able to come out the otherside intact.

“While raw lyrium is dangerous, lyrium potions, which have been made with processed and refined lyrium, are perfectly safe,” Solas says. “They can restore depleted mana in an instant, instead of the minutes or hours it might take to regenerate naturally.”

“Oho?” Now that right there piques Shisui’s interest, oh boy does it. The healing potions are—impressive doesn’t even cover it, there’s nothing like them back home, rapid healing like magic—but he had been unaware that there was anything like a soldier pill here. Even if it is in a less-convenient liquid form.

“Adan does not currently have the supplies to craft them, thanks to the conflict in the Crossroads, but you may have one of mine, if you like,” Solas offers. Shisui considers it for seven whole seconds, and nods. Solas fishes into his potion belt—a neat little piece of work that Shisui added to his own gear as soon as he was offered one—and tosses one over, a little vial of bluish liquid that feels...

He can’t quite put a name to what he feels from it, it’s too faint for all that, but there is something, and when he gives Solas a questioning look, the other man just nods, very slightly. Interesting. He slots it into one of the the empty spots in his belt, and commits the spot to memory, because even though he hasn’t run out of chakra here yet, he knows his luck isn’t going to last forever.

“Thanks,” he says, and then the walk becomes rather uneventful. Oh, there are a couple of highway robbers hiding behind trees, too smart to attack a group as well-armed as theirs, and an increasing number of inhabited farms—and one tiny village, barely more than a well and an inn—as they descend, but it’s still... quiet. Peaceful, almost. If you can ignore the way the farmers’ shoulders tense as they pass, and the occasional scorch mark or frost-cracked rock along the way.

The end of a blade, broken off and glinting in the sun, under a bush; a scrap of robe, a dented piece of armour; little things here and there that catch his eye and say see, here: there is war.

It’s too familiar, and it makes his chest tighten in an equally familiar, and equally unpleasant way.

He keeps track of it all, but tries not to let himself think about it. He’s too well-trained for that.

It’s sunset when the reach, not a landmark, but the remains of a landslide, where a piece of the mountainside has fallen away, just to one side of the road, taking the trees with it, and leaving a beautiful view of a large lake glittering gold in the evening sun, and a substantial town on its shore. Varric gives a low whistle.

“This is new,” he says. “Almost fresh.” He kicks over a clod of dirt, and then a stone, sending it clattering away down the mountain.

“Is that where we’re going?” Shisui asks. He approaches the edge, sticking his feet in place with chakra as a precautionary measure.

“No,” Cassandra answers. “The Crossroads are further east. I do not think they can be seen at this distance. Perhaps with a spyglass, but I did not think to requisition one.”

“That’s fine,” Shisui says absently. “But you know, we could probably make it to that town-“

“-Redcliffe,” Varric provides.

“-thanks, Redcliffe, by full night if we head straight there.” The slope under his feet isn’t too bad, even after the landslide, and they can easily head in a straight line down and across—

“Shit, I forgot you guys can’t water-walk,” he realises aloud. “Never mind.”

“We could skirt the shore of the lake, easily enough,” Solas observes. “And I for one find your detours, shall we say, interesting.”

He probably thinks that he gets some insight from them. Who knows? Maybe he does. Shisui doesn’t see anything exciting about this kind of decision himself; it’s just field logistics. According to the map, the mountain road winds around quite a bit more, including a major switchback around a minor peak, before coming out through the foothills, and approaching the Hinterlands from the south, with a road peeling off to Redcliffe—the town he can see from here—and one continuing north to the Crossroads, and further on to the sea.

It’s another two, maybe three days at the pace the rest of the squad can keep, and there is a shortcut right here in front of him.

“Varric, Cassandra, hold tight. Solas, with me, we’re scouting the condition of the terrain.”

While Varric could also probably keep his footing on unsteady ground, Solas can shunshin back to somewhere solid if he has to. Solas nods and falls in, wide and a little to Shisui’s left, plenty of room to swing his staff, or for either of them to use their jutsu. He is, Shisui thinks, remembering the countless dead in his reflecting pool, a man accustomed to military operations; to leading and following both.

His hand—his left hand—tingles, a soft prickling of his tenketsu rather than his nerves this time. Solas gives him a sharp, almost worried look.

“You can sense it when it does something,” Shisui says. Consternation flickers over Solas’ face, and he nods, slightly.

“I can, but only if we are near,” he replies. “Much more than this, and I cannot, unless it is something spectacular.”

“I’ll try not to make a spectacle of myself,” Shisui says. “Again.” He makes a face. “Subtlety is supposed to be my watchword, not spectacle.”

His hand prickles again, and this time it throws substanceless sparks, as both his and Solas’ heads snap to the right, where a flicker of acidic green can be seen in a newly-sheared crevice in the side of the mountain. A massive shadow moves across the bright green, a hulking armoured form with horns and violet sparks dancing around it.

Shisui immediately drops, suppressing his chakra as far as he can, and ruthlessly pulling the mini-Breach’s power down with him. The tingling increases to prickling, but he can handle it, since the glowing and sparking has subsided. He waits, and slowly allows a trickle of chakra to fill his eyes, activating his sharingan, and casting the world in familiar sharp clarity, and letting him see the space beyond the rift.

It’s a bit like looking through a window, if the window is on the wrong end of a swirling drain, and even as he watches, the pull of the drain catches something moving just too close on the other side. It tries to escape, but like the maelstrom tearing driftwood, the pull of the rift is too strong, and the—spirit, he guesses?—is dashed against the rift before being spat out on this side, damaged and in visible pain, before pulling itself into a tattered facsimile of its previous shape.

Shisui feels his eyes go wide.

“Shit.”

“Shisui?” Solas murmurs, pitching his voice so low that even his trained ear barely catches it.

“They don’t want to be here,” Shisui replies, just as softly, under the assumption that Solas can hear him just fine. He wonders if the bigger ears give elves better hearing? Ot works for other animals, why not primates?

“No, they generally do not,” Solas agrees, surprise and something else Shisui can’t quite pinpoint in his voice. “How can you tell?”

“I saw that one-“ he points at it, long and spindly and sharp now, he remembers them from the mountain on the way to the Breach “-get pulled through, like driftwood being pulled into a maelstrom, and dashed apart before being pieced back together in a facsimile of what it is supposed to be,” he says.

“Yes,” Solas says simply, after regarding Shisui silently for a moment. “That is a remarkably poetic way of saying it; again I find myself surprised by you."

"Can you see it?" Shisui asks. "What's on the other side?"

"I can," Solas affirms; Shisui is unsurprised. "What do you see?"

Shisui considers it.

"It's different here," he says. "Calmer." He sends more chakra to his eyes, feels them sharpening; he can see other shapes moving on the other side, in the Fade, he guesses. Nothing substantial, just the suggestion of form. "But busier; I didn't see many people through the rifts before."

"They were all pulled through by the Breach." Remorse and regret, though he tries to hide them, are evident in Solas' voice.

"You fucked up," Shisui guesses. Guesses right, judging by the sudden fire in Solas' eyes, and the brief spike of KI. To his credit, the older man smothers it quickly enough that the demons around the rift don't seem to notice.

"I did," Solas says tightly.

"We'll make it right," Shisui says. "It's not fair to anyone--them or us--for things to be this way." He shifts, moving slowly away from the rift, before rising to a crouch, and examining his hand. He flexes it, and move each finger in turn. it prickles and stings, from the tips of his fingers up to almost his elbow, lighting up his nerves and tenketsu both. (Idly, he wonders if he could channel the energy of the mini-Breach, the green Fade-chakra through his tenketsu, and what would happen if he did. Later, he promises himself. Later.)

"There is no way to send them back," Solas says. "These rifts only go one way. I will retrieve Cassandra and Varric." He moves to stand, and Shisui holds up a hand to stop him.

"Two of them, and two of us," he says. "More than even, Solas." Pride. He's not quite sure why the word pops into his head, connected to Solas' name, but it definitely is, note-to-self, he needs to consider that. Consider how. Ugh, he needs time, like an entire week of downtime to think, and work on things, and at this rate, he is never going to get it.

"The Pride demon at the Breach needed all of us, Leliana, and all her people," Solas chides.

"I didn't know what it was, or what it was capable of," Shisui counters. He watches the demons, Pride and, he thinks, Terror? For a moment, longer, and begins to place his genjutsu. Neither of them notice, prowling around the rift, occasionally snapping at each other, or shuddering uncomfortably in what he now suspects very strongly is pain.

“And now?” Solas asks evenly, his gaze shuttered and evaluating in a way that reminds Shisui of Sandaime-sama more than anyone else. It makes the hair prickle on the back of his neck, and he reminds himself again to be wary of Solas: there is much more to him than he lets show.

“And now, a painless death is the least that I can grant them,” Shisui replies.

Solas looks at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, but Shisui ignores him—despite his own earlier thought—for the moment. The spindly Terror demon succumbs first to his genjutsu, twitching and shuddering its way into something like a comatose state; Shisui slinks up, and uses his eyes well to spot the place to put his kunai, slaying it in a single strike.

He ignores Solas’ gasp, and shakes the demon goo from his blade.

The Pride demon is substantially more difficult to subdue; it will not succumb to the call of sleep, and it shakes paralysis almost as easily—Shisui thinks he could catch it with more effort, but that would also catch its notice. What finally takes it is calm. Passive overconfidence, surety and a slow, sweet dizziness, like being drunk but better.

The killing is harder. Honestly Shisui’s going to have to take the time (always more time) to recreate Hatake’s chidori; a one-hit kill like that would be perfect for this. As it is, he moves back, and focuses on slowly, slowly building his chakra, before casting the hottest, tightest fireball that he can—as close as he can come with his first, best, easiest jutsu.

As far as he can tell, it works.

For a moment, he regards the smear of ash on the ground that used to be a person, who maybe didn’t want anything to do with any of this—the other one definitely didn’t—before he raises his hand toward the rift, gathering his chakra again, and. Stops.

“You must close it,” Solas urges quietly, something unfamiliar in his voice.

“Yeah. I have to do something else, first.” Without elaborating, Shisui pulls out his notebook and pen, and writes a warning:

’Tell everyone: stay away from the rifts!’

“Maybe this will help,” he murmurs hopefully, and folds the paper just so, taking the time and concentration to create a little wind-natured chakra, and rather impulsively pushing it through the tenketsu in his left hand, imbuing it—along with a trace of weird Fade-chakra—into the paper, and tossing it through the rift.

It hits something—not someone—on the other side, well-away from the rift, and immediately attracts attention from the amorphous figures over there.

Shisui waits, reminding himself to breathe.

What feels like an eternity later, one of the more humanoid spirits raises a hand in a distinct salute, and Shisui nods sharply in return, before finally raising his hand to pull the rift closed.

Cassandra and Varric arrive just in time to see his hand jerk from the stinging backlash, and he just had the presence of mind to turn his eyes off. (Well. He’a sure Cassandra missed it, but Varric’s looking at him a little funny. Whoops?)

“Ow,” he hisses, shaking his hand out. Solas crosses the space between them quickly, bt not so quickly as to raise alarm, and after a moment of hesitance—waiting for Shisui’s nod—takes his hand, and carefully probes the mini-Breach with his chakra.

“Whatever it is you did to enable you to throw that... note? Through the rift, I recommend you do not repeat it,” Solas says. “I will need a few minutes at the very least to stabilise the mark again.”

“Worth it, if it works,” Shisui replies, shrugging a little.

“If what works?” Varric asks.

“Well, spirits are people,” Shisui says. “And at least one of the demons out here didn’t want to be here—it was just curious about the rift, and got yanked about and dashed to pieces against the rift, and spat out wrong on this side. I saw it,” he adds, when he can see Cassandra drawing her breath to object. “It—ow—it was trying to get away. So after I killed the demons, before I closed the rift, I sent a note through, warning them to stay away from the rifts.”

It’s only because the man is holding his hand, working his odd restorative jutsu, that Shisui feels Solas stiffen for a moment, feels his chakra stutter.

“That is an unusual kindness you have done for them,” Solas says quietly. “I do not know how many will heed it though.”

“Heed—they are demons Solas! They heed no-one but Maleficars and their own wills.” Cassandra’s disapproval is so thick Shisui can taste it. Tastes like an oncoming storm—that or the clouds on the horizon do. Hm.

"Yes. Their own wills," Solas emphasises. "Being drawn through the rifts is harmful to them as much as it is dangerous for us. Trust that they will realise that, and heed Shisui's advice."

"Hey," Shisui says sharply, breaking into the nascent argument. "Now is not the time. I’ve given it some thought, and decided to try for Redcliffe tonight. We have to go now, so save the argument until we’re until we’re under a roof. Unless you want to sleep in that,” he adds, pointing to the rising clouds.

Cassandra glances up at the sky, then at Solas, and makes a disgusted noise.

“Fine. Let us go.”

This isn’t over, her shoulders say.

It certainly is not, say Solas’ back. Shisui exchanges a look with Varric, and mouths,

This is why you’re my favourite.

Varric visibly suppresses a snort, and Shisui feels satisfied.

“Solas, you’re rear guard. Varric, left flank. I’m staying on point.”

The trip downhill to the lakeshore is refreshingly fast--even Varric keeps up easily. It's still well into twilight by the time they get there, the light fading faster under the gathering clouds. Out of the cover of trees and ridges, with the flat, cool, wet surface of the lake to build off of, there is also a wind, not quite strong enough to be a bother, but definitely, like the clouds, building.

"Is this kind of weather normal for this time of year around here?" Shisui asks, as they travel closer toward Redcliffe.

"As far as I know. Why do you ask?" Cassandra replies. Her voice is still tight with the tension of her dispute with Solas--and himself, he supposes.

"Just wondering if the quick cycling was normal, or caused by the Breach," Shisui replies. "It's messed with everything else, so why not that, too? I wouldn't be surprised, honestly."

"None of us are from around here, Fluffy," Varric says. "You'd have to ask a local to know for sure."

"I'll do that," Shisui says. He waves at a fisherman out late on the lake, drawing in a net; since he isn't trying to hide, best to be cheerful and friendly. The fisherman waves back, just as friendly as far as he can see.

There are guards on the docks, but Shisui just moseys on in like he belongs there, and hopes that the rest follow suit. Cassandra is the one he's most worried about, since she's a straightforward and honest person, but he's not too worried about it. Only a little.

Luckily it seems that everyone knows how to act like they belong somewhere, and combined with a little bit of skulking and a hint of genjutsu, they manage to get into town without attracting more attention than anyone else. It probably helps that there are a lot of people dressed in robes and carrying staves about. The civilians give them a wider berth than Shisui thinks is warranted, but they don't seem bothered, so what does he know? Maybe they're just being overly polite about giving them space to swing if they need to. He doesn't think so though. He knows what fear looks like.

"Hey, excuse me," he says, approaching a man a little older than him, with dirty blond hair trimmed just above the collar of his robe. "We just got into town, and I was wondering where we could get something for dinner?"

The man blinks dark brown eyes at him, a little nervous, and visibly scans his squad, resting on Cassandra, and then Solas in turn. He lingers a little on Solas, as if trying to decide something.

"I thought they weren't letting anyone in," he says. His voice cracks, and he reflexively clears his throat; maybe he's younger than Shisui thought.

"Eh, I wouldn't know about that," Shisui says, with his best and most charming smile. "Nobody said anything to me. Guys?" His squad obligingly replies in the negative. Good squad.

“Oh, well.” The man (boy? He’s an adult by Shisui’s reckoning (not a civilian, in a uniform of sorts, armed), but recalling the way the others reacted to his age, maybe not?) hesitates again, a little more sheepishly. “I guess you must be on the list.”

Shisui immediately resolves to discover what this ‘list’ is, and see that his name is added—even if he has to do it himself.

“I’m Leo. Leo Barnard,” the boy continues. “There are a couple of places you could get dinner, I suppose, if you’re not getting some at your lodgings...”

Letting his smile tick wider, his shoulders fall back, open and inviting, Shisui says, “That’d be great! I’ve never been here before, and I like having options.”

Before long, he has young Leo waving goodbye after leaving them at what he assures them is decent food for a decent price, and more importantly, the proprietors don’t care about anything but the weight of your coin.

He also learns that Leo was an apprentice at the Ostwick circle for all of five minutes before everything went pear-shaped, that the boy prefers Orlesian cuisine, and that he has a not-insignificant crush in Grand Enchanter Fiona, the leader of the mages here in Redcliffe, and undoubtedly the most powerful, talented, and lovely woman in all Thedas.

Shisui takes his opinion with a grain of salt the size of the average Akimichi, and nods along. The rain starts falling as they walk into the place, fat drops splattering about ominously, before the clouds open up with a roar.

There's a sigh nearby.

"That's it then. You're the last customers tonight, I expect." It's a server, a middle-aged woman, grey-streaked brown hair up in a topknot, scarred hands smoothing her apron in what looks like a habitual motion. "Still got a place near the fire, if you like."

Shisui glances at his squad, and then back to the server.

"Fire sounds good," he agrees. "Do you have a menu or a special?"

"We have both," she replies. "Not a long menu, mind. Special is the roast, and we have eel pie, beer bread--" She continues as she leads them to one of the two tables remaining near to the fire. It's a short list, but it has a bit of variety, which is a refreshing change from what's available in Haven.

"I'll take that catch of the day, baked," Shisui says when he settles, back to the fire and facing the rest of the room. "And a pot of hot tea." The rest of the squad gives their order--including a jug of hot spiced wine for the table--and the server hurries off.

"Why has nobody more than glanced at us?" Cassandra asks, taking a look around herself. "We are hardly an unremarkable group."

"That's me," Shisui says, raising his hand. "As long as we don't do anything remarkable, we won't seem remarkable."

"The number of times I've wished I was able to do that," Varric grumbles.

"A remarkably subtle magic," Solas agrees. He helps himself to the wine when the server brings it back, and Varric does the same. Cassandra actually accepts Shisui's offer of tea; she seems somewhat uncomfortable with their location, so he can't blame her. Tea is better when you're uncomfortable, and in unfamiliar territory.

Shisui takes a sip, and pronounces it poison-free, and even does the same for the wine--"Except for the alcohol"--and Varric barks a laugh.

"That's fair, Fluffy. But it's a poison we pick."

"Thanks, but even if getting drunk looked fun-" and, okay, it does sometimes, and he could definitely get away with it if he wanted to "-the hangover is definitely not worth it. And neither are the asshole friends during the hangover." If his grin is a little mean, well. Look. It's not that he's the asshole friend, but he is definitely the asshole friend. Or the asshole Captain in some cases; he's tipped hungover minions out of bed on more than one occasion.

"I'll keep that in mind," Varric replies.

Before long, dinner comes out, and the fish is so good. Shisui has missed fish, up in the mountains. He makes a mental note to do some ice-fishing when they get back.

The rain continues outside, and Shisui gets from the server that this is not normal for this time of year; light rain, yes, once or twice a week. Not this downpour. She blames the hole in the sky, and frankly so does Shisui.

"I heard they got someone up there to fix it," she says, as she hands him a fresh pot of tea, and a plate of something she calls honey cakes that are something between shortbread and a flattish muffin, crumbly and lightly sweet. They're good, and they go with tea. "The Herald sent by Andraste Herself, Maker bless them both."

"The Herald?" Shisui asks guilelessly. "Who's that?"

"Oh you won't find him in the Chant," the server assures him. "But they say that he was brought to us by Andraste in our hour of need, to save us from the hole in the sky, and lead us back to the light. I don't know how much is true, but that's what they're saying."

She heads off again to help another table.

Shisui wriggles a little closer to the fire, and listens to the rain fall, almost starting to relax, until the door opens again to admit an attractive elven woman, maybe the same age as Cassandra, or a little older; it's hard to tell. She's dressed like the other mages he's seen here in Redcliffe, though her uniform has some modifications; personalisation or a matter of rank, or both, he guesses, though he doesn't know enough about how the organised mages--Circle mages--work to be able to say for sure. Her brown hair is short, practical, and she moves with confidence and an economy of motion that speaks of combat experience. There isn’t a drop of water or a splash of mud on her.

"Grand Enchanter Fiona," Cassandra whispers under her breath as the woman crosses the room directly to their table, drawing the attention of. Well. Everyone there. Varric mutters something under his breath.

“Care to join us, Grand Enchanter?” Shisui asks, when she arrives, before she can say anything. He pushes a chair out with his foot, grinning up at her.

“The Herald of Andraste, I presume,” she replies.

“I wouldn’t know,” he admits. “But that is what people have been calling me.”

“So you admit it,” she says.

“I’m not hiding anything-“ the Grand Enchanter (he makes a note to find out exactly what that is) arches an eyebrow at him “-I’m just trying not to make a fuss. And stay out of the rain,” he adds.

“I confess I have been considering making contact wi—“

The Grand Enchanter’s words are interrupted when Shisui’s hand chooses to spike with utterly unwarranted pain.

“Just a sec,” he hisses, and pushes it back down, experimentally wrapping his own chakra around it like a weird mitten. It unravels in seconds, and he makes a face as he holds his hand out to Solas.

Making an interested noise, the Grand Enchanter leans in to observe as Solas quiets the mini-Breach.

“A good effort, this time,” Solas says.

“Not good enough. There’s a rift nearby, one just sprang open,” Shisui replies. He’s sure of it.

“Where? We must go at once!” To her credit, the Grand Enchanter does not hesitate, rising smoothly to her feet, and bringing her staff to hand, ready to begin channelling her jutsu—spells—through it. Solas copies her, just as smoothly, and Cassandra and Varric do the same at Shisui’s nod.

“Follow me,” he says. Drops some coin on the table and calls, “We’ll be back!” And heads out into the rain.

The Grand Enchanter casts a barrier that keeps the rain off of all of them, and keeps up easily as Shisui heads toward—

“The gates, it must be near the gates,” she says.

“We’d better hope it’s outside the town,” Shisui replies. “If it’s not, I’m relying on you to coordinate containment and civilian evac. Minimising casualties is our first priority.”

“Agreed,” she says shortly. And adds, “You may call me Fiona. It is easier to shout across a battlefield.”

“Then I’m Shisui,” he replies.

The good news is, it's well after dark, and absolutely pissing rain, which keeps most people inside and away from the rift--which turns out to be outside the gate, good. Bad news is, that doesn't help the gate guards, who are quickly becoming overwhelmed by the handful of demons that have appeared.

Shisui doesn't even give it a second thought: he uses shunshin to cross the distance and stab two kunai into the demon about to gut some poor undertrained basically-civilian schmuck.

"Go!" he shouts. "We have this!" The demon--one of those spindly Terrors, poor thing--screeches, and slashes for his face. The claws clip his hitaiate--Fiona's barrier having worn off--before he catches them on his kote, and suddenly, it's like he's moving through water, and the demon can actually keep up with him for several long seconds until it's caught in succession by Solas' hyoton and an unfamiliar raiton spell that strikes the demon facing him, and lances out from there to all the others.

Cool.

That does it for the one facing him, and seems to have given the rest of the guard a chance to get out of the way. He drops a barrier on his squad--including Fiona, netting him a startled glance from her--before he drops a grand fireball on the battlefield, one big enough to hit every demon.

Two of them somehow manage to evade--nothing so far has been fast enough to do that--and they meet the business end of Bianca, and Cassandra's shield, before melting away.

Something big moves on the other side of the rift, like it's taking a look, because it's big enough to do that without getting sucked out. Shisui takes a chance to wave at it, and gets a wave in return, before it shifts, and doesn't move. Right. Standing guard?

"Thanks!" Shisui calls, and then reaches through the mini-Breach to pull the rift shut. It goes, but not easily, something pulling at it from the sides, so to speak, and there's a little crackle of Solas' green chakra remaining afterwards, not unlike the closed mouth of the Breach over the mountains above Haven.

"What?!" an unfamiliar voice demands. Shisui's gaze snaps up, meeting the wide eyes of a man standing in front of a carriage, staff in hand, ready to cast. Dark eyes and brows, and red robe over some kind of armour, shiny and silver even in the dark.

"Hey, don't worry," Shisui says. "It should be safe now."

"No," the man mutters, ignoring him. "This is not--" His eyes flick to Shisui then, and then his hand, and then back to his face. Shisui wonders what he sees there. What Shisui sees is a man with a plan taken badly by surprise, quickly recalculating said plan, and coming up with--

"So, what brings a Tevinter Magister this far south?" Varric interjects, before anyone can say anything.

'Tevinter' is a place on a map to Shisui, and 'Magister' sounds like a title.

"If you must know, dwarf, it is the plight of my fellows that brought me here," the Magister replies. "Although some of my fellows are content to sit in Minrathous and ignore the goings-on of the barbaric south, but I am not the same."

Part of him even means it, Shisui thinks, but he knows far better liars; this man is a politician, but something has thrown him off his game.

"That's nice, but Redcliffe is closed right now," he says, ignoring his own blatant hypocrisy. He came in the back under the cover of night like a good shinobi; this guy is trying to come in the front door. Probably planning to use the bad weather to make the locals take pity on him.

Through the sheets of rain and the darkness, Shisui can see a small 'escort' of troops--eight people total--of some kind, all riding horses, and about half that he can see are carrying staves. There are also two unarmed people--both elves--in plainer clothes, perched on top of pack horses. Several chests are lashed neatly to the top of the carriage, and one more to the back of it; this is a man who intends to stay for some time.

"Even to visiting dignitaries?" the Magister asks.

"If you were expected, there would have been a welcoming party here for you, Magister...?" Cassandra says, cool and even.

"Alexius. Gereon Alexius." Alexius inclines his head the barest of twitches. "And you, Seeker...?"

"Cassandra."

Shisui drops another barrier on their party to continue keeping the rain off. He needs to learn more long-term versions; maybe if he just pumps more chakra into it?

“Seeker Cassandra.” There’s a fine veil of condescension draped over Alexius’ voice, under his veneer of friendliness, as if Cassandra is nothing more than a monkey doing an interesting trick. “Now that the conflict has been resolved-“ he gives a nod to Shisui, and there’s a sharp, familiar avarice in his eyes “-perhaps we could see about getting some accommodation. It has been a long journey, and my—“

“That will be for Arl Teagan to decide,” Cassandra interjects. “Whether or not he wants a Magister behind his walls.” She sets her stance like a bulwark, and Shisui makes the decision to follow her lead, signalling to Solas and Fiona to take position by the gates, trusting that they’ll understand—yes.

Solas prepares to defend the squad, and Fiona the gate, right by the quick-release for the portcullis, her face hard and distrustful.

Varric moves on his own to mirror Shisui, behind and to Cassandra’s sides, ready to provide cover.

The mini-Breach pulses in Shisui’s hand, and he grits his teeth to push it down and ignore it. Behind him, he can hear the sounds of armed and armoured soldiers—not shinobi, or even anything like Cassandra—arriving, along with the quieter footfalls of large, muscular dogs. The dogs array themselves with tactical precision, without verbal direction, and Shisui decides to treat them as ninken until they demonstrate otherwise.

Among them is one horse.

“Thank you Seeker,” says the man atop it. “I’ll take it from here.”

Chapter Text

Shisui does not wake.

Shisui has not slept .

To be fair, neither has anyone else, but not sleeping had been nowhere near his plans when he decided to detour to the nice little lakeside town. He had planned on playing some tavern games with Varric, gathering some intel, eating some fish, and getting a good night’s sleep.

Instead, a new rift had sprung up out of nowhere, along with an incredibly suspicious mage (who turned out to be a foreign dignitary, apparently a ‘Magister’ is some kind of noble in Tevinter; more like a clan head than a daimyou, based on Cassandra’s hurried explanation) and his entourage.

A few of Fiona’s subordinates had appeared with the soldiers, and they took over maintaining barriers to keep the rain off—best jutsu ever—while Arl Teagan, the local ruler, had taken Magister Alexius to task—or started to, until the Magister’s son had some kind of seizure, and fell out of the carriage.

It feels too convenient for Shisui’s sensibilities, but the seizure had been real; he should know, he’s the one who caught the guy before he fell into the cold, wet, mud. And been the recipient of Alexius’ surprised, but genuine gratitude. Which had been weird, coming from a man who set off all the same alarms as Shimura Danzo coming for his eyes.

When Fiona and Solas both confirmed that the son’s condition was genuine—and bad—Arl Teagan had reluctantly allowed Alexius and his son—and no others—into the village, and then the keep.

He had also politely ordered Seeker Cassandra and her companions to accompany him, which resulted in a hurried run-down of politics (foreign and domestic) for Shisui from alternately Varric and Cassandra. His head was still spinning from it when they were all sat down at a table—along with Alexius and his slowly-recovering son—for a combination of polite interrogation and cutthroat negotiation.

Halfway through it came out that Shisui was (supposedly) this Herald of Andraste, which resulted in him being made a neutral arbiter, of sorts. For some reason; it’s clear to him that Arl Teagan doesn’t like Magister Alexius any more than he likes dog shit; less, probably, since Shisui’s getting an almost Inuzuka vibe off of these Fereldans and their dogs.

(He makes a mental note to ask someone about them; there are those statues of the same breed of dog back in Haven, too, he recalls...)

This is the kind of thing he frankly hates . Oh, he's trained for it, by the Chief and the Elders, because he's too strong, too close to the main family, to not deal with politics someday, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

"I was invited ," Magister Alexius says, for the third time. Shisui believes him as much as he did the first two, which is to say not at all . "The letter is in my effects, and I would be happy to show you, if you allow me to access them."

" By who ," Arl Teagan says, for the third time, less patient than the last, and makes a dismissive gesture.

" As I have said ," Alexius barely doesn't grit through his teeth. "It was anonymous. "

"I sincerely doubt that anyone here would go begging to Tevinter, " Fiona interjects, shoulders shifting aggressively. She backs down at the Arl's gesture, but the scowl remains on her face.

"Okay, that's enough," Shisui says, deliberately raising his left hand, which is still spitting the occasional green spark like there's an active rift nearby but there isn't, he can't sense one, Solas can't sense one and WHY . It draws their eyes, and the rest of their attention. Some subtle thread of genjutsu settles over the room, and Shisui snaps it without even thinking, chasing a faint cloudiness from Fiona and the Arl's eyes almost before it starts to settle. Alexius' eye twitches slightly, the only tell that he had anything to do with it.

Amateur .

Shisui counters with genjutsu of his own, even finer and more subtle, designed to keep thoughts--and to an extent, actions--focused on himself, and away from anyone else. A useful tactic for setting up backstabs, in the field or at the table. He can briefly feel the weight of Solas' gaze, before the other man deliberately returns his focus to the prone--though wakeful--form of Felix Alexius, laying on a couch summoned and shoved against the wall of this meeting room.

"You're just going in circles. Nothing is getting done, and so nothing is going to get done. If you want my opinion, Magister Alexius and Felix Alexius should stay until Felix Alexius has recovered from his episode, and then return with their retinue to Tevinter."

"I can agree to that," Arl Teagan says. He seems generally agreeable to Shisui; probably comes from the whole saving his men from demons thing. "With the stipulation that none of their retinue enter the city. And they go nowhere unescorted."

"That is unacceptable! " Alexius snaps. "You cannot treat us like criminals when we have done nothing wrong. We came in good faith, at the invitation of your own citizens-"

"-a claim which you have yet to prove-"

"-because you will not allow-"

Shisui clears his throat, and thanks to the genjutsu, that's all it takes to bring their attention back to him.

"I think it's reasonable to give the Magister and his son an escort," Shisui says mildly. "For their protection, as well as to provide for the peace of mind of the people of Redcliffe."

"In that case I want my own people," Alexius states.

"Out of the question," Arl Teagan starts, and they're off. Shisui sips his tea, and lets them argue about it for a while. Interestingly, Alexius--and his son--manage to slip his genjutsu after a while, but in the way that suggests subconscious defences rather than an active awareness like Solas has. It also doesn't prevent him from pressing the genjutsu back over them, and neither seem to notice.

It slips off again after a couple of minutes, and this time Alexius’ eye twitches, and so does the muscle in his neck, as if he’s trying to resist looking around. Interesting. Without letting his expression change from the distant mild annoyance that the Chief usually uses for situations like these, Shisui gathers his chakra to strengthen the genjutsu, and abruptly, Felix Alexius seizes again.

To his credit, Magister Alexius drops the argument, and is at his son’s side in a flash, speaking soothingly to him in a language Shisui doesn’t recognise—Tevinter- go he supposes—and doesn’t get in the way of Solas pressing a folded leather strap between his teeth, to keep him from biting off his tongue. The seizure doesn’t last long, but Alexius stays by his son’s side the whole time, and takes his hand gently when it’s done.

It’s so genuine it makes Shisui’s heart ache.

It makes him miss his family—Ma, and Itachi and Sasuke, and Auntie Mikoto and the Chief, and and everyone —and he sighs.

“Let’s table this for now,” he says. “Arl Teagan, would it be acceptable if the Alexiuses-“ he thinks that’s how it pluralises? “-retired for the night? I’m sure the Magister would rather see to his son’s comfort than argue about matters of staff.”

“I would,” Alexius admits. “Felix is more important than these petty arguments—although I would rather all my people were housed safely and comfortably away from the fighting and the rain outside,” he adds.

“Would it reassure you if the Inquisition, as a neutral party, checked on their well-being?” Shisui asks. Alexius gives him a startled look, that turns sharp, and thoughtful.

“Yes,” he says slowly. “I think that it would.”

“Fantastic. Cassandra, would you see to it?” She gives him what can only be called a Look , but she nods.

“Of course.” She gives him another nod, and heads for the door.

Shisui lays a thicker cloak of genjutsu around the room, and casts a single kage bunshin , exchanging nods with his double as it slips out after Cassandra. Like he’d leave her without back-up.

“And I’ll provide security for the Magister and his son myself for the night,” Shisui continues, thinning out the genjutsu again. “If everyone finds that agreeable.”

“Bianca and I will keep you company,” Varric adds.

“We might as well all attend,” Solas says. “I would be remiss if I left my patient before I was certain he was as safe as possible.”

“I suppose that that is acceptable,” Arl Teagan says. Addressing Alexius, he continues, “In the interests of diplomacy, you may stay until your son has recovered from his fit. However, your retinue, in its entirety, is to remain outside the bounds of Redcliffe. As the Inquisition has so kindly volunteered to see to your security, I don’t see that there should be any problem there.”

Shisui meets the Arl’s eyes briefly, and though there is suspicion there, there’s also a sense of I know you want to keep an eye on him too conveyed there that he can’t deny. Not since Shisui first saw that Danzo-like look in Alexius’ eyes. He gives Arl Teagan a tiny nod when Alexius looks away from them, in response to the little pained sound his son makes.

"Fine," Alexius agrees.

Things move pretty quickly after that; Arl Teagan arranges a suite, and Felix Alexius is installed in the biggest bed, in the biggest room, and Magister Alexius sits firmly at his son's side. Solas sets up nearby, and checks Felix Alexius' vitals, nodding to himself, before calling a rime of frost over his hand--his control is amazing --and pressing it gently to the young man's forehead.

"He has a slight fever," Solas explains before Alexius can ask. "Nothing dangerous on its own; however, with the rest of his... condition... it would be unwise to let it go unchecked."

"I... Yes," the Magister agrees. He glances between Solas and Shisui, ignoring Varric like he isn't there, which probably suits Varric just fine; he's found a comfy spot at the corner table, cleaning Bianca. He looks again, between Solas and Shisui, who's decided to pull out a senbon and use it to clean his fingernails. Oddly, it's the senbon that catches his eyes, following the movement of the silvery needle as Shisui picks bits of demon goo from around his cuticles.

His gaze slides from the needle to the scars visible on Shisui's hands--nothing weird, just the usual cuts and one stab from where he'd caught a Kumo nin's kunai through the palm to keep it from taking his eye.

He draws a conclusion; Shisui wonders what it is.

"This isn't how things were supposed to go," he sighs. "Not by any measure." He raises a hand, and wraps his hand around the pendant hanging around his neck.

Solas' eyes widen in alarm, and his head turns--

Shisui reacts to his reaction, accustomed to working with sensors as his is, sharingan spinning to life automatically, and he can see it now --

Chakra moving, chakra growing, a crackle of red , and then green , the shockingly familiar green of Solas and his own hand--

They both move at the same time, but it is not fast enough, and the world

goes

green .

It is like nothing so much a long blink in bright sun, but when Shisui can see again, it's the visual equivalent of choking in a closed room full of smoke: the world is a bright, brilliant riot of colour, for all that it's all veined through or overlayed with crackling, sickened red.

He barely has time to notice more than that, to register Solas at his side and nobody else, when two armed and armoured men come bursting in--

"Blood of the Elder One! Where did they come from?!"

--they have time to draw their blades, and shift their weight forward, proving themselves hostile, in Shisui's sharingan. It is all that Shisui allows them; between one heartbeat and the next, his blades find their hearts. The crackling red is all around them, and it doesn't fade with their deaths.

Beside him, he hears an unfamiliar hissed curse; something about a dick? It's not important; what is important is that Solas is standing beside him again (a little behind, wide to one side, staff in one hand, the other ready), here in this dimly lit stone room, and looking around him in what can best be described as abject horror .

Sorrow and self-recrimination are there too, but the horror is more apparent. Strongest.

Shisui wonders what Solas is sensing, if it matches what he's seeing, if it matches the wild, crackling surge building in his left hand. He forces it down, pushes it back with his own chakra, but it still almost burns . He curls his hand into a fist, and then passes the senbon into it.

"Solas, what do you sense?" he asks, as he bends to search the dead men.

"The Veil is gone," Solas says. "Completely gone. I cannot sense a trace of it at all." Something in his voice is odd, his cadence... the way his lips move. He puts that aside; what he has actually said is more important than how he said it. If the Veil—that thing that keeps spirits and demons and dreams separate from the physical, waking world, from what he has read, has been told—is gone , completely...

“Is that why everything is so...” Shisui trails off, at a loss for words. How do you even describe the world when it's all shifting layers, certain only because you stand and will it so? A handful of coin makes its ways into Shisui's pockets--carefully silenced with lint and other things--and so does the key that one of them carries.

“Yes,” Solas says. He looks at Shisui, sharp, and for a moment curious again. “And no; the Veil is gone, but there is more yet...” He rubs his fingers together as he trails off, and the air crackles briefly green around them. “Something is wrong. I know the temptation to experiment with what you can now perceive, however you should restrain yourself until we can determine just what has been done to us.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Solas,” Shisui says with a brief roll of his eyes. He is tempted though, with the way that the very air seems almost dangerously alive, almost ready to jump and snap and sizzle for him. It makes his tenketsu prickle, and his left hand sting, and it’s almost like there's a rift.

He presses his fingers to the stone below him, and for a second it becomes less. More. Something else. Maybes and might-have-beens , past and present, and--

Solas' hand on his shoulder is heavy and real and grounding .

"Stop," the older man says, a firm note of command in his voice. "Did I not just warn you? You must be careful, keep your thoughts close, and your certainty in your self and your place and your reality even closer. Do not sway in your confidence, and the world will remain as you believe it should. The Veil is gone, the raw Fade poorly mingled with the physical world, and it responds very easily to you."

Shit. Shit .

"Shit," Shisui says out loud, and immediately sits seiza, hands on his thighs, and focuses . He can do this. It's like a mindscape made physical, like some kind of weird actually-real genjutsu, and he can handle this .

Once he stops taking the world for granted, it turns out, he can, in fact, handle this. It's surprisingly easy, even though there is--a lot--going on. The mini-Breach spitting and tugging and prickling his tenketsu and nerves alike, the possibilities of the world shifting and unhappening and happening again in his sharingan, more than he has ever seen or imagined.

For a second, he considers turning off his sharingan, setting aside those shifting sights--but no. No. He can't. Just thinking about it makes paranoia and panic rise in his chest, and he knows better than to ignore those instincts.

"Okay," he says softly. "Something is very wrong here. We need to figure out where we are, what Alexius did, where everyone else is. Damn. I should've left one of them alive," he adds, muttering to himself.

"Let us carry on," Solas suggests. "Perhaps we will find someone else to question."

"Yeah," Shisui agrees, rising smoothly to his feet. He does a reflexive check of himself and his gear--everything intact and where it should be--and then stalks out of the room, carefully.

The walls bristle with red lyrium, glowing and crackling with power, and just plain wrong . Part of him is drawn to it nevertheless, the siren song of the shiny thing he supposes; it's not for nothing that he signed the corvid contract. He resists, and ignores the shift of the walls to rough stone, to bare brick, to empty, overflowing possibilities.

Deep breath.

Out.

Shisui resists, and follows the soft murmur of prayer, to one of the other cells in this prison, bristling with red lyrium and containing a single elf man, rocking back and forth on his feet, and murmuring to himself. He recognises the man as one of the mages from the town of Redcliffe.

"Hey," he calls, approaching the bars. The man doesn't appear to hear him, continuing his murmured prayer, repeating the same words again and again. "Hey," Shisui says again, more gently, but at the same time, more compellingly , weaving genjutsu into the inclination to just look up, meet his eyes...

It works.

Pointlessly, but it works. It's a matter of seconds for him to determine that the man is as good as gone, his mind lost in the song of the red lyrium, barely clinging to a thread of something like sanity through the chant of his prayers.

He shakes his head, releasing the man from his illusions, and stepping back.

"I don't think he knows anything useful," Shisui says.

"I agree," Solas says. He passes his staff from hand-to-hand. There’s a pensive sadness in the man's eyes as Shisui watches him, before he turns away decisively, and gestures for Shisui to lead.

He does, exploring empty halls and dead-end stairways alike, all full of jagged red lyrium crystals and uncertain walls. It takes an act of will to impose certainty on the walls; the thought of trying to walk on them right now is actually faintly nauseating. He could do it, but between the red lyrium and the not-quite-reality—

No.

There is, he realises abruptly, something trying to mess with his mind , and like hell is he going to allow that .

“Something’s messing with my head—trying to, anyway. It’s probably trying for yours, too,” Shisui tells Solas. The older man lets out a soft ”Oh” in reply, and stops beside him.

“Yes,” Solas agrees. “A powerful demon with a long reach. But now that we are aware of it, it should be less troublesome.”

Their mutual resolve leaves the air lighter, and Shisui is glad that for all he can't entirely trust Solas, he can still rely on him.

"Hey," he says, as they pass down another hall. "You're the expert in the Fade, and since it's basically no different from the waking world now, I've got a question."

"I will answer it, if I can," Solas replies.

"Do you think that the world would be as malleable as a mindscape or a dreamscape right now?"

"In a sense, it would be so," Solas says after a moment of consideration. Shisui isn't surprised, but it's nice to have the confirmation. "However, I believe I already warned you about the matter."

" Yeah ," Shisui sighs. "Doesn't mean I'm not tempted to try."

"Perhaps when we have determined the true nature of what has passed here in this place we might have time to," Solas says. "Or rather, we might have no choice. How is your hand?"

The abrupt change of topic calls Shisui's attention back to his left hand, and he flexes it reflexively. It's still stinging, and still shedding the occasional green spark, as if reacting to a rift--or rather, he thinks, the Fade itself, superimposed and one with the physical world.

"It stings," he says. "But not badly. Both my tenkestu and nerves are affected."

"Tenketsu?" Solas asks, and, oh yeah. The language doesn't have a word for tenketsu, does it?

"It's--" Shisui pauses to think, and comes up with: "-- so'via'lin? " The word comes out on its own, and Solas just stares at him.

" Ah, " he says after a moment. "Of course. May I?" he asks, gesturing at Shisui's left hand. After a moment, Shisui raises it, and offers it to Solas, who takes it with his own cool hands, and starts working his intricate medical jutsu-- healing spell --with much greater efficacy than he had before. The stinging subsides, and leaves only a faint prickling at Shisui's palm, just where the mini-Breach is concentrated the most strongly.

"There," Solas says, releasing his hand. "That should be better. I apologise; I took the wrong approach in managing the effects; it should be better, now."

"It is," Shisui says. He flexes his hand, spins out a shuriken and puts it back; it is much better. "When we get some downtime--"

"--yes," Solas agrees. "There are, I believe, some things that we must discuss."

Shisui makes a face, and nods shortly, before he carries on, following the faint wisp of living chakra that he can see peeking here and there through the walls. Which, in point of fact, might not actually be there unless he makes them be, and so he reaches toward the one nearest the trace of living chakra, intent on testing it--

Solas' hand closes on his, firm and strong, and brooking no argument.

"Do not ," he warns again, a hint of exasperation in his voice this time. "I will remind you as many times as I must, but you must remember that you are Shisui , and not a spirit of Curiosity."

"Honestly, I'm not very well named," Shisui admits, with a mildly-inappropriate snort of laughter. "'Shisui' means 'still water'," he explains, when Solas tilts his head. The older man arches an eyebrow, and Shisui grins.

Of course, it's also a poetic way of saying 'mirror', which is probably what Ma was thinking when she picked it. He doesn't mention that part though; it just feels too personal.

"No, I suppose it doesn't suit you," Solas agrees. "Unless you were the still water of the seas from which a rogue wave arises."

Shisui blinks at him.

"That's a thing?" he asks, surprised. He didn't know that that could happen; then again, he doesn't actually know much more than the basics of how the oceans work. Tides, winds, moon--fuck, he's going to have to learn tides all over again for two moons .

"Not often, but it does. But come, we should not tarry."

Shisui manfully resists the urge to test the reality of the walls once more, and resumes leading the way.

Before long, the worked stone halls give way to a more natural cavern, arching above them and falling away beneath, with an iron grating for the floor, and doors on each side. Two are guarded, and one has a draw-bridge raised, and the guards notice Shisui as he notices them.

Not that it matters much, because the pair of walking dead men waiting for them there die just as quickly as the first two; a fountain of blood from one carotid--aimed well away from either of them, who knows where these guys have been?--and the other frozen solid courtesy of Solas while Shisui took the first. He wipes his kunai on the man's clothes, and rifles through his pockets; nothing but lint this time, alas. Solas does the same, and ends up flipping a bit of glittery purple crystal over to Shisui. Amethyst, he guesses?

"Pretty," he says.

"They have their uses," Solas allows. "Now, which way shall we go?" Shisui considers the options, sending more chakra to his eyes, to pick up fainter traces, to follow the possibilities, and--

Impulsively, he releases his solid certainty of everything, and lets his eyes show him what might or might not be there, and.

It's a shadow of what is, but for a second, he sees a possibility of Varric being dragged to the right--North, he thinks. The sight is wreathed in a crackle of misty red that makes his skin prickle in warning, and he has to suppress a shudder.

"That way," he says, pointing with his kunai before tucking it away. He takes a deep breath, and under Solas' cautious gaze, reforms his solidity.

"Fascinating," Solas murmurs. "You learn very quickly."

"The curse of my clan," Shisui quips, and pointedly turns away, heading for the stairs to his right. His choice is proven correct when he hears the faint sound of a familiar voice humming softly--Varric's, just as he had seen.

So his sharingan can work with the Fade. Good to know. Now if only he can have the chance to practice ...

The key he took earlier proves the match for the doors, and--

" Indra's bones Varric, what the hell happened to you?"

The humming stops, and Varric looks up at him through a crackling, unnaturally red-glowing gaze. His face flickers through microexpressions of incredulous disbelief (a slight widening of his eyes, wrinkles of his forehead crinkling, pupils narrowing and then dilating a tiny bit), hope (a faint hint of a suggestion of a smile, the barest twitch in his neck as his pulse jumps), cautious sorrow (the deliberate slowing of his pulse, the slight lowering of his eyelids, the tilt of his chin)--

"Andraste's sacred knickers," he breathes, an odd resonance to his voice--like it's been doubled, reverberating in a nearby echo of itself. "Both of you--forget what happened to me, what happened to you? "

"I haven't had a chance to figure out the specifics, but I think Alexius used some kind of space-time jutsu--spell--focused on that talisman he had," Shisui says. "It sent us down to the bottom of wherever this is, and now that I'm seeing you here, like this, probably through time as well." Which is kind of. Freaking him out a bit. Because even the Yondaime and Nidaime with their hiraishin hadn't been able to do that , he doesn't think. Not more than the tiniest blink of time to bridge the space--

He shakes it off, and unlocks the cell for Varric.

"Time?" Solas breathes to himself. "Of course, it all makes sense; absent the mark, the Breach grew, and then, eventually overtook the whole world. It would have all the Veil unmade, out of control, and all unchecked--"

"Yeah, that's pretty much what happened, Chuckles," Varric interjects. "At least from what I've picked up from the guards and the torturers. You know how it goes." He eyes Shisui as he says it, and Shisui thinks nothing of shrugging and saying,

"That's what you expect from something like this, yeah."

"Shit, kid," Varric says, shaking his head as he steps out of the cell. "Yeah, okay. So, this isn't new then, is it?" he asks, gesturing at his own eyes. "I thought I saw something back then, but I wasn't sure. So, who am I talking to? Fluffy, or some demon?"

Shisui blinks. And then blinks again. Tilts his head slightly, and turns off his sharingan.

"Just me, Varric," he says. Turns them back on, and continues, "Still just me."

Varric looks at Solas, who nods.

"He speaks the truth, Master Tethras; though odd, and even disturbing, his eyes, like that, appear to be normal for him," he says.

"Are you sure?" Varric asks, and it hurts a little to be doubted like that. Just a little; Shisui can't exactly blame him, when they've been gone for some unspecified amount of time, and. Well. Sharingan freak people out. Even Uchiha people sometimes, though those Uchiha people are usually literal babies seeing them for the first time, and everything freaks babies out for the first time. (It's one of his favourite things about babies; everything is new and amazing and terrifying. It seems like only yesterday that little Sasuke was still a baby, freaking out at every new thing Itachi and Shisui showed him. He hopes Sasuke is okay. He hopes Itachi is okay.)

"Positive. I have never met a person less likely to be possessed," Solas says, looking at Shisui himself. His eyes are dark and unreadable, and something about his chakra feels the same; for some reason, Shisui finds himself recalling the glimpse he had of something greater inside Solas himself, and for a moment, he lets himself wonder.

Varric takes in a long breath, and lets it out.

"Okay. Well, I'm not the only one locked up in here; they've got the Seeker, and Nightingale somewhere too. The Grand Enchanter, and even another 'Vint," he says. "I saw them dragging him in a while ago, down to the lower level. Called him a traitor, and a whole lot worse. I haven't seen him since, so they've probably got him rotting down there, poor bastard."

"What other intel do you have?" Shisui asks, as he starts heading for the stairs that lead further down.

"That Magister Alexius? He works for someone else--everyone here calls him 'the Elder One'," Varric explains. His voice continues to resonate in that strange way that makes Shisui's brain itch. "All these 'Vints seem to worship him like some kind of god."

"Does this 'Elder One' have a name?" Solas asks. Good question, Shisui wants to know too.

"Probably, most people do, but none of them ever said it where I could hear," Varric replies. Shisui laughs.

"That's fair," he allows. "Maybe someone else has. Maybe this 'traitor' down here," he adds. He can hear a familiar voice again, Cassandra's voice, reciting some prayer or scripture, her voice just as oddly resonant as Varric's. Once again, Shisui's skin crawls, and he suppresses a shudder at the sound. Her voice falls silent for a moment, as Shisui approaches, and sees her sitting on the floor of the cell; she looks worse than Varric, much worse.

Her skin is pale almost to translucence, and Shisui can see the crackling crimson of red lyrium threaded through her veins, the unnatural almost-chakra energy of it moving through her, rising and falling with her breath, with her heartbeat, and it makes his chest tighten with anger . He hasn't known her for long, but he knows she doesn't deserve this. Varric doesn't deserve it either, but he at least hasn't been--whatever this is.

"You have returned to us," she says, looking up as Shisui approaches. "Can it--no, your eyes, Andraste--" Her own eyes widen with heavy despair, and Shisui finds himself rushing forward to the cell.

"No, Cassandra, it's me, I'm I promise," he says. "Varric thought--probably whatever you're thinking too." He deactivates his sharingan for a moment, and then turns them back on, because wow is that disorienting right now. Once was bad enough, but a second time... No. With his sharingan on, he can parse the world around him, see its layers and its possibilities, and maybe if he didn't know they were there it would be fine, but he does know, and even when he can't see them, he thinks he can almost feel them, and seeing them is. Better.

"He is not possessed," Solas says. "I can assure you of that, Seeker. Though his eyes appear alarming, they are, so far as I can tell, perfectly natural."

"Completely natural," Shisui says.

"Now I really want to see this completely natural look that has so bothered the Seeker," comes a tired, resonant drawl from the cell beside Cassandra's. Shisui slips Varric the key, and moves out of the way, peering into the lyrium-lit dark. A man is there, tall and unfamiliar, with skin darker than Cassandra's normally is. The facial hair isn't doing him any favours, but the lines of his face are as refined as any Uchiha or Hyuuga.

"You must be the 'traitor' we've heard about," Shisui says, regarding him curiously. His robes are dirty, and torn in a handful of places, but well-fitted, and fine fabrics, and a cut that's very different from what he has seen on others here, one that leaves one well-muscled arm fully bare, exposing the long gash of glowing red in his skin.

"Dorian Pavus, at your service," the man replies with a florid bow. "Yes, that would--vishante kaffas! Your eyes! Venhedis! No wonder she is so upset. It does rather look like you are possessed, my young friend."

"I wouldn't know," Shisui says. "I don't think I've ever met anyone who's been possessed before." Jinchuuriki don't count; that's not possession, that's containment . Solas, on the other hand... No, he would have noticed if there was more than one mind impinging on his own, before. Whatever the situation with the lupine something-or-other, surely it's more like a jinchuuriki than mundane possession?

Note to self: Ask Solas about the something-or-other.

They have a lot to talk about.

"Ah, you're young. Plenty of time still for ill-advised magical shenanigans," Dorian assures him airily. "But enough of that; you must be Shisui Uchiha, the Herald of Andraste, come at last to deliver us from my former mentor's madness? I'd ask what kept you, but I wouldn't want to come back here myself if I didn't have to; dreadful place, really, this Redcliffe Castle. Especially once Magister Alexius moved in."

"Given that his spell appears to have transported us through both time and space, I do not see that it was so much as matter of choice as one of inevitability," Solas says, from Shisui's left (a little behind and wide, room to swing his staff, room for Shisui to move).

Dorian frown, and several thoughts seem to pass through his eyes; they unfocus, and turn inwards, and he mutters to himself in a language Shisui doesn't recognise.

"The spell that he cast, did he use an amulet to focus it?" he asks.

"Yes," Shisui replies. "Solas and I both tried to stop him, but we were too slow." It's a grudging admission on Shisui's part; he's not used to being 'too slow'.

"Don't feel bad; anyone would be, if he has been meddling with time. And he has been, I am sure of it now. I suspected before, you see," Dorian explains. "Before all of this--the Breach, the Elder One, the world gone mad, you know--he was my mentor, and we worked on it together. Time magic," he adds by way of explanation. "It was just theory, of course; we could never get it to work. But I think that if I had the amulet in hand, I could reverse the spell, and send you back when--and where--you came."

"You could prevent any of this from coming to pass," Cassandra breathes, from Shisui's right (closer than Solas, a bodyguard's position, ready to intercept). "Andraste has truly given us a second chance."

"Maybe," Shisui allows. "But how do we know you aren't a plant?" he asks.

"How do I know that you aren't?" Dorian counters. "It looks bad from anyone's point of view, but it's the end of the world, Shisui, so why not try a little trust?"

"He has been treated no different than the rest of us," Cassandra says. "Despite several attempts on Alexius' part to convert him to the worship of this Elder One."

"It's been almost six months since he last tried. I rather believe he's finally given up. Pity," Dorian continues. "I had already decided to pretend to convert the next time he tried. It finally occurred to me that sabotage would be easier from within, you see."

That's what decides it for Shisui, and he nods for Varric (hiding neatly in the shadows) to unlock the door.

"If you screw me, you won't even see death coming," Shisui warns him.

"Oh, that's all right. I've seen my death coming all year," Dorian replies. "But now, some version of me will have a chance, and I think that that's just fine. When you get back, do let me know that it was worth it though."

Oh. What a good idea .

"That's a good idea," he says. "Cassandra, Varric, you too; if you think of anything you want me to pass on to past you--or any other intel that could help--let us know."

"Can do," Varric replies. Cassandra nods as well.

"Hey... that go for any poor bastard... stuck down here?" The voice comes from down the end of the room, the last cell on the left. It's a low, rasping rumble, barely intelligible through the resonance, and when he looks, Shisui can't make out any living chakra through the red lyrium. His squad--plus Dorian--fall in behind him, with Dorian forming a tail to the diamond.

What Shisui finds in the last cell on the left is almost indistinguishable as something that might once have been a person. A one-eyed face, a pair of immense horns, and a vast, obscenely beautiful cluster of red lyrium. There must be more to him left somewhere in there, because he can draw a pained, rasping breath, and speak a few words, but even straining his sharingan, Shisui cannot see it.

"Shit, you're tiny," is what comes out of the man's mouth.

"I'm taller than most people my age in my clan," Shisui counters, feeling his mouth pulling down.

"He's fifteen," Varric says helpfully. Shisui doesn't glare at him, and feels quite generous for not doing so. He dismisses the matter with a slash of his hand.

"Never mind. You have intel?" he asks. "I can't get you out, but I think you know that." He hesitates for a moment before adding, "I can offer you a clean death though."

"Ha. I'll take that," the man says. "Elder One assassinated Empress Celene, attacked with a demon. Army. Tevinter cult, called Venatori, and an army of demons. They've been tearing south, killing... everything in their path. With you gone, nobody to fix the mess, nothing to stop 'em."

Shisui swallows.

"I won't let that happen. When was the Empress assassinated?" The man gives him a date that means nothing to him, but the others nod, and he hears Solas murmuring something about remembering it.

"At the peace talks," the man says. "The ball. After that, demons everywhere. When you meet me again for the first time, tell me..." He hesitates, and laughs a little. " Katoh, Hissrad. And to listen to Krem."

Shisui nods. "I will," he says. "Is there anything else?"

"I can't remember it," the man admits. "This is all I have left."

"All right." Shisui draws his tanto, letting it make a soft sound against the sheath. "Do you want to see it coming?"

"Yeah," the man--Hissrad, maybe--says, and meets Shisui's eyes with a faint smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." And then Shisui puts the blade through his remaining eye right into his brain, with a twist of his wrist to destroy his brainstem. When he pulls it back out, it's covered in grey matter and sparkling bits of red lyrium.

"He was already dead," Cassandra says. "You did the right thing."

"I know," Shisui replies. He sighs, and wipes the blade, careful to not touch any traces of either lyrium or brain matter, and then drops the cloth. A tiny baby jutsu is all it takes to incinerate it. "All right. Let's go."

They head back up the stairs, and Dorian helps himself to one of the staves belonging to the dead men in the cavernous chamber above. He gives it a few expert swings, giving a dissatisfied hum.

"Subpar equipment, I'm very disappointed in you, Alexius," he quips, before falling in again. "I suppose it's better than nothing, though."

Down the next set of stairs, and after a bit of exploring, they find Bianca stashed ignominiously along with a double handful of bolts, and Cassandra's familiar blade; her shield is nowhere to be seen.

"Hey sweetheart, did you miss me?" Varric croons to his crossbow. "I'll have to make every shot count, but it's good to see you again."

Wordlessly, Shisui offers Varric a trio of kunai, and the dwarf takes them with a nod.

"Thanks. Bianca's hungry for a fight, but she won't mind if I step out on her a little, just this once."

Cassandra makes a deeply familiar noise of disgust, and Shisui abruptly feels a bit less like screaming.

That feeling lasts right up until he finds Grand Enchanter Fiona, locked in a cell, in only slightly better condition than the poor fucker who just got a mercy kill. A faint shudder of pain runs through her, where she can move.

"Fiona," Shisui says, holding up a hand for the rest to stay behind him. She looks up, blinking to focus her eyes through the pain.

"You're alive," she breathes. "How...? Alexius, he--" She chokes on her words, and Shisui sees a surge of the crackling energy of the red lyrium, all about her throat and shoulders. It's taken about half of her, rather than nearly the whole, he can see, but that half includes her legs, and arms, and he knows she will never leave this cell again, no matter what he does.

"He sent us through time," Shisui says. "Solas and I. We're going to reverse it, and try to put this right. If there is anything you can tell us, anything that you think might help... Anything you want us to tell you ."

What she gives him first is a confirmation that Leliana is here; she had been in a cell in this section. Confirmation of what the man below had said, about the assassination of the Empress, and the Elder One’s demon army.

“It... doesn’t matter. He is... Maker he is more powerful... than the Maker... No one... challenges him and lives,” she finishes, shuddering. Shadows flit about her in Shisui’s sight, echoes of formless despair. It hurts just to look at her, and he barely knows her.

“Then we’ll just get him before he becomes too powerful,” Shisui says. “We will. I promise.”

“I wish... I could believe that.”

“If it helps, Grand Enchanter, I know how Alexius did what he did, and can assure you that I will send him and his poorly-dressed associate back when they came from,” Dorian says. Adding, when her eyes turn to him, “Dorian Pavus, late of the Minrathous Circle, and inglorious traitor according to my countrymen.” He gives a rather florid bow, and a genuinely charming smile, and it actually gives Fiona the ghost of a smile for a moment.

“I believe... that you believe— ahh! ” Pain wracks her visibly, and to Shisui’s horror a new crack of glowing red splits open on her face, splitting her from forehead to chin, right through the left eye.

It has been hours since he ate, and he’s glad of it, as his stomach becomes a pit.

“Please...” she rasps, and Shisui doesn’t even pretend to misunderstand.

“Yeah. Anything for past you?” he asks, as he draws his tanto again. Fiona lets out a shuddering breath.

“The... Wardens. He has... the Wardens. Tell... the King.”

“I will,” Shisui says. He hefts the tanto, and asks for the second time today, “Do you want to see it coming?”

“I... have had enough of pain,” Fiona replies.

“I understand.” Putting her under a genjutsu is easy , because she wants to go, is relieved , and. It’s so rare to be able to do something nice with his bloodline limit...

He cuts her throat hard and deep, cutting through her trachea as well, and she goes with a silent, breathless sigh.

Chapter Text

“Shit, kid,” Varric mutters.

“It is a kindness,” Solas says, chidingly.

“Not saying it isn’t,” Varric replies. “I just know I wouldn’t have been able to do it at fifteen.”

“Few of us would,” Solas allows. Shisui cleans his blade again, careful once more of the glittering lyrium mixed with Fiona’s blood. He doesn't sigh.

“I hope one of you knows which King she meant," he asks.

"King Alistair of Fereldan, probably," Varric replies helpfully. "He's a Grey Warden himself--or he was. He helped end the Blight." So helpful, Varric. He really is Shisui's favourite.

"We should find Leliana," Cassandra says, her voice subdued and sober.

"Agreed. Who knows this place?" Shisui asks.

The ensuing discussion is brief, and the end result is that Dorian leads the way:

"He'd started holding up in the throne room by the time he had me dragged down here, and I don't see any reason why his state would have improved since," he says.

Shisui follows behind and to the left, wide, and the rest of the squad is staggered behind them, Cassandra, Solas, and finally Varric in the rear.

First, of course, they have to pass the raised drawbridge, but before they even get a chance to do so, the bridge drops, revealing what looks, by the numbers, to be a shift change. Solas casts a barrier over the entire squad in an instant, and in the next breath they scatter, Cassandra crying challenge as she charges, a bolt of lightning flying from Dorian's staff, and a bolt of sharp steel flying from Bianca. And since the enemy are all clustered so politely in one spot at the far end of the bridge, well.

Shisui's fingers fly through the signs, and he has the pleasure of seeing comically-wide eyes in their faces before they're completely engulfed by his oversized fireball.

The enemy mage just manages to get a barrier up in time to save himself; he's either not powerful enough to have covered his comrades in time, or he just didn't care . Not that it matters for Shisui's purposes, but the latter would be really rather scummy.

Then the guy stabs the blade of his staff through the back of his still-(barely)-breathing comrade, spilling his blood messily around. What the fuck , Shisui thinks, until the blood rises, and lays itself--

Cassandra finishes her charge, and lays out a great flash of blue-white, focused on the enemy mage, and he stumbles, and whatever he was doing with that blood is cut off in the middle, and it splats wetly to the grating, the stone, and the chasm below. Before the mage can find his bearings, Shisui puts a kunai through his unguarded forehead.

When he draws it back out, there is a trace of glittery red in the brains and blood on his blade.

Yeah, he's not surprised.

"And that ," says Varric. "Is a Purge. And one of the reasons people don't fuck with the Seekers."

"I like it," Shisui says, to the visible surprise of everyone. "What?" he says to the faces they give him. "It's useful."

"You would not think so if you have been on the receiving end of one," Dorian points out.

"It's the same for any jutsu," Shisui argues, bending to rummage in the guy's pockets. "Nobody likes taking them to the teeth, but that doesn't mean they aren't useful."

And he can replay it in his mind, in the crystal clarity of the sharingan, and he knows that he can repeat it himself.

"Does it work on demons?" he asks.

"Yes," Cassandra replies. "Demons, and mages; it has no effect on those with no magic of their own, though it can remove barriers and the like from them, if they are in the area of effect, or if they were cast by a mage affected by a Purge."

"From now on, your job is to Purge any enemy formation on sight, assuming they have something going on," Shisui says.

"I--yes, of course," she replies.

"Fluffy, you might just be the first mage I've ever heard ask for a Spell Purge, even on the enemy," Varric says.

"There's a first time for everything I guess, Varric." Shisui continues rummaging in the pockets of the fallen enemy, but doesn't come up with anything more interesting than a scrap of paper labelled Prayer To A New God.

(Dorian, meanwhile, checks the staff of the fallen mage, and makes a dismissive sound about its quality as well. "Really, where have the standards gone? ")

Shisui heaves a sudden, exasperated sigh at himself.

"Remind me to leave one alive next time," he says, as he starts down the hall again. Dorian laughs, striding ahead to lead the way.

"Planning a little torture of your own?" he asks. Shisui just shrugs.

"It's not my specialty, but I can if I have to," he says. "I have better ways of interrogating than torture, and I doubt any of these people have the training to resist it."

"Mm, if it's blood magic you're talking about, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you," Dorian replies.

"It's not," Shisui says. "I don't actually know many jutsu that require blood," he adds thoughtfully. "Summoning, sure, but outside of that, and, maybe some kind of sealing, I can't think of anything you can't do just as well without it."

"Ah, my young friend, to be so innocent! Alas, my countrymen are past and present masters of doing truly unpleasant things with absolutely atrocious amounts of blood. Someone else's blood, naturally." There's a nasty, spiteful edge to Dorian's voice; there's a story there, Shisui thinks.

"You do not approve, Dorian?" Cassandra asks, surprise echoing in her words.

"I find the practice utterly abhorrent, actually. So did Alexius, once," he adds, the bitterness even thicker. "He calls me a traitor, but believe me, this? All of it?" He gestures broadly at the cracked masonry, the crystals of red lyrium, the traces of old blood on the walls, broken bodies, all of it. " This is the real betrayal of everything he believed in."

Dorian sighs, and rolls his shoulders back.

"I apologise for that, please pay no attention to the bitter old 'Vint here," he says.

"Actually, I appreciate the insight," Shisui replies. "It might be useful when Solas and I get back."

"I know my past self would appreciate it if you can somehow convince Alexius to leave this path of madness," Dorian says. He sighs, and is interrupted by a man's voice, at once muffled and echoing:

"There is no Maker," he starts. Shisui's gaze moves in the direction of the voice, and he can see a trace of living chakra moving. "The Elder One has taken all that is His and will soon rule from His city."

"That still doesn’t make him a god," a woman answers defiantly, her voice yet undistorted by the taint of red lyrium, and though Shisui doesn't recognise it, that doesn't matter; her defiance alone is enough to have him moving. He's not fast enough to get there before a loud crack (long bone snapping, maybe shattering, blunt force impact; crude but effective if all you want to do is cause pain before you kill them) and a scream.

He can feel his tomoe spinning as he casts his genjutsu, and slips in through the door, and delivers the killing blow to the first enemy he encounters.

As it happens, that man--bald head, skin as dark as someone from Kumo--is the only one in there, and when his blade severs his spine at the neck, the threat is done with.

"Who--it's you! " the woman exclaims. "But this cannot be, you have been dead for more than a year!" Shisui tucks his tanto away, and approaches.

"A year, you say?" he asks.

"More," she insists. "It is Harvestmere, 9:42 Dragon." The date, as with the ones before, means little to him, and he adds learn the damned local calendar damn it to his mental to-do list.

What Shisui finds interesting is that she clearly sees his eyes, and just as clearly dismisses the sight; maybe she doesn't care, or maybe she thinks she's hallucinating.

"But if you are here, the Maker has answered our prayers, at last. It may be too late for me--I know what a shattered thigh means--but perhaps there is a chance for... the rest of the world..."

A faint scream of pain echoes from down the hall, interrupting whatever Shisui might have said in reply.

"Solas! See if she has anything to say. Varric, watch his back. Dorian, Cassandra, you're with me."

The squad falls in, and moves out, and as they move down the hall, another voice speaks, once again both muffled and echoed at the same time.

"There is no use to this defiance, little bird. There’s no one left for you to protect."

"You’re wasting your breath," comes Leliana's familiar voice in response. A sharp crack follows, like an abrupt backhand, accompanied by a bitten-off cry of pain.

"Talk! The Elder One Demands answers!" The interrogator sounds angry, and off-balance; Shisui wonders how many they have been through, trying, and failing to break Leliana. Something tells him she's about as easy to break as Morino Ibiki. Or his Ma.

Leliana laughs in response, harsh and angry, "He’ll get used to disappointment." Another sound like a smack, and there is the door--

"You will break ," the torturer demands, frustrated, a narrow blade visible in his hand as Shisui opens the door.

"I will die first," Leliana says. In the same moment, she sees Shisui, meets his eyes for a moment before returning her attention to the walking dead man in front of her. "Or you will."

In a matter of seconds, her legs are around his neck, and she uses the leverage of the restraints she hangs from to choke, twist, and snap the torturer's neck. She drops him without a second thought, and with an audible hint of hope she says,

"You're alive!"

"Never actually died in the first place," Shisui says. He crouches by the dead torturer, and starts rummaging through his pockets--there, keys. "I'll have you down in a sec." He makes good on that, getting one and then the other of her wrists free, and continuing as he does, "Alexius used some kind of space-time jutsu--spell--and I can only assume that when Solas and I tried to stop him, he fucked up, and we ended up here--now."

Leliana nods, accepting the explanation on the face of it.

"And how long have you been an abomination?"

"Oh for--I am getting really sick of that," Shisui says with a deeply irritated sigh. "I'm not possessed. This is normal. Ask Solas if you don't believe me."

"Maybe you should wear a sign, Fluffy: 'Not Possessed, I Promise'. Or something like that," Varric says, strolling up to the room, with Solas just behind him, wide to his left. (He has spent a lot of time as someone's guard, Shisui thinks; he falls too easily into the position for it to be otherwise.)

"Good to see you Nightingale," the dwarf continues. "You look like hell."

"I wasn't going to say anything," Shisui says. "It seemed rude. But... You do look like you've been through hell. Maybe some other version of you won't have to. Dorian-" the mage waves "-thinks that he can reverse what Alexius did. It won't undo all of this, but..."

"But it might give the world a chance. ...And mages always wonder why people fear them," Leliana replies, such pain and such bitter, hardened regret in her that Shisui can almost taste it. "No one should have this power."

"Of course not," Shisui says. He can see surprise on all their faces. "But that doesn't change the fact that we do , so it is up to us to use it responsibly. And to handle those who don't use it responsibly. If you have any actionable intel for us, or a message for your past self, tell me, or Solas, and we'll see it taken care of." A beat, and then he adds, "I understand you prefer a bow, but if you need it, I have extras of everything I usually carry."

"I'll take four of your kunai," Leliana says, striding to a chest against the wall beside the door as if she hasn't been strung up and tortured for spirits know how long. "As many of those senbon and as much poison as you can spare." From the chest she retrieves a fine bow and a thin quiver of arrows. She moves again, and from the back of the room retrieves several arrows; likely, they had been shot at her, or at some other person hanging from the shackles in the ceiling.

Shisui takes the chance, while she's doing that, to rummage through the rest of the room. The torturer's tools are about what he expects: blades and clamps, something with a lot of spikes that he never learned the name of because it's funnier to say 'T&I's nasty spiky thing'. Nothing terribly interesting. Then again, maybe they started with interesting.

He won't ask. It's rude.

Instead, he hands over the weapons she asked for, and watches approvingly as she vanishes them into her gear.

“Let us find Alexius,” she says. “And I will think on what you have asked.”

The addition of Leliana requires little adjustment to their marching order; she joins Cassandra in the middle of the formation, and Shisui trusts her to be mobile enough to adjust as needed on the fly. (It’s not that Leliana more than anyone else he has met screams ‘reliable jounin’, but she kind of screams ‘reliable jounin’. He has had entire conversations with her before they even shared a language.)

As they head up the stairs, Shisui palms his face again, and mutters, “Damn it, we keep killing them. ”

“How is that a problem?” Leliana asks.

“You can’t interrogate the dead,” Shisui reminds her, only to be surprised when Dorian speaks up:

“Well actually—no, never mind, it’s more trouble than it’s worth right now.”

“You’re probably right,” Shisui allows. “But you’ve just opened up a world of trouble for past you.”

“Well that’s his problem, not mine,” Dorian responds airily, and Shisui finds himself laughing.

The laughter doesn’t last, because there is a rift of all fucking things, and, how? Why?? What???

Shisui shelves the question, though he does not miss the look of dismay on Solas’ face before they engage the demons swarming around it.

The battle is over almost before it has begun; Shisui alone could have taken them. With help, it’s even easier. It’s also the first chance for the new battle plan—that is, Cassandra Purges first—to be put into play, and it’s great. Blue-white light, and then they tear through the demons like wet gooey tissue. Poor bastards.

Sealing the rift is... something else, though. When he looks to the other side, all Shisui sees is exactly what’s already around him, right down to his squad.

“Does anyone else see this?” he asks, gesturing at the rift. “Solas?”

“It is likely due to some faint trace of the Veil, or perhaps even its memory, remaining in, or for this place,” Solas replies.

“Is there any point to me closing this?” Shisui asks.

“The disruption could still attract unwanted attention, so if you can, you should.”

Right. He knew that.

It’s hard to seal this rift, like the threads are frayed, and covered in the slipperiest grease you can imagine, and it leaves him breathless and lightheaded for a moment afterwards. Solas’ hand is on his back then, firm, cool, and steady, and it reminds him a bit of the Chief in his more Uncle-y moments.

“I’m fine,” Shisui says after a moment. “That was weird. It’s like there’s not enough left to put it back together. We have to fix this.”

“You will fix this,” Cassandra says, her rock-solid faith a genuine reassurance.

"But maybe we should avoid any more of these rifts," Dorian says. "I'd like you to be alive and conscious when I send you back. It's a personal preference I have, and I hope you'll indulge me."

"I get the feeling there's not a lot of room for personal preferences in the world-saving business-" and who the hell thought that Shisui was the right man for the world-saving business , he would like to submit a complaint "-but I'll do my best to accommodate you."

Leliana joins him in a quick rummage for anything useful--Shisui takes the time to glance at every seal, sigil, symbol, circle, and other inscription on the walls and floor--before they move on.

("Hey Nightingale," Varric says, as they follow Dorian and Fluffy-stuff. "You were with the Warden in the Fifth Blight, right? Do you have any idea what the Grand Enchanter might've meant when she said 'He has the Wardens'?"

Nightingale doesn't stumble, but he can tell if she were someone else she might have.

"No. Not for certain.")

A heavy iron portcullis bars the way; Cassandra wordlessly volunteers to turn the mechanism to open it. Shisui regards the gate; it's awfully inconvenient, even if the mechanism can be operated by a single person... Surely it would be faster...

"Do not," Solas says quietly.

"I was just thinking about it," Shisui counters.

"Merely thinking about it may well be enough to affect things right now," Solas reminds him. Shisui resists the urge to roll his eyes; it'd be rude, when Solas is clearly just worried about him right now.

"I know how to keep my thoughts inside my own head," he says instead. " Believe me , that's one of the things that my clan drills hard; accidental genjutsu isn't anything anyone wants." It's especially important when someone wakes their sharingan young; kids aren't usually very self-contained. Well. Shisui wasn't; Itachi had been, even when he was tiny and (more) adorable.

"In that case, perhaps I should save your distraction for later," Solas replies, and oh that's not fair.

"That's cheating ," Shisui accuses. Solas just smirks at him. And after a moment draws out a nasty piece of work disguised as some kind of short sword or long knife--he doesn't recognise the style of blade, likely because nobody sane would ever make more than one like it.

A sickly red rune, similar to the blue one he had found yesterday and a thousand years ago sends the occasional crackle of energy around and through the blade, down the straight edge, along the wickedly hooked tip, and back down into the rune.

"Varric spotted it," Solas explains. "Though the rune was made with red lyrium, it seems perfectly safe to use," he continues, as the portcullis clangs and locks into the open position. Shisui reaches out carefully, hand hovering over the hilt, then touching, then closing, and taking it from Solas. It's lighter than it looks, and leaves a faint trail of crackling red when he gives it a couple of test swings.

"I'll give it a try," he says. "You're right, it feels safe. Weird, but safe."

"The harbour is through here," Leliana says. "Be prepared."

"Right." Shisui tucks the blade into his potion belt, and gestures for everyone to fall in, except Cassandra, who he sends to the vanguard.

Up the stairs, through a landing, and into a vast cavern, studded with red lyrium, and Shisui can see the chakra of two people moving, one backing away from the other.

"The magister needs more power for his rituals," says a woman, in the sure tones of the fanatic.

"No! Don’t hurt me Linnea. You know me!" A man replies desperately.

"Go!" Cassandra says, and Shisui is already moving, shunshin to cross the space, grab the man, shunshin again, away, as Cassandra charges with a challenge in her voice, and the blue-white light of the Spell Purge all about her.

"Please don't kill me," the man begs.

"Why would I, when I just saved you?" Shisui asks. Dorian is right on Cassandra's heels, striking the mage with a raiton spell. A moment later, she takes an arrow to the heart, and a bolt to the eye, and she drops like a sack of rice.

The man shudders, and shakes his head.

"Who... wait, are you the Inquisition? After all this time? Isn't it a little late?" he asks.

"While you still draw breath, there is still hope," Shisui says, as if he didn't try to kill himself a week ago. He never claimed not to be a hypocrite, and the words help the man, somehow.

"Well said, my friend," Solas says. "And he is right," he continues, addressing the man. "We have a way of undoing this madness, and we will see it through, that I can promise you."

"Is there anything... Can I help?" he asks. "My name is Talwyn. I am--I was--from the Hossberg Circle. Combat isn't my specialty, but I am very good at barriers, and I can still manage an arcane bolt, in a pinch."

"We'll take all the help we can get," Shisui replies. Very good at barriers; he'll have to remember that. "And please think, if there is anything you can tell us about the past year that might help prevent this horror from occurring, or anything you might want to tell your past self..."

" Oh-- Time magic?! But that's supposed to be--"

"--Impossible, yes I know, and yet, Alexius has managed it," Dorian says. "It's very impressive, in a yawning pit of horror kind of way."

"I'd call it a pants-shitting kind of horror myself," Varric says. "But I guess if you're a mage it's a bit more of an existential thing, isn't it."

"Why Ser Dwarf, I had no idea you knew such words," Dorian replies.

"Hey, I'm an author . I know all the big words. I also know better than to use them most of the time."

"Now is not the time," Cassandra snaps.

"She's right," Shisui agrees. "We need to keep moving. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can fix things. "

(He is also trying very, very hard not to think of just what a time-travel jutsu could mean. If he could get home. Somehow. Someday. He pushes that away. It's not for now.)

A barrier expert in the squad means a rearrangement is in order; he has Leliana and Solas flank Talwyn in the middle of the formation, Varric at the rear, Cassandra at the front, and Dorian beside himself. When consulted, Talwyn confirms that the formation will allow him to cover them all, easily, which is the objective.

Varric checks a few barrels and boxes, and leaves a handful of nasty little traps to help prevent anything from coming up on their rear, and closes with the squad on the broad stairs leading up to the single narrow door back inside. (Shisui approves of the defensive design; a single choke point, looking downhill. Very well done, ancient castle architect.)

The door opens on a broad, bright courtyard, with a tall statue of a robed figure holding a crown directly in front of them. And directly in front of it is a great spike of red lyrium crystal. Symmetrical staircases lead up from either side of it, and--

"The Elder One and his Venatori. They are the ones who opened the Breach," Cassandra spits out bitterly. Shisui tips his head back, and stares into what looks like nothing so much as the writhing maw of infinity. Several long seconds pass, as he fills his eyes and his mind with the sights, and then he deliberately shuts his eyes, shuts them down, and reopens them again when he has sensed someone moving to stand in front of him.

He is unsurprised to see that it is Solas.

"Later," the elf says, and Shisui just nods.

"Later." Hopefully Solas can help him pick apart just what he saw. He wonders what Solas sees, when he looks up at the sky--besides regret, that is.

After a moment to regain his bearings, Shisui splits the squad: Cassandra, Dorian, and Leliana to the right, Solas, Talwyn, and Varric to the left. He himself just leaps to the top of the statues head--to Talwyn and Dorian's gaping astonishment. And then because he never gets a fucking break, his left hand crackles with pain and green sparks at the same moment as a rifts tears open right in front of them.

"The Fade is literally all around us ," he grumbles, and--resists the temptation to do something reckless. Talwyn's barrier drops on them, and Shisui can feel the strength of it, and oh he like that. He likes it a lot . The rift spits out a half-dozen shades, and the squad gets to work.

It doesn't take long, with their new tactics, and the addition of Talwyn means that the worst injury, by the time things are done, is a heavy bruise to Cassandra’s right shoulder and chest. She winces when she rolls it, and nods her thanks when he offers her a potion. Shisui makes a point, afterwards, of clapping Talwyn on the shoulder once he's closed the rift (again, the threads of it slipping from his grasp) and recovered from the effort, and saying,

"Good job. Keep it up." It doesn't help the man's adrenaline--Shisui can see his dilated pupils, and the hammering of his pulse--but it does help him stand straighter. Good. Shisui knows he may only be the de facto captain of this motley squad, but it’s still part of the job to keep morale up, and encourage his teammates.

Back in formation, they start up another short flight of stairs, heading toward a towering edifice of jagged red lyrium, and another damned rift tears open to their left, leaving Shisui hissing a curse as his hand crackles, and Cassandra purges the demons that spill out from it in waves. A double-handful, but nothing but more shades, more wraiths, but... The number of them at once is problematic. There are only so many directions to dodge, so many to deflect, and it's only a matter of time before someone takes a more grievous hurt than a bad bruising.

He casts housenka no jutsu , and hides shuriken in each tiny fireball, for extra damage, shunshin to catch claws aimed for Talwyn on his kote, takes a second blow of the same, before catching the demon in his genjutsu, and turning it on its fellows-- yes . He turns a second, showing it what he wants it to see, and a third, and that takes some of the pressure from the rest of the squad.

The battle is done before he needs to do the same with any more of them, and Shisui almost yanks the rift shut with the force of his irritation at it.

"This is getting ridiculous," he mutters.

"Yes, no, I don't disagree, and I am, yes, aware that this is not the time, it's just that I could have sworn that I just saw you turn those demons back on each other," Dorian says, interrupting Shisui's bellyaching.

"Uh, yes?" He kind of thought it was obvious, given that a third of the enemy stopped attacking, even when attacked themselves. Of course this is one of those that answers that gets everyone staring at him. Of course it is.

"I used genjutsu. An illusion," he says, before anyone can ask the question that he can see in all of them. "I made them think they were attacking us when they were attacking the other demons. That's all. It's not a big deal." It's really not, not for a mature sharingan. Even without a sharingan, he'd only rate the genjutsu as a B-rank at best. Really the high-end of C-rank.

"Enough. We need to keep moving," Leliana cuts in. "How he can do it no longer matters."

A crackle of green almost-lightning across the boundless, edgeless sky punctuates her words, and thankfully the squad drops it.

Later , Solas' eyes say. Shisui answers with narrowed eyes, and spinning tomoe; Solas flinches, all but imperceptible.

Later.

Shisui has questions, too.

"This way," Leliana prompts confidently, when Dorian hesitates, and Shisui gestures for her to take the lead, falling back to flank Talwyn.

"Do you-- I know it's not the time," Talwyn says. "But you're clearly a mage. And yet, you also... Are you a Knight Enchanter? Only, you're more like a rogue than a Knight Enchanter, but it seems to be the closest thing..."

"I hadn't realised there were mages who undertook physical training here as well," Shisui says. "I'm glad to hear it; it's important to balance your mental and physical training. Would a 'Knight Enchanter' be something like a mage with combat skills like Cassandra's?"

"Not exactly," Talwyn says. "Well. Similar, I suppose, but Lady Cassandra is a Seeker of Truth; like a Templar, they can nullify and neutralise magic, rather than using it."

"I see." Kind of. He doesn't see where the division is; he understands that they seem to think there is one, but...

Cassandra uses her chakra when she uses her Spell Purge. It's not different, so far as he can see, from a mage casting a spell, or a ninja using a jutsu.

Well.

It's not substantively different; there is some difference, but he can't see that it's that different...

He needs the time to try using a Spell Purge himself. He needs Cassandra to use it on him--it, and any other related jutsu--so that he can train under those conditions, and be prepared in the event of enemies with those abilities.

Later.

Leliana leads them into a small side door, down into a dark chamber, filled piles of planks, draped furniture, paintings, both on the wall and stacked as if for storage. Dust is collected in the corners, though there are no cobwebs in evidence; weird.

The door leads into a hallway, and Shisui sees no chakra but their own; he doesn't hesitate to poke his head into every door, and sweep up any loose papers, notebooks, diaries, journals, and a few interesting-looking books.

Leliana gives him a Look , and he just says,

"Tell me past you doesn't want this, and I'll burn it all myself."

She says nothing, just tipping her head to the next door. That's what he thought; no spymaster who ever lived would say no to intel from the future . Even if it's invalidated five minutes after the get back to the past--present?--for five minutes, they'll be the best-informed operation in the world , and he's pretty damned sure she can do something with that.

He could do something with that, and he's a pretty mediocre spy.

"I am not a child! I can resist you!"

The voice comes from around the corner, the other side of a door, by the sound. The squad is disciplined enough--and Talwyn in the centre to be carried by the rest--to immediately sprint for it. Good.

"I AM you!" another voice replies, similar, almost the same, but something not quite right--something that pulls at Shisui's thoughts like a weak genjutsu, in his area but not targeted at him. He reflexively flares his chakra anyway, as Cassandra bashes the door in with her unbruised shoulder, in time to see a man just a few years older than Shisui draw his chakra up , and then in , immolating himself in an instant of rejection so strong it ripples visibly through the world, sending the shadow of a second person--a spirit, demon--flying away at alarming speeds.

"Shit," Shisui breathes.

"What a waste," Solas agrees, at his left again.

"He would not allow that demon to have him, no matter what the cost" Cassandra comments. "His strength is admirable."

"He learned his strength the hard way," Leliana says, adding, when Shisui looks to her, "I recognised his voice; that was Connor Guerrin, nephew of Arl Teagan Guerrin." She looks down at the smear of ash that was all that was left of the poor man.

"It was him," Talwyn confirms. "I knew him a little, though we never met until King Alistair sent us all to Redcliffe."

" Ah , shit," Varric breathes. "Poor kid. Look, ask past me to tell you the story when you get back," he says to Shisui, who is clearly the only one who has no idea what the story is here. "Or Nightingale; she was there, and nothing's better than a first-person account."

Shisui sighs, and nods. "All right. Let's go." Leliana turns on her toes, and leads the way.

They turn eventually down another hall, and Shisui finally recognises the location--the guest suite that Alexius and his son had been in had been in this hall. It is, of course, as empty as all the rest: broken furniture, covered statues, paintings torn or lopsided or lying on the floor. More scattered papers and books, and an occasional bit of something shiny that finds its way into his pockets--presents for the crows, if nothing else.

He says as much when Leliana arches an eyebrow at him.

"Crows. You have more than one," she half states, half asks. "I remember the one you sent, with the message about the bandits, the convenient map and instructions, and the prisoner waiting passively in the storm. I wondered if you had drugged him, but it was your magic, wasn't it."

"Yeah," he agrees. "I'm glad my friend found you."

"This is my request," she says abruptly. "For my past self. Introduce me to your crows. And give me this letter."

She hands him a folded piece of parchment, something he did not at all notice her writing; he elevates his estimation of her skill up a little more. He tucks it into a pocket without looking at it.

"I will. I promise."

Leliana nods.

Varric presents him with a similar letter in the next room, and then Dorian and Cassandra both in the next. Talwyn surprises him with two letters.

"This one first," he says. "And the second if I refuse to join the Inquisition, for some reason."

"All right," Shisui agrees. He ends up needing to pull out his storage scroll, and storing it all away, to the amazement of half the squad--particularly Dorian, who has to bite down on what is clearly a thousand questions, stating only, in the end:

"You must teach me how to do that--past me, at least. I'm sure I'll be willing to give you a primer on necromancy in exchange, or what I know about time magic, or nearly anything else. That is just..." Dorian shakes his head, and exchanges an odd look with Leliana, one that Shisui can't quite parse; it feels like one of those 'adultier adult' things, maybe. If he were twenty, say, he thinks he might get it, but he knows he just doesn't have enough life experience to intuitively understand some things.

"If past you joins the Inquisition, we'll see," Shisui says. Dorian heaves a sigh.

"I suppose that's fair," he says. "I'll look forward to it, in the abstract."

"The Fade is timeless," Solas says suddenly. "Perhaps it will carry the echo of your anticipation to your past self."

"Oh? Well, that's true," Dorian says thoughtfully. "It's a nice thought, anyway."

Shisui signals an abrupt halt as his hand sparks and stings; the pain is less than it had been before Solas realised that it was affecting his tenketsu, but it's still bad enough to make his fingers twitch.

"Rift?" Cassandra asks. Shisui nods.

"I can see people, too," he says. "And something..." He frowns, and pours more chakra to his eyes, focusing on the oddness he can see-sense-see --that odd sensation of how things are in the Fade-physical mingled world he stands in now. "I need to get closer. Leliana, with me. Everyone else, stay here. Solas is in charge until I return."

The squad all acknowledge his orders, and he can hear Solas speaking behind him, stationing Varric and Cassandra, Dorian and Talwyn... Good. He turns his attention to Leliana, and casts a strong, but subtle genjutsu about them both; if anyone sees, hears, or otherwise senses them, it'll be a minor miracle.

"Why me?" she asks quietly, after they round the corner, and slowly begin to approach the site of the rift. She doesn't want to ask, he can tell, but her curiosity still exists enough to overpower her determined apathy.

"Because of everyone here, I think you and Solas stand the best chance of keeping up with me," he says bluntly.

"You believe he is dangerous."

"I know he is dangerous," Shisui corrects her.

"He hides it well," she replies, softly. "Do you believe he is a threat to the Inquisition?"

In that moment, Shisui is perfectly, fully aware that if he told her to, right now, Leliana would kill Solas without batting an eyelash.

"I think that he wants the Breach sealed as much as anyone else," Shisui says. "No--more. Most people don't care that spirits are being harmed by it as much as we are, but he does."

"That does not answer my question." Her voice is flat, as if saying wordlessly, you should know better.

“I do not think that he is currently a threat to the Inquisition,” he answers her. “If he becomes a threat, I can handle it.”

“Tell me in the past,” Leliana instructs sharply. “Nobody can watch every hour, and you are too important. You are young, but you are not a child, so do not act like one,” she adds. And then she falls silent as they reach the great hall. There are a pair of humans patrolling the edges, and a handful of demons—wraiths and shades—drifting around the sharp, gossamer-green edges of the rift. Most importantly though, are the spots scattered randomly through the room where the being moving through seem to speed up or slow down, almost at random. The humans avoid them with the rhythm of habit, but the demons stretch and compress in his sight in a way that makes his nose wrinkle all on its own.

Well. No sense in risking the rest with that bullshit.

Shisui gestures for Leliana to take the nearer man, and then goes for the further one himself. He captures the man in his genjutsu, and slits his throat in one move, catching his body before it can fall, and lowering it silently. He helps himself to the dead man’s quiver, and offers it to Leliana when he rejoins her beside the other new corpse. She accepts it with a nod, and counts the arrows before adding them to her own quiver.

“I cannot believe they have not noticed us,” she comments, eyeing the demons.

“They have minds,” Shisui replies. “Genjutsu works on anything with a mind or senses to confuse.” The look she gives him makes him recall what she said earlier, about people fearing mages. Wordlessly, he changes the genjutsu to one of sleep , and passivity , and slowly the demons stop moving, one by one. He nods to Leliana, and she nods back, and they dispatch the demons one by one.

“I see your point,” she says, and Shisui nods again, and then raises his hand once more to seal the rift.

It still doesn’t want to seal, and he doesn’t like that.

“Sweep the room,” he says. “I’ll get the others.”

Leliana nods, and starts to do so, and Shisui returns to the rest of the squad.

“It’s just me,” he says, when Talwyn’s barrier snaps into place at his deliberately-loud approach.

“Prove it,” Cassandra calls, her voice hard. Shisui could point to his eyes, but thinks better of it, and instead holds up his left hand, and relaxes his control enough for it to shed green sparks.

“It’s him,” Solas and Dorian say at the same time. Talwyn nods his agreement a few moments later.

“Where is Leliana?” Cassandra asks, relaxing slightly.

“Sweeping the room,” Shisui replies. “She's good, I don't think she'll miss anything."

"She will not," Cassandra agrees. "Leliana is very skilled." She hesitates a moment, and says, "Do you have a plan for Alexius, when you go back?"

"Yes," Shisui says simply. "And he won't know what hit him."

They're in the hall then, and Leliana rejoins them smoothly, handing over a handful of papers, and one journal.

"It is written in Tevene," she says. "But that should not prove a problem. Given the nature of our enemies, I suggest-" suggests like Elder Kaede "-you learn the tongue with haste. Given how quickly you picked up the common tongue, I do not doubt that it will be a simple matter for you."

"It's not as easy if I'm not surrounded by it," Shisui points out.

"Just tell past me you're trying to learn," Dorian pipes up. "I'm sure I'll be willing to help."

"Write yourself a note," Shisui says. Dorian waves him off.

"Yes, yes, I'll get to it," he says. "Now, what's that on the door? It wasn't there the last time I got dragged up here, oh, six months ago now?"

"It seems to be some kind of lock," Leliana replies. "But it is nothing that can be picked by any of the usual methods; we will have to search farther afield for the key."

"Or we can take a third option. Form up," Shisui says, heading for the door. A quick inspection reveals that, while the door may be specially magically locked--with something that crackles like red lyrium, ew--there's nothing at all special about the walls to either side of it. Doton may not be his best, but he can manage one or two, particularly the kind of C-rank jutsu he needs to get through the walls. He forms the signs, converts his chakra--

" Doton: Retsudo tenshou! "

He slams his hands to the wall, and sends his chakra and his willpower through it, breaking it up and folding it back--

Although this jutsu is usually used on the ground, there is no reason, he thinks, it cannot be used on a wall. Especially on a wall where the very nature of reality is almost as malleable as his own genjutsu.

On the far side of the room, Alexius gapes at him. (Another, almost familiar figure crouches nearby.)

"Subtlety is all well and good, but sometimes, brute force is also good. Cassandra, lock him down. "

Without hesitation, she charges forward, and white light slams into Alexius, knocking him to his feet, leaving him gasping and shuddering. Whatever it is, it's not a Spell Purge.

"And that is a Holy Smite," Varric says. Belatedly, Talwyn drops a barrier on all of them, and he actually still manages to contain Cassandra, halfway across the room. Shisui gives a low whistle.

"That was kind of really badass," he says. Cassandra strides the rest of the way across the room, and looms over Alexius, her KI saturating the room like a fog. She's his new favourite and he is never not having her on his team. (He wants an entire squad.)

"Felix," Dorian gasps, dismayed. "Maker's breath Alexius, have you still not allowed him to die?"

Oh. Shisui recognises him now, with his sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, pale, sallow skin, and there's something just...

Leliana, he realises, has moved into the shadows, vanished from anyone else's awareness, and he politely keeps his eyes on Alexius and does not reveal her location.

"Talwyn, put your strongest barrier on the hole in the wall," Shisui says in a low tone. The man starts, and acknowledges him, casting the barrier. It's a shimmering purple-and-green, almost solid thing. Very nice.

"And here... I thought... you were just... a blood mage," Alexius says, as he starts coming back to himself. He doesn't try to rise; he's not that stupid, not with Cassandra standing there, the very incarnation of fuck around and find out.

"Excuse me?" Shisui asks. Wait. "Wait. Is this a possession thing again? " he asks, more than a little annoyed. "I'm not possessed. This is normal for me." He points to his eyes. "Never mind. Where's the talisman--amulet?" he corrects. That's what the others had called it, right? Right.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Alexius says. "It doesn't matter that you are here now; all that is left is to wait for the end. The Elder one is coming, you see. For me, for you, for everyone. Ruin and death. There is nothing else." He looks at Felix--at what is left of Felix--and there is such pain in him that. Shisui just.

"I get it, you know." Alexius looks at him abruptly, clearly confused. Well. Clearly confused if you, like Shisui, are an Uchiha with an active sharingan. "I can see how much you love Felix; enough to throw away the entire world, right? But that didn't work. That didn't help. Turn over the amulet, and let us undo this mess."

Alexius' laugh is as full of despair as it is empty of humour.

"You can't undo the past," he says. "I should know; I have tried enough."

"No, you can't, but I can," Shisui states. He clenches his left hand, releasing his control on the mini-Breach enough to let it flare and spit green. "That's what this is for, right? Fixing this shit."

"Even if you can undo my mistakes, you cannot save Felix," Alexius replies. "So why should I bother?"

"Alexius!" Dorian snaps. "Look at yourself! At me! At Felix! You are the one who has done this to him, made him into this, and maybe they can't do anything to help Felix, but you don't know that! Have you even asked? "

Alexius shifts then, very slightly, and Shisui can see his chakra moving--

"Cassandra!" he snaps, and she does something else this time--

"Silence," Varric provides. "Seekers are just like Templars, but better, basically."

--and Alexius goes ashen again.

"How did you--?" he asks, cutting off abruptly when Leliana reappears behind Felix, one of Shisui's kunai held to his unresisting throat.

"Give them the amulet, Alexius," she says.

"No, please, my son--!" Alexius' eyes are riveted on Leliana's hand, on the kunai in it, and Shisui takes the distraction as a chance to make a clone, and send it to pick the bastard's pocket, and bring it back to himself, under a tight, careful genjutsu. Nobody in the room seems to see, although Solas, and interestingly Cassandra both notice... something. He wonders if it has to do with her magic-suppressing abilities. He'll have to test that, back in the past. Present.

"Never mind," Shisui says, and holds the amulet up, letting it hang from his fingers for everyone to see. "This is the right one, right?"

Alexius' hand flies to his pocket, and his eyes widen; so too to Leliana and Varric's.

" Damn Fluffy, you are one hell of a pickpocket," the dwarf breathes. "How...? No, you know what? Some things are best left a mystery. I'll have more fun coming up with my own explanations."

"Give it here, I'll get started," Dorian says. "I'm not sure how long it will take," he warns. "But it shouldn't be more than an hour or two. Three, tops." Shisui hands it over. Alexius sags where he kneels, and in the next breath, Leliana slits Felix's throat.

He falls without a word, blood spilling over the steps. He's already gone; no light left to leave his eyes as the shell of him finally finds peace.

Alexius' cry of anguish hits Shisui right in the heart; the man loved his son, he really truly did, deeply enough to betray the entire world, and... Shisui can't say he wouldn't do the same; who can? Between the world, and the person you love the most...? Who the hell can choose? He only hopes he never has to; the choices he has had to make have been hard enough as it is.

"What... was wrong with him?" Shisui asks.

"Blight sickness," Leliana replies. "There is no cure."

"Yet," Shisui replies automatically. He is of the firm belief that just because something has never been done, does not mean it cannot be done; there's always a first time, a first person, a first something . Something is never done, until it is; Konoha has always been a village of firsts. Shisui brushes his fingers over his hitaiate as a reminder.

"Cassandra," he says again, as Alexius' chakra starts to stir, and she simply Silences him again, following it with a Spell Purge to be sure. "...I am never letting past you leave my side again."

"There are Templars in the Inquisition," she replies. "A few of them. And you may yet recruit some more--or even some other Seekers."

"Yeah," he says. "But I like--"

The distortion of space comes first, like a genjutsu meant to disorientate, but real. The warped, monstrous roar follows, like the thunder does lightning, shaking the very foundations of the castle. Solas leaps to look out the window, only to recoil at what he sees, an unfamiliar curse falling from his lips.

"Dorian! You must hurry!" he says. "Talwyn, reinforce your barrier!"

"I'm almost out of mana!" the other mage says.

"Here," Shisui says, giving him the lyrium potion Solas had given him before. "I'm still all right, and we need you to do this."

The man downs it without a second thought, and casts a second barrier inside the first.

"Can you restore the wall?" Solas asks Shisui.

"No," Shisui says. "My doton --earth--isn't that good. I have a handful of jutsu, but I can't really modify them on the fly very well. Especially not to fix something."

"Damn," Solas breathes. Through the barriers, Shisui can see moving figures, and--oh, that reminds him.

"Cassandra." He meets her eyes, and draws his thumb sharply across his throat. She nods. Alexius has a chance to open his mouth, and then his head rolls. Varric whistles low,and Talwyn can't suppress a wince, but nobody else says anything; Dorian is turned away and muttering to himself, chakra flaring and moving as he works his magic.

"Talwyn, can we leave through your barriers?" she asks, as she stalks back over to join them.

"Yes," the mage replies. "If you can keep them off the barriers, I can keep them up longer."

Cassandra nods, and Varric cocks Bianca.

"Then, we will give you all the time we can," she says, looking at Shisui. He nods, for once solemn.

"Die well," he says.

"Talwyn, get behind me," Leliana says, stationing herself between the mage and the hole in the wall, once the other two have gone. From his corner, Dorian curses. "You have as much time as I have weapons," she adds.

In response, fishes scrolls and exploding tags from his weapons pouch, and hands her the whole thing. And then he hands Talwyn two of his remaining good tags.

"To use these, just push magic into the seal," he explains. "The more you use, the bigger the boom."

The mage pales, and swallows, but he nods, and takes them.

"Go," he says, his voice firm. Shisui nods, and goes to join Dorian--and Solas, who has already joined the other mage. The reality of the world ripples again, and he doesn't miss the grimace that crosses Solas' face.

"How's it going?" he asks, watching the patterns of chakra that Dorian moves around and through the amulet. The way the amulet responds, pulling them into other, different patterns. It's almost familiar, almost right, almost matching what he saw for a split second before Alexius sent them here in the first place.

"I am unsure," Solas admits.

"Close," Dorian mutters. "Close, I almost-- ah , there, if I--"

Another roar, closer. Right outside the throne room. Cassandra's warcry, and Varric's as well, and then a powerful jutsu strikes the outermost barrier, and the walls around it, and the door, and--

It cracks.

Talwyn squares his shoulders, and casts another barrier, and then takes one tag in each hand, and Shisui can see the last dregs of his chakra pooled in his fingers, waiting.

Leliana nocks an arrow, and draws.

Something big slams into the wall on the other side, snarling wordlessly; at the same time, the snap of a powerful raiton jutsu finally takes down Talwyn’s last barrier. The mage retreats, and Leliana starts loosing arrows as fast as the wind, one after the other unerringly finding eyes and throats and other vulnerable spots. When she runs out, she starts flicking senbon like she was born to it.

She manages to drive them back, to hold them at the choke point for long enough, just long enough, for Dorian to do something that makes the amulet bloom with green Fade-chakra, like the Breach, like Solas’—

“Go!” he says, shoving the amulet into Shisui’s hand, and pushing him toward the quasi-rift that has formed. “ Go! ”

Shisui’s hand closes tight on the amulet, and in return, he pushes an exploding tag into Dorian’s.

“The more magic—“

“I heard,” Dorian cuts him off. Leliana cries out; Shisui doesn’t look. “Now go! ”

Shisui grabs Solas.

He goes.

Once more, everything is green.

And then it is not, and he is standing in front of Alexius, who is looking at him with utter horror—and conveniently meeting his eyes.

He may not have Cassandra’s excellent anti-magic jutsu, but like hell is he allowing Alexius to pull another fast one. And. He has a trump of his own for situations like this.

He changes his eyes, let them burn with more power, caustic power, for a very brief moment, and Alexius flinches from that four-pointed star. Good. He should.

”Tsukuyomi.”

Chapter Text

The familiar flutter of wings nearby is not nearly enough to distract Leliana from the letter she is composing; one of her agents will relieve the bird of its message soon enough, and determine its urgency.

That the light-but-not-too-light step of an agent moving behind her is swiftly followed by a dismayed yelp, and a loud, chiding caw? That is . Long enough for a glance, anyway, to know which agent needs remedial training, or to be kept away from the birds altogether. (It’s unfortunate, but it happens from time to time. She sees that they find a suitable assignment with dead drops and the like.)

The agent in question is an old hand now nursing a bloodied hand, matching the now-bloodied beak of the crow —not raven—regarding her with a jaundiced eye. Seeing that it has her attention at last, the bird points its beak back over its shoulder to something on its back.

“Leliana,” it says, to her mild surprise; it is not unheard of for crows and ravens to speak, but she has seldom heard it herself, and she has never been directly addressed by a bird either.

"Yes?" she asks, curiously.

The bird says something that sounds almost like message , tapping the cylinder on its back. “Shisui kara .”

Leliana arches an eyebrow at it, and it turns to present the cylinder better to her—yes, there are both of the marks he wears painted on it: the spiral leaf, and the sunset-fan that Varric told her is the symbol of his clan. There's a clever catch that Leliana notes for later, and inside is a tightly rolled letter, and an annotated map of the area.

Leliana--

We encountered a bandit ambush. I left one alive for interrogation, location noted on the map. Further ambush points likewise are detailed on the map, as well as the location of their base. They have one alchemist, one Templar, and one 'knife-ear apostate bastard'. The latter is currently stationed at the bridge ambush site. Remainder of their number appear to be standard bandit fare. Recommend short-term mission, two squads, C-rank. 1-3 days.

--Uchiha Shisui

Below the short message is a detailed accounting of the numbers and locations of the bandits, along with corresponding notes on the map.

"Interesting," she murmurs. "Thank you," she says to the crow, because she knows her birds are smart, and Shisui's clearly is as well, if it can speak. Though it's unlikely that it speaks common, all things considered, that's no reason to be rude to the little thing.

" Aa, " the bird croaks. " Tabey-monoh? " it continues, hopping a little closer, and peering up at her hopefully. One of the ravens--a female called Kili, and probably the smartest bird she has--calls out, and the crow replies in kind, higher-voiced and a little less harsh.

"Snacks!" Kili finally calls, one of the first words that she had learned when Leliana first began training her.

"Is that what our new friend is after?" Leliana asks, and Kili bobs an affirmative, joined a moment later by Shisui's crow. "All right, just a moment. Hopefully, crows like the same snacks as ravens."

She has treats and snacks specially made for her birds, and she fishes into that stash, offering the crow a selection of fruits, nuts, and dried meat. She gets out enough for Kili as well, before calling a scout to relay the new intel to Commander Cullen. The crow happily samples everything put before it, though by the time she returns to it, it has picked out the nuts and set them all aside, to Kili's evident amusement. The crow looks up, eyeing her again, and hops closer, saying,

"Kuroba to-yuu." It raises one foot, pointing to itself. "Kuroba." Points to Leliana. "Leliana."

"Ah, I see. A pleasure to meet you, Kuroba. I suppose you must be waiting for an answer? I hope you don't mind waiting a little longer," she says. "Feel free to look around while you wait." After a moment, she offers Kuroba her arm. The crow hops up, and she heads out of her tent; carefully indicating her actions, she gives the bird a launch. It flies high, and circles once, twice, and then wings up toward the acid-green line of the Breach.

"Wasn't that bird a little small?" Cullen asks, as he approaches, her scout on his heels. "I was already on my way over here when Avery found me," he explains. "To speak about this very subject." He gives the paper in his hand--her missive--a little wave.

"The bandits have been growing more problematic," Leliana agrees, frowning slightly. "And better organised. Come, let us take this to the table; I have sufficient intel for us to take care of things, I believe." Cullen raises his eyebrows at that.

"Shisui," she says. "He and the others encountered a bandit ambush, and he had the foresight to leave one alive for interrogation." She holds up the map and his message, before re-rolling them, and heading for the Chantry.

A quick check with Josie finds her free, and joining them after a moment to conclude her idle conversation with Minaeve. Though she isn't given much to the arts of war, Leliana considers it important to keep her in the loop, even when matters might not necessarily concern her directly; it saves time, if nothing else.

With the door shut, she rolls the map out over their dining-cum-wartable, anchoring the corners with some of the pewter markers.

"This map, and the associated missive, arrived not half an hour ago, courtesy of a crow sent by Shisui Uchiha," she says.

"A crow?" Josie asks, surprised. She makes a note on her board, and then another one.

"One intelligent enough to speak," Leliana confirms. "Not common, but it introduced itself, and knew my name--and likely description, as well." Her lips quirk up a little. Cullen, on the other hand, frowns.

"Where did it come from?" he asks. "He did not have the bird before. Could it be a demon?"

"Just because we never saw it, does not mean it wasn't there," Leliana says. "He is only of the most skilled rogues I have ever met--even outside of his magical talents," she adds. "Keeping an intelligent animal friend concealed would be a trifling matter, and Kuroba--the crow--is definitely intelligent enough to understand and cooperate with stealth. That he is choosing to reveal such an asset to us now, and in this manner, is a way of saying that he trusts us, to a certain extent."

"Well Leliana, you would know," Josie says. "He does seem like he would fit in with your people."

"He would," she agrees. She knew what he was the moment she saw those small knives, found the needles secreted in his clothing. The tempered steel wire in his supplies... Magic aside, it is clear to her that Shisui is a rogue, probably assassin trained, and one with both a great deal of skill, and a certain natural talent, if he really is only fifteen years old.

Cullen lets the matter rest for the moment, choosing instead to take up the missive from Shisui, and read it over.

"This is some good information," he allows. "Particularly about the Templar and the mage. But do either of you know what he means by 'C-rank?' Or what his definition of a 'squad' is?"

"The former, no," Leliana replies. "As for the latter, his comments about who he wanted on his trip to find Mother Giselle indicate that he considers four men to be the normal size of a squad--a leader and three subordinates."

"So he thinks eight men is reasonable to take on this many?" Cullen asks.

"I think he thinks four is enough," Leliana replies. "And that recommending two squads is merely to speed things up."

"He is an elite," Josie puts in. "Accustomed to working with other elites--intelligent, highly-trained, and educated."

"I agree," Cullen sighs. "And so we should take his recommendations with a grain of salt. Perhaps double the men, and ensure that they aren't all green."

"Half scouts, half regular troops," Leliana suggests. "Archers on the mage before we take any further actions."

"I agree with the latter, but..."

"Before the two of you work that out, perhaps something should be done about the bandit left behind, ah, here?" Josie uses her quill to point out the interrogated bandit--left alive, presumably, for a more thorough job of it, while Shisui and his 'squad' moved on.

"Yes," Leliana agrees. "A moment--"

She steps out the door, and calls for a scout lieutenant, giving the order for the retrieval, and providing the location, before moving back into the room. Josie is already halfway through penning a copy of Shisui's missive, along with their thoughts on the terminology used.

"There. My people have it handled."

"Good," Cullen says. "Now..."

The planning takes three hours, including the allocation of men for the mission; they end up going with one quarter scouts, three quarters soldiers, as the troops need more blooding in the field than her people do. The scouts are given command, though, given the stealthy nature of the operation.

"It will also be a good learning experience for my troops," Cullen says, smiling a little. "They need to learn that their commanders won't always necessarily be the big flashy men in the front."

"My thoughts precisely," Leliana says. "And mine need to learn to lead--and work with--people who don't think in circles."

"I would still like them to take the Templar alive. I want... I want to try to do something for them," Cullen says.

"They know we're here," Leliana says. "They know you are here. I would not get my hopes up, Commander. But you know they will try."

"Thank you," Cullen replies. “Now—“

He is interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Tea service!” calls a familiar voice; Lisette, one of Leliana’s people in the servants.

“I’ve got it,” Cullen says; he is conveniently on the side of the table closest to the door. "Thank you Miss," he says absently, taking the tray. Lisette bobs a curtsey.

"There's also a message Ser, my Ladies," she says nodding to the tray.

"Thank you Lisette," Leliana says. The girl leaves, and Cullen sets the tray down, letting Josie have it first while he reads the note.

"Ah, it seems your people have recovered the prisoner," he says, handing the note to Leliana. "And just in time too, apparently, since it's started snowing out there again."

Josie's gaze goes to the doors, and she frowns a little.

"Do you think they're all right?" she asks.

"You recall what Varric told us about Shisui's logistical capabilities," Leliana reminds her. "And he has a talent for fire magic. Between that and the others' experience, I am sure that they will be fine."

"He is just so young ," Josie sighs, and adds another cube of sugar to her tea, stirs it and sips.

"We were all young once," Leliana says softly. "But he is not as young as we were when we were that age."

"What do you mean?" Josie asks. She hands Leliana a cup of perfectly prepared tea. There is already one in Cullen's hands; she is a perfect hostess, a skill that Leliana has often envied, for it eases her way in many delicate situations that would be of a great benefit to a spy or an assassin.

"He is an assassin," Leliana says bluntly. "And one trained from a very young age, perhaps even infancy, to move and act the way that he does." He reminds her in some ways of Zevran; bright and cheerful, and so very subtle and deadly that it would make an old killer weep.

She ought to write him, in fact, about the boy; if any of her contacts would know about where a cheerful assassin-child comes from, it would be Zevran.

... could Shisui somehow...? No. No, his foreignness is too thorough, too real for him to be associated with the Crows, his feathery friend aside. Though she knows that mentioning Kuroba will pique Zevran's sense of humour.

"An--no, I'm sure you're sure," Cullen says with a grimace. "It doesn't sit well with me, knowing that the boy is an assassin; how can we be sure he didn't kill the Divine then?"

"I expect that information to not leave this room," Leliana says. "Because there are others who will think that. I have my reasons, but I do not believe he is responsible for the Breach... or anything around it. He is simply too..."

"Too foreign," Josie fills in. "His language and writing are like nothing I have ever even heard of, and even though he learned ours very quickly--"

"--blood magic no doubt," Cullen interjects.

"Commander, there is no call for that," Josie says. "I know you are suspicious, but he has shown no signs of being a blood mage--Master Solas agrees as well, and wouldn't he know?"

Cullen sighs.

Leliana sips her tea, and lets them argue it out; she finds it useful to listen to them, though she misses Cassandra's input on these matters. Still, it is better that she is with Shisui, right now; while she is aware of the abilities of Varric Tethras (who has proven reliable in these matters - his attitude aside), Solas is still a largely unknown quantity, and thus suspect. He does not, however, strike her as a man who is ignorant of much of anything , and thus Cassandra's presence alone should be enough to serve as a caution, if he has any ill intent.

Not that she truly believes that he does, but it's better to be safe than sorry, and they can ill-afford to lose Shisui and the mark in his hand. Not while the Breach still looms over all of them, a narrow crack of green in the sky.

"Why don't we table this for now," Leliana says. "It hardly matters at the moment, when there is nothing to be done about the matter. I wish to examine the new prisoner."

"Very well," Josie says. "I'll be in my office if you need me."

"And I will see to the disposition of troops for the bandit operation," Cullen says.

"I will send you my scouts," Leliana replies. "Expect them shortly." She sets her cup back on the tray, and heads out of the war room, and down to the cells, where the new prisoner awaits her.

He is a perfectly average example of a bandit rogue, with all the wiry muscles (though too few of them; he is underfed at best) and knife calluses one would expect from such a man. His hair and skin are unremarkable--medium brown and an olive slightly paler than Cassandra's--but his eyes...

There is something unsettling about his eyes. They aren't empty, or blank, or haunted, or anything so blatant, but...

"Report," she says to the scout awaiting the order.

"He does not appear to recognise us as enemies," the scout says immediately. "Or indeed to recognise us as much of anything. He answers when asked questions, but he takes no initiative to offer either information or defiance, or even take care of his foot." The scout gestures to the man's right foot, currently absent its boot and bandaged tightly.

"He took a small knife clean through the foot, and the sole of his boot," the other scout in the hall explains. "The knife was no longer there; I'm assuming that whoever threw it took it with them."

From under her coat, Leliana pulls out the knife of Shisui's that she had retained for examination, and extends it to her scout.

"Would this have fit the wound?" she asks. Her scout looks for permission, and she nods, giving the young elven woman permission to take it. Yellow-green vallaslin catch the light on her face when she turns the blade about in her hands.

"I think so," the scout says, handing the knife back. Leliana nods, and tucks it away again. She paces around the prisoner, slowly. He does not follow her, or even show any sign of wanting to do so. She comes around to his front again, and pauses.

"What is your name?" she asks, starting off easily.

"Keane," the man answers easily.

"Surname?" Leliana prompts.

"Got none," the man replies, shrugging a very tiny amount; not wholly unresponsive then, just... wholly oriented toward answering questions, perhaps? However Shisui accomplished it, it certainly is useful. She hopes that it is not blood magic; honestly she hopes that it is no magic at all, but perhaps some trick of hypnosis or the like. It would be incredibly useful for her interrogators to learn, to say nothing of herself.

(If it is magic, well. There are plenty of mages running around now without an anchor. Perhaps one or two might find a home in her agents.)

"Do you have any appellations, nick-names or titles?" she asks.

"'Keen Edge Keane," he replies, lips twitching in the faintest smile.

"How long have you been with the bandits based near Haven, in the Frostbacks?"

"'Bout four months," is his reply. There is a faint scratch of quill on paper; good.

The interrogation continues for another hour before Leliana is satisfied with his tractability, and she leaves with orders to extract everything of use from him, and to inform her if anything about him changes at all.

Then she heads up to the ground floor of the Chantry, and heads back to one of the prayer rooms. Things have been so busy, but she needs the guidance of Andraste more than ever right now.

The Breach.

The boy.

The strange elven apostate.

Divine Justinia commissioned the Inquisition, but were she and Cassandra right in pushing it forward in the wake of her death?

Maker guide me, Andraste grant me your wisdom.

She finds no answers, but she does find some sense of peace. She hopes it will be enough.

The storm is still raging outside, so she goes then to join Josie and Minaeve in the former's office, and starts drafting that letter to Zevran. Corresponding with him is a unique pleasure; few others are willing to bandy words with her in quite the same way, and although they have not always seen eye-to-eye, there is still, she thinks, a certain friendly mutual understanding between them.

Z--

Any reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated, as I am sure you well know.

The beginning of course is the easy part. Reassurances of her continued survival, confirmation of the Divine's death. Reports have already flown to all corners of the world of course (as if anyone could have missed the Breach; they must have seen it even as far away as Minrathous and Par Vollen), but she knows that she for one appreciates a confirmation from a known quantity.

The rest is relatively bland pleasantries, updates of commonly known things, and every word of it a carefully crafted code for Zevran's eyes only.

Finally, she takes a clean piece of parchment, and asks Minaeve to give her a schematic of Shisui's knife. The apprentice mage is a sharp girl, and very good at analysis, with a deft drafting hand. Leliana expects the results to be better than her own would be.

Included is a weapon schematic that made me think of you. Please let me know if it suits your tastes.

That barely qualifies as any kind of code at all, but the association between herself and Zevran is known in intelligence circles, and this would hardly be the first time they have sent schematics or other interesting tidbits back and forth.

The end result of cramped handwriting with Minaeve's schematic included, is a letter light enough for her strongest raven to carry, but barely. It will keep until the storm is done.

The sound of Josie's stomach rumbling is enough to startle them all in their silence, and Leliana's friend exclaims at the late hour, when she looks at her candle.

"I'll send for dinner," Minaeve offers. "And more paper."

"Thank you Minaeve," Josie says, with a gracious smile. The apprentice mage leaves the room, and shortly, Leliana can hear a bit of shouting outside, muffled by the door, and then the sharp crack of a blow--

She is on her feet and out the door in a second, Shisui's knife coming easily to her hand. Outside, an Orlesian of no significant rank (landed gentry, but no noble title) is standing in front of Minaeve, who is holding a hand to her face.

"--little knife-ear bitch, you will--"

"Is there a problem?" Josie asks, slipping smoothly out after Leliana, who lets herself sink into the shadows, as the other woman does what she does best, and smooths away the problems.

Leliana catches Minaeve's eye, and nods for her to slip away and follow.

"He thought I was a servant," the girl says.

"He thought wrong," Leliana says. "You are a valuable part of the Inquisition--not the least for your research abilities. I know we have only known each other a short time, but I believe you could become invaluable."

"I'm nothing special," Minaeve replies. "Sometimes I think I might as well be a servant; I'm not much of a mage, and my other skills aren't very useful outside a Circle, either."

"On the contrary," Leliana says. "Aside from the Herald and our resident apostate, you are currently the Inquisition's only mage. I cannot emphasise how important that position may be going forward. You are also in a unique position to help us understand the Herald--Shisui."

"How's that?" the girl asks.

"Aside from one or two of Cullen's raw recruits, you are closer in age to him than anyone else in our forces. I believe you are also closer in life experience to him than most of the rest of us here," Leliana replies. They take the turn down to the Chantry kitchens; relatively small as these things go, but enough to handle the people in the building, she thinks.

"Because I am a mage," Minaeve states.

"Yes. We have reason to believe that he might have grown up in a situation somewhat similar to a Circle, in that he was surrounded by others with powers like his. Just try talking to him. If I am wrong, I am wrong, but I do not think that I am. In the meantime, please continue your research. We should be having more materials delivered soon, and if you can think of any papers or other publications that might be of aid, do not hesitate to ask."

"I--thank you, Lady Nightingale," Minaeve says.

"Think nothing of it." Leliana smiles at her.

The cook, contrary to what many might expect, is a stout dwarven man, utterly bald of all hair, down to his eyebrows.

"There you are," he grouses, and shoves a tray with three covered bowls into Leliana's hands, and then another with a hot carafe, and a loaf of break into Minaeve's. "I was about to send someone in on a rescue mission. Enjoy your dinner, ladies, and now get outta my kitchen."

Leliana laughs, and nods agreeably. Never mess with the cook.

Josie is back in her office by the time Leliana and Minaeve return, and there is a clear spot on her desk for the trays. They fit, just.

"I've taken care of things," Josie says. She meets Leliana's eyes briefly; Leliana nods minutely. "If anyone gives you trouble again, Minaeve, let one of us know," Josie continues. "If anyone makes demands of you, send them to one of us."

"Lady Josie?" Minaeve questions, the skin between her brows wrinkling a little.

"I told you, Minaeve, we consider you a valuable member of the Inquisition," Leliana says.

"Oh," the apprentice mage says. "I see. Thank you."

"Of course," Josie replies. "Now, let's not let the cook's efforts go cold, hm?"

After dinner, Leliana takes the time to compose a few more letters, and when she retires, it is not to her own chambers, but to Josie's better-insulated ones. Despite the fires that the staff have kept burning brightly all night, the cold has seeped in through the thick stone of the Chantry walls, leaving her own room less than comfortable, and Josie doesn't mind sharing, especially since she is so cold as well.

(Colder than Leliana is, actually; it's so much warmer in Antiva than it is in Fereldan or Orlais.)

Minaeve has one of the clerical cells, right up against the kitchen, and will probably be warmer than either of them.

"Brr," Josie shivers, and cuddles closer. "Do you think that Minaeve would mind if we piled into her room? There isn't much space, but I'm sure we could make do..."

Leliana laughs.

"I was thinking much the same thing. In my time in the cloister, the cell closest to the kitchens was always the most hotly contested. I think we will be fine. Though perhaps we should have retrieved my blankets first."

Josie laughs as well, and they spend a little while speaking of nothing much of consequence, before the combination of heavy blankets and body heat eventually lulls them to sleep.

When Leliana wakes in the morning, Josie is wholly curled up under the blankets, with her back pressed against Leliana's stomach, and Leliana's robe pulled around her in addition to the blankets around them. Since there is frost on the window sill, Leliana can hardly blame her.

The door opens quietly, and Lisette slips in with a pot of hot tea, two cups, and an armload of kindling.

"It'll be nice and warm for you in a little bit," she says softly. "Got some letters for both of you, and a summary of the interrogation; the snow's cleared up too."

"Thank you Lisette. See that our correspondence is brought to Josie's desk, and have breakfast sent for Minaeve as well. Once that is seen to, please have Jonifer relieve you."

"As you say ma'am," Lisette replies, bobbing a little curtsey. She then sets to building the fire back up into a roaring, cheerful blaze. Leliana gives it a few minutes after she leaves to warm up, and then slips out of the bed--to Josie's sleepy, muttered complaining--and returns with the tea.

"Wake up Josie," she says, nudging the other woman. "Or I shall place my newly cold toes on your back."

"Anything but that!" Josie exclaims, in only slightly-mock horror. They both have a laugh, and shortly, they're ensconced in the chairs by the fire, sipping their tea, and discussing plans for the day.

"I'm sending a raven to Antiva," Leliana says, when the subject of correspondence comes up. "I don't have room for anything but the letter I have already written, but I do have an inch of parchment if you would like to have my correspondent forward anything."

"I wouldn't want to put anyone out," Josie demurs. "But if your correspondent can arrange for the delivery of certain necessities faster than my usual contacts, I would appreciate it."

"I will mention it," Leliana says, knowing that 'certain necessities' means coffee--rare in the South--for Josie's late nights, and maybe chocolate, or other things more easily had in the trading nexus of Antiva than the frozen hamlet of Haven.

"Thank you, Leliana. Now, I was thinking that in my next missive to my trading contacts, we should see about acquiring some quality fabrics for the next few seasons in red, white, and indigo," Josie says.

"Ah yes, the colours favoured by our young Herald." Leliana finishes her tea, and heads for Josie's chest of drawers, retrieving socks and undergarments for the both of them--all that Josie's maid will allow without deep, sorrowful frowns, and a chiding cluck of her tongue. The girl is very sweet, and will make an excellent spy in the halls of some manor or another when her training is done. Unless Josie decides to keep her on, of course, but in that case, she will make a decent bodyguard.

"Precisely. If the information we have from Varric is correct, they may well be his family--or clan, perhaps?-- colours, and important enough to him for him to acquire Seggrit's entire stock of indigo wool." Josie accepts the socks and other things from Leliana, and finishes her tea as well.

"Can our coffers handle it?"

"Yes," Josie replies confidently. "In the quantities that will be required."

"I will leave it in your capable hands then," Leliana says with a smile.

By the time Sarisa--Josie's maid--arrives to help her dress, Leliana has mostly gotten herself dressed, much to the girl's clucking disapproval.

"The same clothes as yesterday, milady, really , what will they think?" she asks.

"I doubt most will look past my coat of maille," Leliana replies. Sarisa doesn't suppress a sigh.

"I suppose not. Still, next time you stay over, let me know, and I'll see you have something clean." She smoothes her skirt, and pouts, a petulant little expression that might one day be pretty, if she learns to control it a little better.

"I appreciate it Sarisa, thank you."

"Don't worry, I behaved myself," Josie teases.

Leliana pulls on her maille and hood, and leaves them to it.

Back in Josie's office, Leliana takes a minute to make the addition to her letter, and then heads out into the clear, brilliantly bright morning.

The sun makes the snow sparkle like diamonds, and it crunches pleasantly under her feet as she crosses over to her tent-cum-headquarters. All of her ravens that are not out on a delivery are huddled inside the tent, and Kuroba is with them. Good, she would have been sad if the little crow had come to some ill end in the storm. Moreover, it would have made things awkward with Shisui.

"Colm," she calls, holding up an arm. A big raven, the biggest of her flock, hops up to her arm with one flap. "I have a letter for you to carry. All the way to Zevran. You remember Zevran, yes?"

The raven croaks an affirmative, and holds still for Leliana to fasten the letter. She gives the bird a few more directions as she heads out into the bright morning--shielding his eyes as she does so--and then lets him go. He knows the way.

She re-joins Josie for an actual breakfast then, of oatmeal, sausage, and more tea. It is a working breakfast, with the door open, and runners in and out the whole time, as they finish and send off messages. With that done, Leliana takes her leave, and returns to her tent, to send off urgent messages with her ravens, and take a few of the new ones.

The rest of the day goes perfectly as scheduled, until an hour after dinner when the squads sent on the bandit elimination operation return. Of the sixteen men who went, fifteen return alive, and seven with no greater injury than scrapes and bruises.

One of her agents returns with a locked box and a thick sheaf of papers, and puts both into her hands in the tent. She thanks the man, and lets him get to his leave.

The papers are letters mostly, of the illicit lovers sort, between a Templar and a mage--a typical story, and less ill-omened than many of the sort. Unfortunately, their little love story has an unhappy ending, if they are indeed the Templar and mage with the bandits. The plans involve ambush sites, and meetings with other criminal sorts in various places. She sees the shape of an expanding empire of banditry there, and feels glad that they were able to nip this thing in the bud.

Another agent arrives while she's picking the box's unexpectedly complex lock open.

"Report," she says. This angle, this pressure, turn ...

"The bandit elimination operation has been concluded successfully," the boy replies. "We lost one man, Corporal Galvin, who took a lightning bolt from the apostate to protect the rest of the unit. Six other men suffered lightning burns; one a shattered shield arm, one a stab to the shoulder."

"Thank you, Alec. Is there anything else?" Change the pressure, tap up-- there --and turn...

"No ma'am." The boy hesitates. "We were wondering if there was any word about the Herald and the Lady Seeker and the others?"

"Not yet, but have faith," Leliana replies. Another delicate twist, and the box gives a very satisfying click. She dismisses Alec with a wave, and opens the box.

Four doses of lyrium, and the raw materials for at least half a dozen more.

No wonder the box had been locked so securely.

Leliana takes two doses, and one sealed jar of the powder, and tucks them under her coat for now. She closes the box, blocking the catch so it doesn't lock automatically, and heads down to Adan's hut. The door is shut, but there are still candles burning, and she can see him moving about in there, and so she knocks.

"What?" the alchemist demands.

"I have something for you, Adan," Leliana replies. He jerks the door open, revealing a man still dressed for work, with his leather apron and the gloves for handling dangerous substances.

"Lady Nightingale," he says grudgingly. "Make it quick, I'm working on something."

In response, Leliana briefly opens the box, letting see the contents. The widening of his eyes is very satisfactory, she must say.

"This was recovered during the operation carried out today," she says. "I trust you know what to do with it."

"I do. Thank you," he adds, less grudgingly this time, as he takes the box. "I'll get on this as soon as my current project is done."

"Very good. Thank you Adan." Leliana says, and leaves him be.

In the dark of the night she receives the written and whispered reports of people in more covert positions within Haven, and she dispenses orders in the same way; it is a comfortable rhythm, even if she takes care to ensure they dance to a different beat every day.

The night ends back in her own quarters, since it has warmed enough through the day. A final report on the outcome of the operation is waiting for her. In addition to the box delivered by her man, the team sent had recovered several missed shipments, including one of Seggrit's, a small but significant supply of iron ore--quality to be determined, expect Harrit's report in two days' time--and enough liquid currency to fund Josie's planned shopping with a little left over. Excellent.

A child ripped from his home by the machinations of others deserves something nice, especially if it will endear him to the adults in his life. And if their guesses--based purely on his bearing, and what information Varric has brought, admittedly--are correct, and Shisui is of some kind of noble extraction, a few luxuries will go a long way to helping with that, as well.

She remembers wondering what noble idiot had brought their son to the Conclave, when she first saw him, with his tunic of fine, light-weight wool, lined with thick silk. Then she found the knives. Then she found the needles. Then she found the scrolls that would not open, and those that would, full of a foreign script so arcane she almost thought it magic.

His face--and much of the rest of him--had been covered with blood, thick and drying, as if it had come from some wound--no. No, she has plucked the eyes from enough people who put them to the wrong use to know what it looks like when someone has the eyes torn from their face. His had been exactly where they should be, however, and so far as she knows, there is no power of magic or demons that can restore a lost eye.

She had said nothing, and she still says nothing, as it can only be an act of providence, the Maker's own hand, restoring what Shisui had lost. How can it be anything else? Since the boy had shown no reaction to being able to see when he should not, either he does not remember what happened, or he is keeping whatever miracles he received close to his chest. Leliana would not blame him either way, even if she is intensely curious about the matter.

Perhaps one day she will ask. Perhaps one day he will simply tell her. Neither is likely, but it is sometimes nice to dream.

Her prayers that night are for wisdom and forebearance, for fortitude and guidance. They leave her with a sense of peace, and surety that funding Josie's shopping is the right path to follow, though she makes a mental note to add a few things of her own to the list. Shisui is a young man who favours the rogue's path, the assassin's path, and she thinks she knows of a few things that would help make him happy, if they are made of materials in a quality he is accustomed to.

Include his clan crest. The thought comes unbidden, and even though most of his weaponry is undecorated... yes, she thinks, and thanks Andraste and the Maker for the inspiration.

She is in her nightgown and stockings when a soft, particular knock comes to the door. She palms a blade--Shisui's again, the design is excellent for this sort of thing--and opens the door.

A dark-eyed, grim-faced agent is there, habitually half-hidden in the shadows. She has a report for Leliana, and gives it in soft, clipped tones.

It is bad news.

Leliana gives the kill order, and the agent leaves her. What an unfortunate note to end the night on.

Chapter Text

”Tsukuyomi.”

Solas does not understand the word that Shisui speaks; it feels like an invocation of some sort, though for what purpose he cannot tell. The result is that no sooner are they returned to their proper time then Alexius is rendered fully comatose with only a small noise of pain, his amulet joining the other in Shisui’s hand.

The red fades from the boy’s eyes, and he sighs, rubbing them.

“He won’t be going anywhere under his own power,” Shisui says, sounding even more tired than before.

“For how long?” Solas asks. Shisui drags a hand down his face, visibly considering it before he shrugs.

“At least a week,” he says.

“Andraste’s shiny bountiful tits Fluffy, what did you do? ” Varric asks from his place in the corner. Solas would rather like to know that as well--the specifics, at least. The generalities are clear enough to anyone with a passing familiarity with the magics of the mind, though it seems that whatever powers of that nature Shisui possesses, they are of a far greater order of magnitude than the petty skills of the mages of this age; perhaps even greater than those of the Elvhen, in general, though he doubts they match up to what the Evanuris could do in their prime. Dirthamen in particular comes to mind, and a handful of those now styled 'Forgotten' by the Dalish.

(Best they are left that way; even the worst of the Evanuris' atrocities seem petty when compared to the things that the 'Forgotten' liked to dabble in. He remembers once being proudly shown some piece of the Fade completely denuded of life, the physical portion just as dead; he remembers complimenting someone, a name he will no longer think, on the revolutionary means of gaining more power, quickly.

"How soon can you repeat the process?" he had asked. That person had just laughed, bitten into the ripe and juicy fruit they carried, and suggested choosing a different piece of land to kill.

Modern blood magic, he thinks, is the distant descendant of that horrifying method; a wet, distant shadow. It is for the best, he thinks, that he is the only living thing this side of the Veil, this side of the greatest seals ever made, who knows of it.)

“Um. Genjutsu,” Shisui replies. He sways a little, and Solas and Varric both move to catch him, and together they get him seated in one of the remaining chairs. Wordlessly, Solas places his last lyrium potion into the boy’s hand.

“Drink that. It will help,” he says.

“Oh. That stuff. Sure, thanks.” Shisui pops the cap and downs it like a shot, and abruptly sits up straighter in his chair.

“Indra’s bones that works fast! ” His eyes briefly flash red, the colour looking natural on him, after all the time spent in the warped, heinous future, and he laughs softly. “I need to learn how to make that. Shit.”

“Later, Fluffy," Varric says. He shifts to rest Bianca on his shoulder. "First we should get some guards, and tell the Arl that the Magister tried to...?" He trails off deliberately, looking at Shisui, and Solas for an answer.

"Oh, just kill us," Shisui says. "As a prelude to taking over the, uh, Arldom? And then the rest of the kingdom, maybe." He regards the unconscious Magister impassively. "I don't know if he got that far. Or if he even wanted to," he adds softly, and Solas finds himself recalling what Shisui had said to the Magister, that he understood throwing away everything for a loved one. That understanding does not seem to matter in the face of what else Alexius did, or if it does, Shisui is too well-trained to show it.

"Oh is that all?" Varric's sarcasm is a refreshingly blunt edge. "We should have this dealt with by lunch time then. I'll go have someone get the Arl." He accomplishes this by sticking his head out the door and telling the guards stationed there to get the Arl, before taking a station beside the door himself.

Alexius is unconscious, bleeding slightly from the eyes and nose.

Felix is still unconscious, sickly pale, and dying already; of the Blight, if the bitter, bleak future is to be believed.

Shisui sighs, and presses his fingertips to his forehead, clearly still suffering from using too much mana, too quickly.

"I'm fine," the boy says, as if he can sense Solas' concern. Perhaps he can. "Just thinking about what to say. "I think I've got it," he adds. "Just back me up."

"You got it kid," Varric says. Solas nods his agreement; whatever the case, their stories ought to line up.

"Being human, they will listen to you first over us regardless," Solas points out; he suspects that that will not have occured to Shisui. He is correct.

"What?" the boy asks, looking up and blinking in confusion. "But you're both definitely adults by local standards, and nobody here knows my clan, so why would that matter?"

"You're close enough to adulthood that your word will matter over ours, simply because you are human," Solas replies.

"That's stupid," Shisui counters. Solas can see the calculations in his dark eyes, briefly, before he hides them again. "But I guess I can take advantage of idiots."

Varric laughs at that, and says, "Atta boy. Now, why would your clan matter?"

"That was really unsubtle, Varric," Shisui mock-chides, before shrugging a little. "Uchiha is a noble clan. It's not that big a deal though, unless we're dealing with the daimyou or other nobility though. A ninja village is largely a meritocracy."

Solas feels Varric's blink as his own; that's as much about his home and society as Shisui has ever said before, and more importantly--

"The Arl's another noble, kid," Varric points out. "And that gives you pull that just being affiliated with the Inquisition doesn't."

"Nobody here knows my clan from dirt, Varric," Shisui points out bluntly. "I don't see the point in bringing it up."

"Foreign nobility is still nobility," Varric sums up. "You should talk to Ruffles about it, and maybe the Seeker and Nightingale too. I'm sure they can use it somehow."

Shisui wrinkles his nose at the notion, and then drags a hand down his face, and nods.

"All right, fine , I'll tell Josephine," he grumbles. "And Leliana."

There's a perfunctory knock at the door, and Shisui is on his feet, posture straight and proud, clothes as neat as they can be, having spent the last several hours crawling through a castle of horrors. His speed is breathtaking; the knock is followed immediately by the door opening, and nobody would ever know he had been slumped over the table mere moments before.

Two guards come in, and one takes up the space opposite Varric, flanking the door. The other moves further in, and seeing the two Tevinters unconscious (still unconscious in Felix's case) and (apparently) under guard by Solas and Shisui, nods. Arl Teagan follows her in.

"I would like to know what the hell is going on here," he says, not hiding his irritation.

"Short version," Shisui starts, coming half to attention. "Is that it's a good thing we were supervising Magister Alexius. He attacked Solas and I both--likely judging that we would be in the best position to thwart whatever else he had planned." He flexes his left hand, reflexive, but quickly stopped; he tucks his hands into the small of his back, standing at a military rest. The left hand is glowing faintly green.

Oh, Solas thinks, as the Arl's eye is drawn briefly to that hand--and the Anchor. He is very good.

"I stopped him," Shisui continues. "Rendering him unconscious in the process. His son never stirred," he adds, sending what appears to be a look of poorly concealed pity toward the younger Alexius.

"Master Tethras?" the Arl asks, looking to the dwarf where he still has Bianca ready to fire if the Magister so much as moves.

"Yeah," Varric agrees. "That sounds about right. There was magic-- I have no idea what the Magister did. But the young lord did render him unconscious."

Shisui shoots Varric a dirty look; Varric just smirks. As an improvisation it's well-done. Arl Teagan arches a sardonic eyebrow at Shisui.

"Fine, yes, okay, can we move on?" Shisui says, throwing his hands up briefly, before returning them to something like rest. "I'm more concerned with the guy who tried to kill us."

Teagan frowns again.

"Yes. I am too. Did he say anything before you rendered him unconscious?"

"Nope," Shisui replies. "It all happened pretty fast--I have good reflexes, and react poorly to people attacking me with unknown magic."

"Apostate?" the Arl asks, finally looking at Solas. It's possibly the most polite he's ever heard the word.

"It is as--"

"OUT OF MY WAY!" The familiar clear shout--almost a roar--and the sharp clang of metal ring at almost the same time, as Cassandra all but charges down the hall and into the room. The guards practically leap out of her way--and so does Varric, cursing under his breath. There is a faint nimbus of blue-white about the Seeker, giving her an air of the spirit-touched; it suits her, Solas thinks.

"It's all right, I'm okay!" Shisui calls, leaping between her and the rest of the room. She looks at the boy, and then to Solas, who nods to the unconscious Magister laid out on the ground.

"You vanished," she says. "Leaving nothing but smoke. "

"That was Alexius," Shisui says grimly. "But I'm fine. I promise. I'd appreciate it if you keep a Smite or a Purge ready if he wakes up though," he adds. "I don't expect him to for, uh, for a while? But it'd make me feel a lot better."

To Cassandra's credit, although she is startled for a moment, she barely blinks at the request, falling into a vigilant posture beside the unconscious Magister.

"Good idea," Arl Teagan says. "She should probably never have left to begin with."

"No, sending her to oversee the rest of Alexius' retinue was the right decision," Shisui says. "There are other mages among them, and the rest of us were more than able to handle a single man, no matter what kind of power or skill he had hiding."

What Shisui does not say, what Solas cannot help but think, is how the boy alone had more than enough power to utterly overwhelm the Magister. It was not even a contest; one look, a single second, and perhaps a little more mana than is advisable, and the man is. Gone. Completely unconscious, comatose even, for, if Shisui is correct, at least a week. Meaning he has done this thing often enough to have some estimate of how long the effect lasts on average.

Part of Solas longs for sleep, to be able to seek out the Magister's dreams, and see what he dreams of. If he dreams, or if he is too far gone to even reach the Fade.

He wants to seek out Shisui and have their talk , somewhere outside the reach of any others who might eavesdrop or take offense.

(He must, can, will be patient; he is no child, he is an ancient being who learned patience in a time when centuries had as much meaning as minutes.

The thought does not help, as much as he wants it to.)

The Arl looks around at all of them, almost as if he--no, that's not right; he trusts Shisui's words. Believes him, even. But there is something he doesn't trust here.

"I will send for chains," he says.

"Rope is fine," Shisui interjects. "No point wasting manacles; he's not strong enough to break them."

"Rope then," the Arl agrees. "And an experienced guard to aid you, Seeker; I apologise that you will have to keep watch over these two all night, but we have no other Seekers or Templars on hand."

"No apologies needed; I am glad to be able to assist," Cassandra replies.

"Once we have him secured, Solas, Varric, and I will go and follow up on the matter of Magister Alexius' retinue,'' Shisui declares. Hesitates a tiny moment. "If that's all right with you, Arl Teagan."

The Arl smiles a tiny bit, for a split second.

"It is," he says. "We won't forget the Inquisition's help in this matter. Nor that of the... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your family?"

"Uchiha," Shisui replies. "I'm... very foreign." Arl Teagan raises an eyebrow again, and Shisui responds with a rapid string of something in his own language, carrying on until the Arl stops him, clearly suppressing a laugh.

"Then in that case, your education is a credit to your family, and I hope you appreciate it," Teagan says.

"I appreciate everything they've taught me," Shisui says with utmost sincerity. Arl Teagan looks to be on the verge of ruffling his hair.

Before long, the Arl is leaving them with four extra guards, veterans of the Siege of Redcliffe during the last Blight. They fall in easily under Cassandra's direction, and after giving them a once-over, Shisui nods to himself, and gestures for Solas and Varric to fall in.

He gets as far as the door before abruptly turning on his heel, snatching the rope from the guard, and binding Alexius in an elaborate harness that specifically immobilises his hands and arms, away from each other. The man doesn’t show so much as a twitch of consciousness while Shisui manhandles him.

“There,” he says, clearly satisfied. “Feel free to shake him if he does somehow regain consciousness before I get back.”

He waits for acknowledgement, and then leads the way out.

There are two more guards waiting outside the door; Shisui gets a nod, and Solas and Varric are both largely ignored.

"I will handle the rain," Solas says, as they head for the courtyard.

"Thanks," Shisui replies. "Taking care of Alexius was a bit, uh, draining. After everything else."

"Yeah, about that," Varric cuts in. Shisui holds up a hand to forestall his questions.

"I'm not possessed, it's not blood magic, and please hold further questions until we're not dealing with a hostile incursion," he says, a hing of exasperation in his voice. Solas feels his lips twitch; he feels for the boy, and the constant suspicion, but now that they are no longer in immediate danger, he can find some humour in it. Especially since he had felt the same, when he had first seen those eyes.

No, worse than possession, there was something just unfathomably, deeply unsettling about those eyes, even though they are, for the moment, nominally on his side. He cannot put his finger on it, why they bother him so much, so he will do his best not to allow Shisui to know just how unsettled he was. Is.

(Something about the dots in the red, like little tadpoles, swimming in his eyes... It gets his hackles up. He sets it aside for later . )

"Okay kid, I'll keep my curiosity contained for now," Varric replies, grinning wryly. Shisui mutters something to himself in his own tongue, shaking his head. The moment they step out into the courtyard, Solas casts a barrier to keep them dry, and Shisui sheds his annoyance and the hint of adolescent petulance for focus and competence once again, his eyes sharp, but still dark.

"Are they still sitting outside the gates?" Shisui asks the guard on the castle.

"The 'Vints? Yes, ser," the man replies. "You going to take care of them? Only, we thought the Seeker was going to do that, then she comes tearing back here like an archdemon's chasing her..."

"The Magister tried to pull a fast one, but we shut it down. She's keeping him under guard, and we're going to investigate the status of his remaining retinue," Shisui replies. "Unless your Arl tells you otherwise, don't let anyone in or out until we get back; just because the ringleader's handled, that doesn't mean the infiltration is off, got it?"

"Yes ser!" the man exclaims, coming to attention. His fellow does as well, and Shisui nods--and stops.

"Belay that; I might send a mage or two to help. They'll have a passcode.... Konoha , can you remember that?"

Konoha , Solas recalls, is the name of his home. An easy enough passcode, and one that will be hard to guess, unless you know him. The soldiers both nod.

"Konoha," the one repeats. "We won't admit anyone without the passcode unless the Arl tells us to."

"Good." Shisui claps the man on the shoulder, and heads off into the rain, Solas and Varric close on his heels.

The boy is very charismatic, Solas has noticed; people like him quickly, and cooperate even more quickly. The latter would be more mysterious, save that he suspects there is some subtle, well-controlled magic behind it. He has known others--Mythal, for one--to do the same.

The fact that someone as young as Shisui might not only possess some power in common with Mythal, but be skilled enough in its use to evade Solas' senses...

He sets the thought away, for later.

A half-dozen mages have joined the fortified guard contingent at the gates, and they are the first people their party encounters between the castle and the gate; the rest of the town is in hiding, from the rain, or the hour, or the knowledge that there are interlopers of dubious quantity on their doorstep.

Without more than a second of consideration, Shisui determines who is in charge of the mages, and he jogs over to the short, straight-backed woman.

"Hey. We're going to take care of the mess outside. The Magister tried to pull a fast one, and we smacked him down; he's unconscious, and Seeker Cassandra is ready to Smite him if he so much as twitches, but he's very dangerous, and I'd feel better if there were a couple of mages to back her up."

The woman gives Shisui a nonplussed once-over, and then looks to Solas, and Varric, and back to Solas again. Soals inclines his head toward Shisui, ceding authority. The woman's eyebrow twitches up, but she nods.

"I have a pair who'll work with a Seeker," she says. "Tom! Lewis!" she barks in a drill sergeant's voice. There is a story there, Solas thinks, and wonders if he will find it when he dreams. If he ever gets to sleep again.

Two of the mages come to them, one average height, the other a little tall, both hooded against the rain.

"Yes First Enchanter?" one asks in a rather melodious tenor.

"Tom, this is the one the Grand Enchanter told us about," she says. "The Herald of Andraste." Solas suspects he is the only one who notices the way Shisui's nose wrinkles briefly at the title.

"Shisui Uchiha," Shisui offers, with no hesitation on the order; Solas wonders how long he practiced that, to be so easy with it. It is no easy thing to change your name, even in so minor a way as that.

"If you are willing, I would like the two of you to go assissist Seeker Cassandra in containing Magister Alexius. Not that she isn't a badass, but I'd prefer it if there were mages there as well."

"Of course you would," Tom says approvingly. "Well, you're lucky I was here though; I have less objection to Templars and Seekers than most of us. And Lewis here-" Lewis grunts in reply "-was actually supposed to be one until his magic came in, so he knows how they work."

"The passcode is 'Konoha'," Shisui says. "Give it to the guards at the castle, and tell them you're to report to Cassandra."

They both repeat the unfamiliar word, and head off into the night.

"Now," Shisui continues. "The three of us are going to head out and confront the Magister's retinue. Close the gate behind us, and be prepared to defend."

"Focus on barriers," Solas advises. "If this becomes a fight--"

"I understand," the First Enchanter says, nodding firmly.

And then Shisui is leading them out the gate, and down the road a short way, to where the Tevinters have set up their camp. Their numbers are not the same as they were before; there are two obvious mages fewer. Solas does not think that Shisui misses it.

"So," Shisui calls, well inside fireball range. He has one fist resting on his hip, a knife concealed there from the sight of the Tevinters. If he had wanted it hidden from Solas and Varric as well, Solas has no doubts that he could, would have done just that.

"Who's in charge here with Magister Alexius in there?" Shisui tips his head back toward Redcliffe. One of the obvious mages steps away from camp, barriers keeping the rain back, staff in hand, and held ready to cast; since Solas is holding his own the same way, he can't blame the man.

"That would be me," he says, with almost no accent in his voice. "Silus Novus, of Minrathous." He sketches a bow, of a calculated depth; shallow enough to be insolent, deep enough that most people wouldn't think to take offense. Shisui's posture shifts minutely and for a deeply unsettling moment, Solas is reminded of himself in his much, much younger days: a powerful, vibrant young man, aware that he is being insulted, and about to tear out all of their throats for it.

The aura of his power extends beyond his skin, once he stops holding it in, and Solas is reminded by its pressure how he had briefly mistaken Shisui for a powerful spirit of Fear. Silus Novus manages to stand his ground, but his fellows do not, shifting back and away, even as they had tried to array themselves behind their commander.

“In that case, Silus Novus, in the name of the Inquisition and the Arling of Redcliffe, I, Shisui Uchiha of the Uchiha Clan hereby request the immediate and unconditional surrender of you and all other Venatori agents.”

Silus Novus flinches, and so does everyone with him.

“The Magister is already in custody,” Shisui adds. “Seeker Cassandra is supervising, but he is unconscious.” The pressure of his aura, the weight of it, increases, and Solas is very, very certain that everyone facing them is about to die. It is a remarkable effect from one so young.

Solas can see the very moment that Silus Novus makes his decision—makes the wrong decision. He’s casting a new barrier even as the man shouts:

“Venatori attack! ”

There’s a flash of glowing red in Shisui’s face as he vanishes from sight, reappearing with his blade through Silus Novus’ very surprised throat.

“Wanna rethink following that order?” Varric asks casually, as if there is nothing out of the ordinary about what just happened. Shisui lets Silus Novus’ body fall. Two of the mages drop their staves and raise their hands, stepping back as they do. All of the men-at-arms do the same, warriors and rogues alike.

The remaining mages either think highly of themselves, or are true fanatics; the answer doesn’t matter, because they are shortly just as dead as their commander—one on Shisui’s knife, the other on a combination of Solas’ ice, and Bianca’s razor-edged quarrels.

“You, hiding in the carriage,” Shisui says. He is idly tossing the blade he used to kill two of the three mages present into the air. Catching it. Tossing it again. The blade catches the light of the Veilfire lamps the Tevinter retinue is using, flashing silver and bloody red. There is a thump and a scrambling sound, and an elven head pops out of the carriage, eyes wide and fearful.

“I-we—we’re just slaves, Master,” the man says, and Solas’ blood burns .

For a second, the sense of imminent death from Shisui is literally staggering.

“Not anymore,” Shisui says. “You’re free. All of you. Seriously, slaves? That’s barbaric.” The look he gives to the surrendered Tevinters is one of the most exquisitely disdainful that Solas has ever seen, and that includes Dirthamen at his condescending best; any doubt he might have had about Shisui’s station in his home is washed away by the incontrovertible look of arrogant superiority written on his face.

Solas feels his eyebrows want to rise; it takes effort to keep his face controlled. What kind of society raises child soldiers like Shisui, but disapproves of slavery? Or, perhaps it is not his society as a whole; perhaps it is his clan that disapproves, or even just Shisui himself. It is, he thinks, a sign of the boy’s good character regardless.

“Varric, would you go fetch our prisoners an escort?” Shisui asks.

“I’m on it,” Varric replies. He doesn’t put Bianca up, but he does head back for the gate, waving to catch their attention. Before he’s out of range, Solas casts a fresh barrier on him--just in time to catch a bolt of chain lightning. Varric curses and rolls, vanishing into the dark of the night, but Solas takes the bolt, cursing, and Shisui--

Shisui is gone before it hits, fast as thought, and there's a strangled cry, another burst of lightning, and then silence, as a head comes flying, blood arcing behind it. The head lands on the road beside Solas' foot, and begins to roll. He puts a stop to that with his foot, reflexively.

"New plan," Shisui says. Solas can see the tadpoles swimming in the red pools of his eyes. They're moving rapidly, scanning for something Solas cannot see, and then he vanishes again. There's another cry in the dark, and another and then:

"I surrender! Please--"

When Shisui reappears, he's frogmarching a young mage with one hand, and holding the woman's staff--an elegant piece, with a sunburst at the end, and gleaming wetly in the rain. He gives her a shove toward the other prisoners, and tosses the staff to Solas.

Solas catches the staff, and gives it a spin, letting his own hover beside him in a rare display of power.

"A mid-grade fire staff. A decent weapon, if you would like to begin learning to use one." He tosses it back to Shisui who gives it a spin identical to the one Solas just did—and then another with considerably more unnecessary flourish, before resting the end on the ground and leaning on it like a walking stick. The staff’s former owner winces. Shisui merely grins cheerfully at her.

“If you like any of the others, help yourself,” he says to Solas. “Spoils of war. Hey! Free people!” he shouts in the next breath. “Do you have any rope?”

“Yes!” the spokeself from before calls back. “We do. Do you—do you want to bind them?” he asks.

“Yeah. It seems like a good idea.”

The spokeself’s head vanishes, and a couple of minutes—and some audible rummaging—later, he and three others come out of the carriage, coils of rope slung over their shoulders. Three are elves, one is human, and Shisui casts a barrier against the rain over all four of them the second they step out. Solas finds himself smiling faintly.

“Trade you,” Shisui says, offering the staff to the spokeself in exchange for the coil of rope. Startled, but too accustomed to obedience to consider refusing, the man gives Shisui the rope, and takes the staff. “All right—I’m going to demonstrate proper restraint procedure.” As he speaks, he measures off the rope, preparing it just so ; much more slowly than he had with Alexius. “Anyone who can use magic, if you want to keep them restrained, you have to be more careful; that goes for assholes like this, dumb kids doing dumb kid stuff, and drunks who think it’s funny to use their powers to flip ladies’ skirts alike. Now—“

Solas keeps watch while Shisui teaches the newly freed people how to bind prisoners in his manner—arms and hands immobilised, with no leverage to speak of. He wonders how often the boy has had to do this, to do it so skillfully, so quickly and easily.

The free people (as Shisui rightly called them) take to the lesson like ducks to water, binding the rest of the prisoners under Shisui’s supervision. If they are perhaps harsh and uncareful about it, Shisui says nothing, and neither does Solas. (He finds he rather enjoys the sight of slavers getting their comeuppance, even after all these years.)

Shisui is demonstrating how to control prisoners with a one-handed grip on the ropes, when Varric returns, two mages (one elf, one human) and four men-at-arms (three warriors, one obvious rogue; all human) in tow.

All six of them stop short, and Solas can hear the mages hissing in air through their teeth. ...Ah yes. Shisui’s eyes.

“Shit Fluffy, is that all of the—uh. Your eyes?” Varric says, glancing pointedly toward the mages and men-at-arms.

“Oh for—“ Shisui drags a hand down his face. “It’s magic that lets me see in the dark,” he says. “I’m not possessed.”

With his words, Solas feels a brush of his magic, faint and subtle: Believe me. This is the whole truth, the magic says. No need to pry deeper, look further. It is not strong enough to affect him unless he allows it, and he does not; moreover, he already suspects that there is more to those eyes than seeing in the dark, though he has no doubt that they do help with that.

It is strong enough to work on the mages, on the men-at-arms; the free people. Varric seems to accept his words, though Solas has his doubts of the efficacy of Shisui’s spell on such a strong-willed soul. The prisoners, on the other hand, are divided: the non-mages are as affected as the men-at-arms. The Venatori mages on the other hand, are not affected, even a little so far as Solas can see. Given the prevalence of blood magic in Tevinter, he is not entirely surprised; despite the fact that Shisui does not appear to be using blood magic, whatever it is he is doing—his genjutsu —is similar enough that the defences they all no doubt have in place against such things are capable of making a difference.

There's some shuffling as the prisoners are rearranged, leaving them in the grips of the men-at-arms, for the most part, with the mages standing guard, and Shisui at the back, his eyes on the prisoners. His eyes are on them, unblinking, and Solas thinks some part of him almost pities them; only almost, and only a very small part, but he knows what it is to be the focus of Shisui's unblinking regard, and it is a very physical feeling that he would not repeat if he can help.

Varric leads the way, and Solas falls in with Shisui, and the free people, speaking softly with them, and helping them, gently nudging them toward independent decisions, if he can. And keeping up the barriers on the entire group, barring the prisoners. It surprises the guards, but they don't react too poorly; they must be accustomed to seeing mages keep themselves dry by now. He wonders if they ever considered that it might be a thing they could experience for themselves.

The boy is flagging though, by the time they reach the castle again. He hides it well, but Solas doesn't miss it. Fortunately, Shisui is content with leaving the prisoners in the hands of the guards and mages--particularly since the Seeker has moved to the dungeons with the Magister--and willing to follow the valet who appeared to lead them, on behalf of the Arl, to a new set of chambers, 'better suited to the young lord's rank and position.' Solas amuses himself for a few minutes imagining just what conclusions the Arl has come to.

Once in their new suite, Shisui directs them all into the same room, for security. He then strips almost automatically, stashing weapons about his bed, washes his face and hands in the provided bowl, and says,

"Solas, get some sleep. Varric, you have the watch. Set whatever seems good, don't do anything I wouldn't do."

And then he collapses into bed, and falls asleep in seconds, the red light in his eyes fading as he does.

"All right Chuckles," Varric says, when the boy's breathing has become deep and even. "What in the Void happened? "

"The Magister's spell sent us through time," Solas admits after a moment of consideration. "And we saw a world on the brink of destruction, brought to ruin by the actions of the Magister and his master." And Solas' own, though he does not mention that part. "We had to fight to return. More than that can wait; Shisui was not wrong to admonish me to sleep. I am almost as worn as he."

It is not even a lie; Solas is down to the very dregs of his mana. He could, he thinks, manage a fade-step, if he had to. He could cast a single offensive or defensive spell. But no more than that.

" Time travel--no, you know what? You're right. This can wait 'til morning. Go to bed Chuckles, I'll set some traps so Fluffy can sleep soundly," Varric says, waving Solas toward one of the other rooms.

He goes, and before long, has fallen into the comfort of the Fade.

Although he desperately wants to, Solas resists the urge to immediately seek out Shisui's dreams; interrupting his sleep right now would be bad for his recovery from magical exhaustion. There are other things he needs to do, while he can; checking in with his agents in the area, for one. Speaking with the local spirits. Resting, himself.

He does not want to rest; a mixture of curiosity and concern has him seeking out Shisui sooner rather than later, coming to that now-familiar 'door', and waiting outside it. The door is shut, and there is no glimmer of light beneath; the boy must be truly very deeply asleep, if his thoughts do not touch the Fade at all. He resists the temptation to knock anyway; he knows it would draw Shisui's attention, and deprive him of much-needed rest.

Instead, he contents himself with exploring the history of Redcliffe in the Fade. There are particularly strong impressions of a very recent time, one that he pins, after one recreated battle, to the time of the last Blight.

Much to his surprise, he gets to watch a younger, more naive Sister Nightingale stalking through the halls of the castle in the wake of an elven mage dressed as a Warden, along with several colourful others.

Fascinating.

He keeps himself at a remove, so that he can watch without interfering, and it does not take him long to learn that the elven mage is indeed a Warden, the one that they often call The Warden, the so-called Hero of Fereldan, credited with ending the Fifth Blight in record time. He had not realised that she was a mage. Or an elf. Or indeed a woman; for someone spoken of with such reverence in Fereldan, the people there are surprisingly vague about the specifics.

There is another Warden with them, a human male, whom Leliana's shade calls 'Alistair'; this, then, is the current King of Fereldan.

Utterly fascinating . Already he has learned so much that he did not already know, and--

" Pride ," a low voice drawls behind him. "Can you move , you're ruining the view ."

Solas turns his head, and is unsurprised to see the Sloth demon slouched and sprawled over a soft, mossy-looking piece of Fade adjacent to this patch of the castle. A surge of annoyance pricks at him, as the scene he had been watching dissolves. The demon heaves a great, heavy sigh, and gives Solas a Look . As if it has the right.

" Now look what you've done," it complains.

"Me? I rather think that you are the one who spoke, and distracted the players," Solas counters, tipping his chin up very slightly. Sloth grumbles, and settles deeper into its slouch.

" I'm the one who lives here," it whines. "This is my show. And now it won't come back for days. "

"I am sure you will have no trouble waiting," Solas replies, before moving away, shaking his head. Sloth is largely harmless, especially like this, settled firmly in one place, watching the same 'show' over and over again. He wonders a bit what fascinates it so about this particular piece of history. He will have to return some time to view it in whole, he thinks, instead of coming in part of the way through, and having it interrupted before the end.

"Always the same, Pride," Sloth is grumbling to itself as he leaves. "Think they're better than the rest of us..."

Largely harmless, and none too bright, either, if it cannot sense the difference between himself and an ordinary Pride demon.

He spends the rest of the night exploring the Fade in and around Redcliffe. Perhaps responding to his own thoughts, most of what he sees is from the brief period of time around the Fifth Blight, though he does not see the shade of the Nightingale again. Nor does he see the Warden, or any other of her companions. He is fine with that. There is still plenty to occupy his thoughts until waking.

Which is natural, and later than he had anticipated. When he leaves his room for the sitting room that their suite centers on, he finds Varric there, drinking tea and writing in rapid longhand.

"Morning Chuckles," he says without looking up. "The kid's still out; I've been checking on him every hour. It's not my first experience with magic exhaustion," the dwarf adds. "I think he's doing all right, but I'm not an expert."

"I will check on him," Solas says, already heading that way.

"Mind the traps," Varric adds.

As they are much the same as those that Varric set at the inn the other day, he has no trouble doing so.

True to Varric's word, Shisui is still in exactly the same position he had been in when Solas last saw him, the blankets covering him rising and falling slowly with his breath. He checks the boy's aura, but is cautious about probing deeper, however he might like to, and instead directs his attention to the Anchor in his hand. It is, thankfully, as it should be, suppressed and contained by his own efforts and Shisui's alike. (It is curious, he thinks, that the boy should have any notion at all of how to contain a possibly-hostile, definitely-foreign magic that has attached itself to him.)

Once certain of Shisui's continued health and relative well-being, Solas slips from the room as quietly as he entered, and helps himself to one of the sausage-and-cheese rolls remaining on the tray near Varric.

"He is well," he says. "I would estimate that he should wake again in perhaps another hour or two, though it may take him longer to recover fully."

Varric hums thoughtfully, and finishes writing his paragraph, before setting his quill and notebook down. He pours himself another cup of tea.

"How long will that take?" he asks.

"That depends on whether or not we can acquire some mana potions," Solas admits. "Perhaps some of the mages here have some, or perhaps some might be found in the Magister's effects..."

"I'd bet on the latter myself," Varric says. "The Magisterium has good relations and open trade still with Orzammar, that isn't impeded by all the nastiness going on around here."

"A good point," Solas agrees. "I will see what I can find, then."

"I'm going to take a short nap, and then I'm going to do some asking around myself," Varric says. "We also have an invitation to dinner with the Arl," he adds. "I'm pretty sure Fluffy has a change of clothes in that scroll of his, but I doubt the two of us would pass muster."

Solas cannot help the face he makes.

"I will see what I can find."

Perhaps he can contrive some way to avoid this dinner, he thinks, as he leaves their suite to find the Magister's things. Fortunately, it is only a matter of asking, and one of the passing servants (human, male) is happy to direct him to where the carriage, its contents, and the contents of the saddlebags are being kept under guard.

"The Arl said nobody was to go diggin' without a mage or the Seeker,'' one of the guards explains. "Since it's 'Vint stuff, it's probably full of blood magic an' shit. Figure you lot can poke at it first, and if anything's left after, maybe the rest of us get a shot, yeah? I mean, 's what I heard; the Herald said it's spoils, right?"

"He did indeed say that," Solas agrees. He paces a circle around the 'spoils', setting the mental space of a barrier to, indeed, contain any malign magics that might escape from the contents. The guards take a step back, and do not hesitate to go further when Solas gestures for them to do so. For once, the general fear and distrust of magic is working in his favour.

He erects the barrier, and allows himself to smile faintly at the gasps and cursing.

"You needn't worry," he calls back to the guards. "The barrier itself is perfectly safe to touch; you could even pass through it with some effort. It will merely contain any unpleasant magics that might be hiding in the Magister's former belongings."

"Right, well. We'll just stay back here, and keep anyone from, er, disturbing you," one of the guards says. Solas smiles to himself, and starts methodically going through things.

The Magister's supply of potions is easily tracked down, and Solas shamelessly appropriates the entire lot, not just the lyrium. The nice thing about being part of the Inquisition is that he knows that few will question him on the matter. Clothes, he leaves alone; he doubts anybody here has any more interest in Tevinter garb than he, and others will know better what they may be repurposed for. Perhaps teething toys for mabari puppies.

Coin and jewellery he divides in three: some (most, admittedly) for the freed slaves, some for the Inquisition, and some to distract the guards and the rest of those involved. Books and papers he takes for himself and likely Sister Nightingale at a later date. He wants to compare them with what Shisui gathered up in that bleak future, and he suspects that she will as well.

(He hopes there is nothing in that future material that might reveal him, in some way. It is not time.)

There are a handful of runes, and he takes all of those.

"Have the staves been taken to the armoury?" he asks, when he finishes finally with his self-assigned task.

"Aye," a guard, different than the one before, replies.

"May I trouble one of you for an escort?" Solas asks, dismissing the barrier with a wave.

"Aye," the same guard replies, and gestures for Solas to follow. He does.

The man is not one for small talk, and Solas does not engage him, except for the occasional nod, or word of thanks when he is directed to avoid a tricky step, or a damaged flagstone. When they arrive, Solas is mildly surprised to find that in addition to the mundane human guards, a pair of mages have been detailed to help keep watch over the staves.

Why those, and not the collection of the Tevinters' belongings? It is baffling, but it is, he supposes, better than leaving everything unguarded.

(He does not consider the men-at-arms to be proper guards for such things, and would not have even in the distant past; a mage is needed to put a stop to runaway magic. Although he supposes in these times, a Templar might do.)

"Master Solas, right?" asks one of the mages, a young man that Solas recognises from the night before, Leo, if he recalls. He does not look much like a lion, but he wouldn't be the first person incongruously named.

"Hello, Leo," Solas replies, inclining his head slightly. "It is good to see you again."

"How is the Herald?" Leo asks. His worry is evident on his face, in his voice, in the way he doesn't quite wring his hands.

"Recovering," Solas replies. "He should be awake by the time I return to our chambers, or shortly afterwards."

"Oh, good. That's a relief. Here, this is Valerie Martinique-" Leo gestures to the other mage with him, a woman maybe ten years his senior, if Solas' judgement of human age is accurate "-Valerie, this is Master Solas, one of the Herald's companions."

"You helped with that mess last night," the woman says. "More than a lot of apostates would--of course, we're all apostates now," she adds with a grimly satisfied smile. Curious. Solas resists the urge to inquire further, and simply inclines his head.

"I have come to inspect the staves on behalf of the Herald," Solas says. The title sits oddly on his tongue, and oddly on Shisui's shoulders; it does not, he thinks, fit. But it is what all of these people have taken to calling him, and the title garners respect and awe, where the boy on his own likely would not. Too young, too foreign, too powerful; the title will protect him--and the anchor--until it is no longer needed.

"I figured," Leo replies. "There's nothing really special about most of them, but the Magister's is a doozy. " He grins, and gestures Solas to follow.

The staves are sorted by grade and type, with two kept to the side: the Magister's, and his son's. The son's is a quality piece, suitable for most work; spirit type, with a master demon-slaying rune, if he is not mistaken. It gleams with silverite, and what looks like a direct infusion of lyrium into the metal; excellent for combating a number of foes indeed. A substantial enchantment for reducing the drain on the caster's mana, and a boost to the same, along with those to enhance the will, and endurance of the wielder.

He gestures for Leo to step back, so that he can give it a swing, and it moves light, and easily in his hand, as if it has been deliberately crafted for ease-of-use. The sort of thing a Magister might commission for a son weakened by illness, wanting to keep the jackals at bay. A fine piece, and one he would not himself scorn. He sets it down, takes up the Magister's staff. There is a glint of mischief in Leo's eye as he does.

With good reason, as it turns out; Alexius' staff is indeed a 'doozy'. Enhancements to magical aptitude, willpower, raw spellpower, the very Fade; a mana shunt like his son's, to reduce the draw on the mage's own mana when casting. An enhancement to magical resistance--a substantial one--the list goes on. It is as if some wit decided to cram every enchantment they could think of onto one poor stick, although the 'stick' itself is hardly 'poor', being an elegant graft of ironwood and silverite that. Well. Would not have been out of place in Arlathan.

It would not surprise Solas in the least to find that the core of the staff, with its nature-based power, does indeed date back that far. It would be like a Magister to flaunt such a thing.

He has to suppress the surge of anger such a thought brings him; it is not for now, not for today. Today, the thief has been brought low, his thralls freed and his goods confiscated. All things considered, it is a good day.

He puts the staff down, and arches an eyebrow at Leo's grinning face, at Valerie's quiet amusement.

"A doozy, right?" Leo asks.

"A doozy indeed," Solas finds himself agreeing.

"I admit I'm surprised you could handle it," Valerie says. "Most of us can't. The Grand Enchanter, and one or two of the Firsts, but it's beyond what most mages will ever be able to use effectively."

"It is an ancient Elvhen design, underneath all the frippery," Solas says. "Perhaps it is simply easier for us to use. In any event, I believe that the Herald and I will be taking these two, and perhaps one other of his choice when he wakes."

"And the rest?" Leo asks.

"The Herald referred to them as 'spoils'."

At that, Valerie smiles; there is something hard in her eyes, and there is definitely a story there. Solas wonders if he might find it in the Fade, or if Varric might tease it out of her, or someone else; he much prefers to leave the acquisition of waking world information to others.

"Should we have them delivered, or will you take them now?" Leo asks.

"I will take them from you now," Solas replies. "Is there an inventory?"

"Yes, a moment--HANS!" Valerie calls. "The inventory if you please!"

"Right away, Enchanter Valerie," an inflectionless voice says. Solas tries to hide his instinctive reaction to one of the Tranquil, those poor, pitiful souls, but does not do as good a job as he would wish, because Leo frowns, and elbows him.

"Don't," he says quietly. "Hans didn't choose to be this way. You can't judge him for it."

"I do not," Solas replies quietly. "I judge those who did it to him."

"And that's why we're all here," Valerie says, quiet satisfaction in her voice.

Hans appears from a small office tucked into the side of the armoury, carrying a writing board with the inventory sheet and an inkpot attached to it, the quill in his other hand. He is a man of average height, with fine, straight pale-blonde hair, and dark eyes that were probably once described as 'soulful'. What would once have been a reasonably handsome face is marred by the Tranquil brand on his forehead, and asymmetrical scars on his face, carved there deliberately. The man offers Valerie his writing board and quill, and she takes it.

"Thank you Hans," she says, handing the board and quill to Solas after a moment to make a notation. "Sign where noted. Then I sign, then Hans signs." Solas nods, and does his part, before handing the board and quill back to Valerie, who signs, and then to Hans, who also signs, gives them all a perfunctory nod, and returns to his office.

"He was in Kirkwall," Valerie says quietly. "He's why we all decided to rebel."

"Him and all the others like him," Leo agrees.

"I understand," Solas says, before excusing himself, and heading back for the Inquisition's quarters.

He does understand, better than they can imagine; the state of the People--and all other people--in this age is bad enough, cut off from half the world as they are, but the Tranquil are a true abomination. He pities them. He despises what has been done to them, and more that it cannot be un done, that he has heard.

Once the Veil is gone, he reminds himself. Once his mistake is corrected, nothing like that will happen again. It will not be possible. (It will kill them all, he thinks, them and many more, but how can he leave the world like this? Half alive, half asleep, limping along as a shadow of itself?)

(For a moment in his sight, the walls are cracked and mazed with red lyrium, the air is dark and heavy, and bodies lie about. Is it a mistake? Is it all a mistake?

He cannot afford these thoughts, but after experiencing the future, they haunt him regardless.)

He knows his way now well enough to find the route back to the rooms on his own, with no guide to help him. He finds he prefers it this way; his thoughts are dark, and he needs the chance to let them pass, to put them aside, so that Shisui's oh-so-sharp gaze does not pick them from his face. It has been a very long time since he has had to be so careful with his thoughts and emotions; his usual masks are more than enough for everyone else.

They are not enough for Shisui. They should be, for anyone that young; he cannot recall ever meeting anyone so simply perceptive , even back in the days of Arlathan. Not even Dirthamen or Falon'Din had seen through him, and yet it took Shisui all of moments. He must be careful, very careful, to never let a hint of his identity and goals slip into his thoughts when he is around the boy.

In the name of maintaining that self-control, Solas takes the long way around, though he takes it at a good clip, back straight, head high, gaze distant and purposeful; those few who consider stopping him think twice, and allow him to pass unaccosted.

Varric is writing still when he returns, letters now rather than in his notebook, and Shisui is curled up in one corner of the couch, wrapped around an entire pot of tea. He looks up, blinking blearily at Solas, dark circles still evident under his eyes.

"Chakra exhaustion bites ," he says by way of greeting.

"Assuming that is the same as mana exhaustion, I have something that may help," Solas says, and offers the boy the strongest lyrium potion he has retrieved.

"You're my favourite now," Shisui declares, taking the vial, examining it, and then downing the contents. He shivers, and abruptly sits up, eyes wide. " Wow. That is super effective. "

"It will help you get through the day, but only sleep can cure the damage done in the long term," Solas warns.

"Yeah, I know, this isn't my first time," Shisui says, waving a hand dismissively. "It should cut recovery time down, though."

Solas finds himself exchanging a long look with Varric.

"It should," Solas confirms cautiously. "But I suspect that Master Tethras and I would both like to know how it is that you are familiar enough with the effects of mana exhaustion to be able to determine that."

"This is my fourth time," Shisui replies, raising a hand with four fingers extended, the thumb folded into his palm. "I was six the first time," he continues, to Solas' growing horror. "But that's pretty normal." Yes, he finds himself still rather horrified. "The next time I was ten, and then when I was eleven. This is the first time since then, though. I've been careful."

"Fluffy," Varric starts. " Kid. " The author with his witty turns of phrase is at a loss for words, and so is Solas. Shisui, unperturbed, pours himself another cup of tea. He sips it, and looks at them both, his dark eyes difficult to read; he is thinking, Solas can tell that much. Considering his words, perhaps. He looks older, in those moments, especially his eyes, with their dark circles, and the deep lines descending from the inner corners.

"Okay, fine, six is a bit young," Shisui finally allows. "Eight-to-ten is a bit more normal. But that's just my clan. We're built differently."

“I don’t care if you were each personally constructed by the Maker from stardust and dragon farts, any of that is too damned young,” Varric says.

“I would not have put it that way, but...” Solas trails off as there is a knock at the door. A moment later, two of the freed people from the night before come in, one carrying a tray of food, the other a large tub.

“Guys, I already told you, you don’t have to,” Shisui says, rising from the couch. The man with the tray clicks his tongue dismissively.

“This is what we know how to do,” he says, his Tevene accent thick in his voice. “We do not mind doing it for you, who freed us, and will pay us, and treat us like people.” And then he goes with his companion to set the tub up in the bedroom. There is a lightness in his step that Solas recognises, that he remembers.

Ar lasa mala revas.

“Looks like you have the start of a fanclub, Fluffy,” Varric teases.

“I just did what any decent person would do,” Shisui protests, flushing a little. "Slavery is wrong ." He says it with such conviction that Solas is positive that he has seen it before.

"Yeah kid, it is," Varric agrees. "I don't think you'll find many people in Fereldan who disagree with you."

"But there are some ," Shisui guesses, voice going briefly dark.

"There are always some," the free man says, as he comes back into the room. "It is our great fortune that you are the other kind of lord."

Shisui opens his mouth, some refutation on the tip of his tongue, but Varric interjects:

"Yeah, yeah, you're not the lord--that's your dad, or your uncle or something, right?"

"Cousin. Figuring out the exact degree is a matter for professionals," Shisui says, shrugging. "But on Ma's side, my grandpa was his dad's first cousin, and we share a few more greats- and great-greats. That's why we have professionals," he adds.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Varric replies.

"Nor was I; as I understand it, such situations are not at all uncommon among the nobility," Solas adds.

"Marriages are almost always arranged among the Masters in Tevinter," the man, whose name Solas still has not been told, says.

"It shows," Shisui replies. And then he sees something in Solas' face, perhaps, or his own typical thoughtfulness catches up with him, and he adds, "Ah, right, Solas, this is Marius. Marius, this is Solas. He's pretty okay."

...at least it is a compliment. And an introduction.

"An honour to meet you Master Solas," Marius says, inclining his head.

"Just Solas," Solas replies. "No titles needed, here."

"See, that's what I said," Shisui puts in. And then the door opens, admitting a tired-looking Seeker Cassandra, with a pair of guards, and a single mage trailing her like ducklings. Or perhaps in the case of the mage, a mother hen; her face is lined, and her hair a solid iron grey, and there is worry in her eyes.

"He has not stirred," she reports. "And we are agreed that he will not."

"Adrien is skilled in Entropy magic," the mage speaks up. "Though not as skilled, it would seem, as the Herald." She looks at Shisui then, blatantly curious. "I am Suana, formerly of the Ostwick Circle. I held the rank of Enchanter."

"Shisui Uchiha," Shisui replies. His delivery is getting smoother. "One of these days, someone needs to explain what these ranks mean," he adds in an undertone.

"I am certain one of us would be glad to take the time to go over relevant ranks with you, Lord Uchiha," Suana replies. Shisui's face scrunches up, wrinkling his nose at the title.

"'Lord Uchiha' is my uncle," he replies. "I'm just Shisui." He hesitates, rolls his eyes a little, and adds, "If you have to 'Lord Shisui' is fine, I guess. 'Lord Uchiha' sounds way too obsequious."

"So you aren't barred from succession for being a mage?" Suana asks, something sharp in her eyes.

"Of course not," Shisui replies. "Since my entire clan are what you call 'mages' it'd be pretty stupid."

"Are you--no, you are clearly not Tevinter," Suana says, frowning slightly.

"Like I told Arl Teagan, I'm very foreign," Shisui replies with a cheeky grin. "And now, I'm going to have to ask you to step outside, along with everyone else who isn't Inquisition, so we can take our baths." He rises smoothly to his feet, and makes a little shooing motion. "Go check in with Fiona, I know she'll be glad to hear that the Magister is definitely down and out."

"I... yes," Suana agrees easily. "You are correct. I would like to continue speaking later, if you do not mind, Lord Shisui."

"Sure," the boy replies cheerfully. "Bring that briefing on ranks inside the Circle, would you?"

"Certainly," she says, and departs, taking the men-at-arms with her.

The door shuts, and Shisui drops himself back onto the couch.

"Didn't I say everyone not Inquisition has to leave?" he asks, raising a hand and pointing toward Marius without looking.

"We're joining," he says. His companion nods wordlessly as he emerges from the bedroom. "We all talked about it, and we decided to join."

"In that case, pull up a chair or something, and grab a snack," Shisui says. "I'll go fill the tub. Cassandra, you can have the first bath; you've been babysitting that ox's ass Alexius all night, you deserve it."

"Oh," she says, clearly surprised. "That is not necessary, but... thank you."

Shisui rises again by virtue of half-vaulting over the back of the couch, and gestures for Cassandra to follow. No doubt, he intends to use magic to fill the tub; he does for so much else, so casually.

"Fluffy's serious," Varric says to Marius and his companion. "Come grab something to eat. He'll probably be sad if you don't."

Solas himself lays the staves he has been carrying down on the long sideboard, and takes up a sausage roll, snacking idly as he prepares for a more thorough investigation of the capabilities of the staves. Marius introduces his companion to Varric as Galen, who does not speak. (Solas wonders if it is 'does not' or 'cannot', but he does not ask.)

Varric engages them in light chit-chat that will, before long, drag out their entire life story, if given the chance. Galen, as promised, does not speak, and Marius speaks all too much, when given permission, bluntly laying out every horror that Varric asks him about. It is enraging , and Solas can do nothing but push it down, block it off, and save it for another day.

This man is free. This man is free , he reminds himself, as surely as if Solas had peeled vallaslin from his face. Free, and hovering protectively about his liberator; Solas has seen it before. Has lost people who had come to be valued friends and companions to it. He sees a flicker of movement, and looks up to meet Shisui's dark eyes. The boy's gaze flicks to where Varric is speaking with Marius and Galen, and then back to Solas, and for a second, he drops his defences enough for Solas to see the anger there. And then it is gone, hidden once more behind Shisui's perpetual cheer.

It is nice to know that he is not the only one outraged.

Solas gestures for Shisui to join him, and the boy does, leaving Varric to coax their new recruits into something like ease.

"Here," Solas says, offering Shisui the lesser of the two staves to begin with. "Hold this, and do nothing more, and tell me what you can discern about it."

What is interesting is that, before taking the staff, Shisui's eyes turn red, and the tadpoles swim... the thought is distracting enough that Shisui notices, and cocks his head like a curious crow--although the gesture seems less threatening than it once did. Perhaps it is the setting.

"What are they called?" Solas asks quietly. "Those marks you have, that spin about your pupils, like tadpoles?"

The boy blinks, and laughs a little, the corners of his eyes crinkling merrily.

"Tadpoles! Ha! They do look like that, don't they? They're called tomoe ," he explains.

" Tomoe ," Solas repeats, curiously, tasting the word. "May I ask what the word means?" Shisui just shrugs.

"It means 'tomoe'? It's the name of the shape," he explains, sketching it out in the air. "Like 'triangle' or 'square' or 'rhombus'. Your language doesn't have a word for it, or you wouldn't have called them tadpoles." He grins again, his red eyes sparkling with his usual bright mischief; it's oddly reassuring. "You can feel free to borrow the word, if you like."

"I may do that," Solas agrees, smiling as well in spite of himself. Shisui's grin invites a return of the same, almost irresistibly; it has nothing to do with his power, and everything to do with his personality. "Now, what can you sense from the staff?"

Shisui straightens his posture, and returns his attention to the smooth metal in his hands.

"It's lighter than it looks," he says, voice gone distant and analytical. "I think it's hollow-" one of his knives is in his hand, and he taps the metal; it does indeed give a hollow ring, with a pleasant sound, like a large chime, slightly muffled "-definitely hollow." The knife vanishes, and Shisui gives the staff an experimental swing, moving easily despite the relatively tight space of the room. If Solas did not know better, he would guess that the boy had been training to use a mage's staff since he was small; it could, perhaps, be a matter of quarterstaff training and a strong kinesthetic intelligence.

"And?" Solas prompts.

"Lyrium," Shisui says confidently. "And a rune. I can see something else... other than that, I don't know enough about the... enchantments?" he asks. Solas nods. "Enchantments, seals, whatever goes into making these. I can tell it's not meant for melee use though," he adds, lips quirking in a sideways grin this time. He offers the staff back, and Solas takes it.

"Before you ask," the boy continues. "I'm not touching the other one until I learn more about these things. I can see from here that it looks like someone set off an entire shop of fancy fireworks and crammed it into something roughly the size and shape of a staff." He tips his head slightly, again like a crow. "Actually it looks like someone grafted two fireworks shops together."

"That is an apt description," Solas agrees. Very apt--and very visual. Something about his strange eyes, no doubt, impacting the way he perceives magic... and likely other things as well. Solas cannot help but wonder just how far, how deeply those strange eyes see.

He is, abruptly, the focus of those eyes again. Shisui says nothing, but Solas feels oddly as if his mind has been scraped , though he does not think that Shisui has done anything. Perhaps it is just memory.

The bedroom door opens, and Cassandra comes out, wearing clean clothes, and no armour, her hair still damp. Shisui's eyes go dark.

"My turn," he says, and bounces off, slipping around the Seeker, and into the bedroom. The door shuts, and a few moments later, steam starts seeping under the door. Solas joins the rest of the party in staring. Abruptly, Varric laughs.

"There was much less steam with mine," the Seeker comments.

"Fluffy must like it hot," Varric says. The Seeker gives him a dirty look, a scoff, and stalks across the room to Solas, giving Marius and Galen a nod along the way.

"I do not think Master Tethras was intending anything salacious," Solas says to her.

"Intended or not, he should have more care with his words. He of all people should be aware of what power they can have," she replies.

"I do not believe there is anyone in this room who wishes that boy ill," Solas says.

"That will not always be the case." She frowns, clearly troubled by the thought. Solas is not surprised; Shisui makes himself easy to worry over. Not that he is reckless, or careless, no; rather that he is a fundamentally joyful child, and whatever his life has been that has given him the experience that he clearly has, it has somehow not managed to snuff that out. And so, Solas finds himself worrying; he finds Cassandra worrying. He finds Varric worrying, and he suspects he will find others worrying as well.

Solas knows that doing what he must to restore the world will hurt that joy, and he already feels the guilt of it; however fleeting his life, what Shisui is, and feels, seems very, very real. Solid in a way that he cannot bear thinking of, and yet.

There is something different about Uchiha Shisui.

He is more than he appears: of that, Solas is certain.

When he comes out of the bedroom, he has clean clothes, dry hair, and a familiar crow on his shoulder.

"Your turn, Solas. I left clean water, but you can manage your own temperature," he says. Solas nods, and heads for the bedroom. The tub is indeed full of clean, room-temperature water; Solas sees no need to waste the mana to raise the temperature for himself, and so he wastes no time scrubbing down, and then, as Shisui no doubt did, he uses magic to clean and heat the tub to a normal bathing temperature, before availing himself of the clean clothes laid out with his name left on a note atop them.

He finds himself rather unsurprised by the boy's thoughtfulness; it is typical of him, really. There is also a set laid out for Varric, and he presumes that is where Cassandra's came from as well. All courtesy, no doubt, of Shisui's storage scroll. The magic is similar in nature to that which powers the 'tags' Shisui has taught him to use, though vastly more complex. The exploding tags needed only to store a certain quantity of potential energy, and the smoke tags needed only to keep a compressed volume of smoke--very low mass, unlike the storage scroll which while it must surely have limits, has so far been capable of carrying everything Shisui has put inside it.

Solas would be a liar if he denied wanting one of his own.

He would be an even greater liar if he denied wanting the means of creating one, so that he could provide them to all of his people. The logistics advantage alone makes his head spin , and he has no doubt whatsoever that everyone who has seen it so far is just as aware of the potential. That Shisui takes it for granted tells Solas more about his people than perhaps anything else he has said or done so far.

He leaves the room, and Shisui says,

"Varric, you're next."

"I left clean, hot water," Solas says. "Please check the temperature; I can heat or cool it if you require."

"Thanks Chuckles," the dwarf replies, rising from his chair, and heading back for his turn. "I have to say, I'm looking forward to this." He closes the door behind him, and it does not open again, so Solas assumes that the temperature is acceptable.

The two new recruits have departed during Solas' bath, leaving the four of them alone in the suite. Cassandra is reading a message that is curled at the ends, no doubt from being rolled up in the message tube carried by Shisui's crow--who is currently being preened and fussed over by the boy, the harness with the message tube set to one side.

"Solas, c'mere," Shisui says. His speech is oddly less formal than it is even normally, focused as he is on the care of his avian friend. Solas joins him, sitting nearby at the table.

"This is Kuroba," he says, introducing the crow. "Kuroba, kono hitot'te Solas to-yuu ," he continues, gesturing toward Solas. "He doesn't speak this language, yet," he adds.

" Yorosh'kuh ," the bird says, eyeing Solas.

"I am pleased to meet you as well, Kuroba," Solas replies, inclining his head slightly. He is guessing at the meaning, but it... feels right. Shisui grins at him.

"Leliana also sent a couple of goodies," he says, and offers Solas a small vial of lyrium potion. "The templar and mage with the bandits had a stash. Kuroba could only carry two, but I guess neither of them were expecting someone to come all the way from Tevinter with a bunch of nice things for us."

Solas arches an eyebrow at that, and then looks to the pile of books and papers on the table beside him. There is a certain amount of ash and blood on them, old and dried, that suggests their origin in the ill-begotten future the two of them had been sent to.

"Yeah, I've been reading," Shisui confirms. "Trying to sort things out to send back to Leliana for immediate action. Cassandra and Varric have been helping. It's slow going since I grabbed... everything that wasn't nailed down, really," he adds sheepishly. And he hands Solas a stack of papers.

"Just scan and sort," he says. "'Now' and 'Later', and 'Obvious Junk But We're Keeping It Anyway Just In Case.' Once you're done, I narrow it down again, and then Cassandra has a look. Most of it is junk, but there are a few things I'm going to condense down and send back to Leliana as soon as possible." He meets Solas' eyes, and Solas understands: things like demon armies and assassinated Empresses should not wait until they return to Haven, or even until they find the Inquisition forward camp.

"Understood," Solas replies, and starts sorting through things with those three categories in mind. Part of him wishes that he could sweep some of this away, but he keeps that part under control, and merely shuffles anything that indicates some action of his people into the 'Later' pile, in the hopes that he will be able to contain it later. Shisui is far too sharp-eyed to try and fool with sleight-of-hand right under his nose.

For all that he is engaged in caring for his crow, Shisui is quick to snatch things from the 'Now' pile, and even quicker to read them, and either put them aside, or pass them on to the Seeker.

When Varric rejoins them after his bath, he slides right into place, and joins the circle of paperwork.

They are at it for another hour before Shisui calls a halt, and starts sealing things back into his scroll. The still small pile of papers remaining looks as if it might just fit into Kuroba's message harness.

"Yeah," Shisui agrees, when Solas says as much. "He can handle it. I'll add a cover letter, and then he can get going again."

The bird gives Shisui a dirty look.

In response, the boy produces a bracelet of glittering sapphires and gleaming pearls, easily worth a small fortune, and offers it to Kuroba.

The bird settles the bracelet about himself like a necklace, and fluffs his feathers out proudly, before flapping over to the mirror and strutting about, admiring himself.

" I-yo, " he says, before flapping back to the table, where Shisui is writing the cover letter to Leliana with a fine brush on very thin paper. His eyes are red, and the motions of his hand are quick and tightly controlled, leaving line after line of tiny, but legible words behind.

When he finishes, he sighs, eyes going dark, and he flexes his hand.

"This missing anything?" he asks, offering Solas the paper. He scans it for pertinent information, and then shakes his head.

"I believe you have everything covered. Seeker? Master Tethras?" Solas asks, passing it over, after looking for permission, and getting it with a nod.

"Damn Fluffy, this could've almost come off a printing press," Varric says, one eyebrow rising. "I mean... Damn. Looks about right though. And... mind if I forward this bit about the quakes to my contacts in Orzammar?"

"Go ahead," Shisui says. "I get how that could be bad news for an underground kingdom, and the sooner they can prepare, the better."

"I agree," Cassandra says, when she takes the paper. She passes it back to Shisui after a moment to scan it, saying, "Varric is correct; I have seen professional scribes with worse hands than this."

" Seeker , say it again," Varric says, clutching his heart, and grinning at her.

" Ugh ," she responds, turning her head away from him.

"It's not my normal handwriting," Shisui says. "I don't usually bother with this kind of thing unless it's an official report, but I thought the situation called for it." He rolls all the papers together tightly, and puts them inside the scroll case, before calling,

"Come on Kuroba, you can admire your new necklace some more later. The sooner you get this to Leliana, the better."

The bird perks up at Leliana's name, and hops right back over to Shisui.

"Leliana, ii snacks ga'aru'yo ," Kuroba says, the word snacks right in plain Common. Shisui snickers as he helps the bird back into his harness.

"That would be the first word you pick up in this language," he says, before breaking into a rapid string of his own language. Solas thinks he recognises a word or two at this point, and he definitely hears Leliana's name more than once. Kuroba shows every evidence of understanding every word that Shisui says, and Solas is fairly certain at this point that the bird is a spirit as much as it is a bird; some minor demon of Greed, given the value of the trinket Shisui handed over. Or maybe not; it is hard to tell.

Kuroba hops up on Shisui's shoulder, and preens a few of his curls, chattering at him in the manner of crows, and the sight makes Solas reject the notion of the bird being a Greed spirit; the affection is too genuine. Too sweet. It makes Shisui smile; Varric and Cassandra too, and even Solas feels the corners of his lips tugging up.

Shisui gets up, and takes Kuroba to the window, and lets him out into the overcast afternoon; the rain has stopped for the moment, but the air is still damp and chill, more than it ought to be.

"All right," he says when he returns to his seat. "Let's get read for dinner with the Arl. I need a briefing of what to expect: protocol, foods, customs, the usual..."

It looks to be a long afternoon.

Chapter Text

The funniest thing that Shisui has learned today. This week. All month. Is that Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. His very own smitey, chargey, front-liney pal, is an actual, factual, literal, for real, very actual, Princess. She has a place in the line of succession and everything! It's great! It almost makes up for being outed as noble himself!

It came out, of course, during their pre-dinner protocol briefing.

Shisui had expected that Varric would be filling in the gaps of his knowledge here; the man is a novelist after all, and keeping a basic grasp of these things is important for verisimilitude, or so Jiraiya-sama had protested once when he was in town, and Shisui had caught him peeking on the ladies' baths. (Shisui's still not sure why he bothers peeking when he can just use genjutsu if he really wants to just see a naked woman. Or henge if his genjutsu is actually that bad. It's a terrible excuse for spying outside Konoha, much less inside it.)

But Varric had spilled the beans on Cassandra, much to her chagrin, and she had reluctantly taken over the briefing... which quickly turned into a drill. The whole thing left him feeling more tired than he liked, but she had pronounced him 'surprisingly sufficient' by the end of it, and since she strikes him as hard to please as a teacher, he's just fine with that.

He does take the time to change into the emergency 'nice' shirt he keeps in his scroll though; there's a subtle pattern in the fabric, three shades of indigo and one true black, that most people will never notice. It's also silk on the outside as well as the inside, which more people will notice, which is the important part. All weapons are concealed, except his tanto, which goes in a hip sheath instead of his shoulder harness.

His hitaiate gets a polish, and he does absolutely nothing to his hair; there's no point to it, it has never been anything but wild curls or wild spikes, depending on humidity and the last time he cleaned his hair--curls today, thanks to his very hot bath. Other than that, his teeth and nails are clean, so he thinks that's about as good as it will get.

"Is that silk?" Varric asks, when Shisui returns from changing.

"Yeah," he replies. "I thought it'd be more appropriate." His reply gets an approving nod from Cassandra.

"It is. It will reinforce your position in the Arl's eyes, even if it is not very distinguishable from what you were wearing before." Shisui looks down at his shirt, frowning a little.

"Don't worry about it kid, it's different enough. Anyone can tell you have a style," Varric puts in. "It's foreign, but you've made no bones about being from... somewhere else."

A knock at the door interrupts any further conversation. Cassandra answers it; in the hall is a livery-clad manservant of some upper echelon, along with two guards, higher-ranking or just more formally dressed than most of those Shisui has encountered so far.

"Your pardon, my Lady Seeker, we have come to escort you and the Lord Herald--and your companions--to dinner," the man says, bowing what is surely a precise amount. Ugh, protocol. Shisui commits it to memory even if he doesn't want to; it will definitely come in useful later. Very little, in his experience, does not.

Itachi, he thinks, as he follows the manservant, would be enjoying this. The new protocol, the unfamiliar formalities, the little ways the guards and staff move around each other, showing off hierarchies so ingrained they probably don't even think about them...

Politics, and diplomacy, and everything else like them, those are what his best friend prefers, over bloodshed and raging fire. Unfortunately, the latter is what Shisui probably left him to; to salvage the mess of their clan, however he can. If anyone can, it's Itachi. He's smarter, stronger than anyone else guesses, and Shisui believes in him. Has to believe in him. Has to--

Has to push all of those thoughts aside, and put them away; he cannot afford to allow himself to be distracted by the futile wanderings of his own mind. There is nothing he can do about... any of that, now. He can only hope. And then bury that hope with the rest of his thoughts and feelings about home.

The manservant knocks once on the door to what is, if the hell-future has anything to say about it, a private dining room, and then opens it, announcing,

"Your dinner guests, my Lord."

That's a good sign; no string of names and titles, nothing to indicate that this is anything but an ordinary dinner that happens to be attended by a number of high-ranking people. In this case, the number is four; he has no idea what, if any, official rank Solas or Varric may have, but he is aware that just by association with himself and Cassandra they may be considered to have some kind of rank.

Ugh.

It's useful, he reminds himself. They're dealing with civilians, so it's useful.

Arl Teagan rises to greet them with a genuine smile, which helps. So does the sudden yipping as a tumble of puppies rolls through another door and across the floor, chasing each other and their own tails. Shisui laughs, and so does Teagan.

"Well, now that you've had a proper Fereldan welcome, please, come sit wherever you like," he says, gesturing at the round table set up near a roaring fireplace. He retakes his seat, which is only slightly fancier than the rest of the chairs at the table.

Without hesitation, Shisui plunks himself down in one of the chairs next to the Arl. Varric takes the other seat next to him, and Solas sits on Shisui's other side, while Cassandra takes the chair closest to the door, leaving one seat open.

(There are a trio of unassuming people, one woman and two men, standing back against one wall; servants likely, awaiting whatever the Arl requires.)

"Will your wife be joining us?" Shisui asks; it was one of the things they had covered in the briefing.

"Unfortunately, no, she is visiting her sister in Denerim," the Arl replies. "Ah, I say 'unfortunately', but actually, I am very grateful that she hasn't been here during all of this conflict. She is much safer at her sister's right now, so while I miss her..."

"I understand," Shisui replies. "We all want our loved ones to be safe, even if--especially if--we're facing danger ourselves." Arl Teagan gives Shisui an understanding smile.

"I feel the same way. No, it's my nephew who'll be joining us--he came to Redcliffe with the rest of the mages, when I invited them here," he says. His nephew--the memory comes unbidden, of a young man, not much older than Shisui himself, immolating himself to escape possession.

Connor Guerrin, Leliana had named him in that horrific, broken future. And she had said that he had earned his strength the hard way. None of this shows on his face.

"He shouldn't be much longer; he was down in the town with some of his friends earlier," the Arl says. "I don't think he's entirely comfortable being back," he adds, in tone of one making a confidential admission; it may well be, but it's also a calculated political move, and Shisui's not nearly naive enough to miss it. Arl Teagan probably thinks he is, though, considering what everyone else has assumed about him, given his age so far.

It's annoying; useful sometimes, but annoying. It's becoming less useful and more annoying as time goes on, because he has begun to realise that he needs people to assume that he has a certain base level of competence that adults have and children don't, and the line here between adults and children is very, very... civilian. Even where they maybe shouldn't be.

Shisui can go with it for now though, to a certain extent. At least having the noble cat out of the status bag will make things easier in some ways, since nobles, even among civilians, are expected to have responsibilities at young ages.

"So your nephew is a mage?" Shisui asks, right as the door opens. A familiar young man (face consumed by intense flame) enters, accompanied by a manservant.

"Yes," Arl Teagan says. "Your Worship, my nephew, Connor Guerrin. Connor, this is Shisui Uchiha, the Herald of Andraste.”

’Unless the King himself walks through the door at dinner, do not stand up, and do not bow.’ Cassandra’s words ring in Shisui’s head, and he still has to suppress the reflex; it seems rude. At least Connor is only a little older than he is, so it’s not too bad. And he’s used to ignoring protocol when it suits him-which is most of the time, much to the Chief's annoyance.

"Nice to meet you-" when you aren't immolating yourself in an act of glorious defiance "-Connor," Shisui says cheerfully, before introducing the rest of his squad:

"This is Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, she's great. Varric Tethras, he's an author or something-" that gets a snort from Varric "-and Solas. He's a mage like us, in case that wasn't obvious."

It's the 'like us' that catches Connor's attention, with a sharp look and slightly widened eyes.

"You really are a mage?" Connor asks. "You don't look like one."

"If I understand the definition, that’s because I’m also a rogue,” Shisui replies with a shrug. “Robes make it harder to sneak around and... do rogue things,” he finishes, catching the look Varric gives him. He had been going to say ‘slit throats’, but maybe that’s not dinner table conversation.

Right.

Civilians. He has to remember. It's easy to forget, when it's just him and his squad. The Arl doesn't quite give off a civilian vibe either, although Connor almost does. Not quite--none of the mages do. But it's almost there.

"I wouldn't know," Connor admits. "I've never been... sneaky."

"Neither has Cassandra," Shisui says cheerfully. And oh boy he can feel the incipient awkwardness; Connor is clearly not comfortable, sitting stiffly in his chair (though he tries to make himself relax, Shisui can see how he slowly stiffens up again, until he notices his own tension, and deliberately relaxes himself. Shisui feels for him), and not quite meeting anyone's eyes.

Guilt, he realises. It's guilt that he's seeing, but what could Connor have to feel guilty about? He doesn't know enough about local history or politics to not put his foot in it.

Oh well.

Worst case scenario, they have to run a fighting retreat. Best case... The problem of ther Breach and the Elder One get solved, and Shisui finds his way home to a Konoha not embroiled in civil war, where Itachi has miraculously made his father and the Elders back down peacefully, while the Hokage has realised Danzo's treachery and manipulation and dumped him in the deepest, darkest cell.

And it'll rain in Suna.

He pushes the thought away for later.

A realistic best case scenario is that they make it through dinner without any major political gaffes, and maybe secure the Arl's cooperation.

"Everyone has different talents," Varric says. "No shame in not being a sneak--or a frontliner for that matter. Maybe your real talent is research, or teaching."

"I--do enjoy study, yes," Connor replies, relaxing minutely--for real this time, not the forced relaxation from earlier.

"So do I, actually," Shisui admits. "I finished mandatory schooling early, but self-study is an important part of life for my people."

Any more talk is shelved, as the servants start coming in with food--clearly, they were only waiting for Connor to arrive, and make himself comfortable.

It starts with wine poured into silver goblets--very nice, with a repeating pattern of a dog's footprint (stylised) and some plant he doesn't recognise (also likely stylised) going around near the rim. Cassandra and Varric had both warned him about this and Shisui. Well. He'll survive. The wine is probably watered, and the medics aren't herre to scold him for messing with his own head.

Shisui's gets poured right after the Arl's, before Cassandra's, or even Connor's, which tells him something about his own putative status in the eyes of the man. Or at least what the man wants him to think his status is perceived as--that's a long damned rabbit hole to go down, though, he stops his train of thought where it is.

After wine is poured, they’re all served soup—a tomato broth, with what smells like goat, maybe, and vegetables. (Sasuke would like it, Shisui thinks.)

And once the soup bowls have met the table, the puppies come over, wiggling under the table, and settling on—well, on Shisui’s feet at least, he’s not sure of anyone else. But warm puppy body leaning against his legs, and soft puppy fur on his toes... he’s no Inuzuka, but it still makes him smile. And surely nobody will care if he slips a hand under the table to scritch soft puppy ears, right...?

Well, the Arl doesn’t miss it, and neither does anyone else, but nobody’s calling him on it, so it’s probably socially acceptable. He amends that to ‘definitely socially acceptable’ when the puppies’ ma puts her head on the Arl’s thigh and gets some scritchings herself. The sight makes Shisui smile, and redouble the scritchings for 'his' pup.

"I see the mabari like you," the Arl says.

"That's the breed, right?" Shisui asks. "I've heard a bit about them, but this is the first time I've met any."

"And you've been in Fereldan how long?" He and Varric both laugh; Connor and Cassandra smile, and Solas looks about as confused as Shisui feels, so at least he's in decent company.

The Arl starts eating, and Shisui copies him. The formality of the event does make it easier to keep himself from making a mistake; according to Cassandra, the Arl eats first, unless a monarch or the Divine is present, even if someone else of very high status is present. That is in Fereldan. In Orlais, apparently, the highest-ranked person present eats first. It is the same in Nevarra and Tevinter, apparently, but in Antiva, the host doesn't eat until every guest has had a bite, no matter how low they may be.

It's interesting, actually, and Cassandra had recommended that he ask Josephine about it when they get back. He plans to; not only does he want to know more, he frankly needs to know more, especially now that his noble status is out.

(He still doesn't get why civilians make such a damned big deal about it, but they do.)

"They seem a lot smarter than most dogs," Shisui says. The hound leaning against the Arl looks at him, and makes a little doggy noise of agreement; her pups echo her, not at all unlike Inuzuka ninken puppies echoing their parents.

"They are," the Arl agrees. "Just as smart as humans--or elves, or dwarves, for that matter," he adds, after his eyes flick very briefly to Solas and Varric. "Perhaps not as smart as some, but then, isn't that always the way? I've certainly known men with less sense than a mabari."

"Haven't we all, your Lordship?" Varric asks, with a snort of amusement.

"Animals usually have better sense than people, because they don't have as much brains to confuse them," Shisui points out. "Or so I've been told."

"Told by animals?" Connor asks. "Are you a shapeshifter? I--met one before, during the Blight. She was an apostate too."

"No--well, I can use a henge of course, but that's just genjutsu. True shapeshifting is a clan secret of the Inuzuku, and I've never been able to see it." It's not a bloodline thing; he's sure of that. It might require a ninken partner to do it the way that the Inuzuka do.

"It's a secret here, too," Connor says. "I've heard that it requires blood magic, but--"

"It does not," Solas interjects. "I am not a shapechanger by specialisation, but I have seen enough of it in the Fade to know that it does not require blood magic. I would say that it rather takes a very strong sense of yourself, in order to not become lost in the shape you take. Who knows how many foolish mages over the years have been lost to the wilds because they thought they knew themselves, and found that they did not?"

"Probably a lot, especially if they were messing around with things without supervision," Shisui says. "I mean, it's easy enough to hurt yourself with normal things like fire. Changing your shape without a medic, and maybe a good sensor around? That sounds like a bad idea. Or maybe someone who can do that Spell Purge thing," he adds, as the thought occurs to him. "Can that interrupt a shapechanger?"

"Yes," Cassandra replies, and Shisui gestures to her.

"So, that."

"A mage who can cast Dispel or Mana Clash would be able to do the same," Solas adds.

"Even better," Shisui replies, smiling, and makes a note to learn those two jutsu--spells--as soon as he can. From what he had seen, Purge and Smite had been inton, and he has high hopes for the others being the same. It'd make them much easier to use.

"So you believe mages need to be supervised?" the Arl asks.

"I think children and students need supervision, no matter who they are," Shisui corrects him. "Sure, maybe a mage can set himself on fire, but so can anyone else--they just need to try a little harder."

"Only mages have to worry about being possessed," Conner says.

"That is not true." The words come from two people at the same time: Solas and Cassandra, who look at each other for a moment, before Solas gestures for Cassandra to continue; likely because Connor will be more likely to believe her, for a number of reasons.

"Anyone can be possessed, Connor. They merely, as the Herald said, have to 'try harder'."

"Though it is true that mages are more open to possession, it is also true that we are better able to defend ourselves," Solas continues, picking up the thread. "And better able to free ourselves, should the worst occur. I have seen it, many times." For once, he leaves off the 'in the Fade' part; Shisui wonders why, and files the question away for later.

"You've seen abominations?" Connor asks.

"I have seen possessions, both willing and not," Solas says. "Whether any were truly what are called 'abominations'...?" He shakes his head. "I have never been close enough to tell. But I have seen mages deal with possession--or the prospect of possession--in a number of ways. From those who embraced it, to those who rejected it, to those who died rather than allow themselves to be taken..."

He is thinking of Connor himself, from that hellish future of Alexius'. Shisui is. Shisui is thinking of it, because he cannot not think about it, cannot shake the crystal-clear image of the young man at the table with him going up in flames hot enough to reduce him to ash and dust in an instant--as hot as any Uchiha funeral pyre. The despair, and the resolution on his face, in that moment, the--

A little doggy whine, and a wet tongue followed by a headbutt on his hand pull Shisui from his own head, and make him smile.

"Oh, was I not supposed to stop petting?" he asks the pup. He gets a whine in response, and he laughs. "Okay, okay, but I might need my hand back to finish dinner."

Arl Teagan laughs as well.

"Don't worry, nobody in Fereldan will think anything of you petting your mabari at the table," he says.

Blink.

"My mabari?" Shisui's mouth says for him, before his brain can have any real input. There's a happy yip and the rapid bruising thump from a little tail against his legs.

"Aye lad, the little pup has decided for himself--they always do. I'm not surprised; you may be a mage, but that doesn't mean you can't be a good person. The mabari know. They always know," he adds. "For instance, the Hero of Fereldan? She was a mage, and an elf, and a mabari was her stalwart companion. Probably still is; I know that dog survived the Blight, since he was there to sire my friend here." He gives his dog's shoulders a good scritch, eliciting a pleased noise from the bitch in question.

"I'd believe him, kid," Varric says, grinning at him. "Mabari are good friends." He definitely seems amused by something. Shisui gives him a narrow-eyed look. Varric's smile ticks wider.

The servants, with no regard for the dinner conversation, come to sweep the bowls from the soup course away, to make room for what Cassandra and Varric had both agreed would probably be a roast of some kind.

"Probably a small one, a pair of nugs perhaps," Cassandra had said. She had then gone on to give a brief explanation of why--enough meat to not seem stingy to guests, but not so much that it could be seen as excess in a time of broader need. Nugs are also a common game animal, as well as being kept domestically.

As it happens, she's right: the servants bring up a pair of roast nugs on silver platters, accompanited by a bunch of roasted vegetables--mostly root vegetables, understandable given the season--along with more wine, and fresh bread. Thankfully, the wine is still watered, and Shisui isn't feeling it yet.

The protocol, according to Cassandra, is 'everyone helps themself', which is very civilised and normal by Shisui's estimation. Apparently at formal dinners in Orlais, you have to wait for a servant to cut and present meat to you, and there are so many opportunities for assassination there that Shisui can't believe it.

Shisui casually slips bites of meat down to the pup as well, and gets his shins battered by a tail for his trouble. He doesn't think the other pups are going without, and neither is their mother; feeding the dogs from the table must be the done thing, then, good job Shisui, blending in and picking up local manners, full marks from the infiltration trainer.

Conversation during the roast stays mostly on the mabari--their care and feeding, the traditions around them, legends and stories and certified feats, especially from the last Blight, and the war prior to that, where Fereldan threw out the Orlesian occupation. Shisui really wants to read more about all of that, and when he asks, the Arl promises to send a couple of volumes to his suite.

Connor tenses up again when talk turns to the Blight, and relaxes more as the conversation moves away, toward the older war, of his grandparents' generation. It's not hard to see that something happened to Connor during the Blight, even though he seems hale now. Shisui resists the urge to look with his sharingan, to see if what he sees now matches up with what he saw in that dark future, in that split second before fire and ash.

Because there had, he thought at the time, been a trace of some other chakra in Connor. A shadow of a second person, yes, but not completely separate, until Connor forced it out. He would have to meditate on it, slow it down and examine it in detail, to determine if the mingled chakra was still present in that moment. And then he would have to look at Connor...

Solas catches his eyes, and gives a very subtle shake of his head.

Fine, fine. Diplomacy now, science later.

Well.

Nobody will notice if he casts a subtle genjutsu and then activates his sharingan, right? Nobody except Solas, anyway.

No. Wait. That's a bad idea. He's suffering the effects of chakra exhaustion still, even with the lyrium potion. Manners or not, he never should have had any wine.

Damn it.

"I don't want to be rude, Arl Teagan, but next time the servers come in, can I get some tea?" he asks. "I used a lot of chakra--mana--taking down the Magister, and it's left me a bit..." He trails off, deliberately vague.

"Oh! Of course, I should have remembered. During the Blight, there were a lot of mages who stayed entirely away from wine, since they spent themselves so much fighting darkspawn." Instead of waiting, the Arl waves one of the people waiting quietly against the wall, over.

"Tea for the Herald," he says.

"Yes milord," the man says, bowing. "Milord Herald, do you have any preference?"

"Green tea," Shisui says. "Or black if you don't have that. Thank you," he adds. The man gives another bow, and scurries off.

"Speaking of the Magister," the Arl says. "What are your plans for him?"

"Well, he may have tried to kill me, but he was also definitely trying to take over your Arldom. Honestly, I'm not certain who has jurisdiction in this case," he admits. "Since I subdued him, but you're holding him."

The puppy whines, and Shisui automatically drops a hand to rub its ears.

"That's understandable," the Arl agrees. "And normally, I would say that the matter falls under my jurisdiction--or perhaps the King's--but I cannot help but see the hand of the Maker in your arrival here, just in time to put a stop to the Magister's plan... I feel as though we should leave him to you."

"I don't want to step on any toes," Shisui says. "Maybe we should ask the King. On top of that, I don't know if we have adequate facilities to hold a man of his capabilities back in Haven."

The place kind of makes his hair stand on end a bit, when he thinks about it. It's nothing like secure. What he wouldn't give for a couple people with a good Earth-affinity to rais some walls... Or Tenzo. Mokuton walls would be nice.

Of course, with all the ice and snow around, maybe he and Solas can work together... Or there could be someone with a good Earth-affinity among the mages who is interested in joining the Inquisition, or at least helping out.

"With the Grand Enchanter and her people available to help, I would be willing to hold the Magister until the King can be reached for a decision," the Arl says. "And in the meantime, perhaps a cell that could hold him could be prepared by your people in Haven. I have heard that Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford is the commander of your forces there? I'm sure a Templar could manage something."

"Ex-Templar," Cassandra says. "He has left the Order. However, we do have a handful of active Templars serving in the Inquisition ranks--mages as well, if not so many of either as we would like."

“Alexius should still be comatose for a while,” Shisui reminds them. “I’ll check him before we go find Mother Giselle, though.” It won’t hurt to make sure, even though it should take even someone as strong-willed as Alexius a while to wake up.

(Shisui doubts he’ll ever recover. You don’t just recover from watching your most important person, who you love more than anything, die. Again. And again. Honestly, what he did was kind of mean, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat if he had to.)

“Mother Giselle—she’s the one at the Crossroads, yes?” Arl Teagan asks.

“Yeah. It was her message that brought us down here in the first place, actually,” Shisui says. “Lucky for Redcliffe, I guess.”

“Truly, the Maker is watching over us then,” the Arl replies, his eyes widening minutely.

The puppy on Shisui’s feet gnaws on his hand, and he obligingly provides another scrap of meat, and ear-rubs. His shins get another bruising.

“I don’t know about that,” Shisui says. “I don’t think anyone does. But I am glad we got here when we did.”

(Skeletons twisted on the ground, blood splattered and smeared everywhere, the sky green and crackling.)

“We all are,” Connor says. “The Magisters of Tevinter are the worst kinds of mages—whatever he had planned, it would have been bad, for all of us. The mages too. I’m sure of it.”

“I agree,” Solas says. “If he had been allowed to carry out his plans, I feel that it would have been nothing but a disaster.” He meets Shisui’s eyes, briefly, and Shisui sees his own thoughts echoed there: anything but that.

Anything but red lyrium growing like cancer from almost every surface, anything but the walking dead with the faces and voices of friends. Anything but martyrs. Anything but suicides. Anything but what Alexius and his Elder One have planned.

Anything.

It’s nice to know they agree.

There’s a knock at the door, sharp and authoritative, and all conversation stops as everyone’s attention turns to the door. One of the servants waiting by the wall cracks the door, and Shisui can hear a low murmur of voices, before the servant steps back, and allows another man, slightly breathless, to step in. He offers a perfunctory bow to the table, and says:

“Apologies for disturbing your dinner, milord, but you asked to be informed at once: the Tevinter is awake.”

Shisui is halfway to the door, puppy on his heels, the rest of the table rising, when the man adds, eyes gone wide:

“The son, not the Magister. My lords. And lady.”

Arl Teagan resumes his seat, as does Connor, but Shisui’s squad remain standing.

"Has he said anything?" Shisui asks. The man's (he's a little older than the Arl, Shisui thinks, with thinning blond hair, and watery blue eyes, with a medium complexion and tan lines just visible at his wrists) attention turns to him.

"He has, your Worship. In fact, he has been asking for both you, and my lord Arl." He looks back to Arl Teagan and adds, "He has said that it is very urgent; a matter of life and death."

Shisui glances over to the Arl, briefly meeting Solas' eyes on the way. The Arl is already standing again, frowning.

"Thank you Brant. I think we will have to postpone the rest of dinner, if you would not mind accompanying me, Herald?"

"Of course, Arl Teagan," Shisui replies. "Cassandra."

"Yes," she replies, moving around the table.

"Solas, you too; I don't anticipate any trouble, but if there is, I'll get Cassandra out and you get Arl Teagan." Solas inclines his head, and moves to join them. "Varric... you might as well tag along too," Shisui adds, throwing him a wink. Yes, he wants Varric in his usual spot as rear guard. No, he doesn't want to give away that the man is anything other than a gregarious author with good aim.

"That seems reasonable," the Arl agrees. Shisui is pleased that the little genjutsu nudge he had provided when the first met has stuck; using the right genjutsu the first time is a point of pride.

"Connor--"

"I'll return to my quarters if that's all right with you, Uncle," Connor says. "I'd rather stay away from any Magisters."

"That's fine, Connor. I'll be happier if you're away from them, too." Teagan sets his hand on Connor's shoulder, and then nods for his man, Brant, to lead the way.

Shisui walks beside the Arl, and his squad falls into an approximate formation; they need to work on an interior marching order in the future, but this works for now.

At his heels is a little albino mabari pup that his brain is already calling 'Tobi'.

It's not disrespectful the name a dog after the Nidaime Hokage, right? Right.

It's just. The little guy looks like Nidaime; not the stern face on the mountain, but the old photo that Ma got from Grandpa, with just plain Senju Tobirama relaxing with his team. Uncle Torifu had sneaked it, and caught everyone relaxed and in a good mood, on a good day, after a good mission, for once.

"It's one of my favourite pictures of your Grandpa," his Ma had said. "Not that I have many to begin with. They didn't have a lot back then."

Brant leads them down a familiar path, out through the open courtyard, past the dock below the castle, and into the dungeons that Alexius' spell had thrown him and Solas into.

"Magister Alexius is being kept down there," Cassandra says, pointing toward the deep cells where Shisui and Solas had appeared. "And his son is being kept on a different floor, as a precautionary measure."

"That's right," Brant agrees. "The boy is in poor shape, my lords, my lady," he continues. "It's been a while, but I recognise Blight sickness when I see it. Through here." He leads the way through a door that Shisui remembers as an empty archway, spattered with blood and viscera, splintered wood beneath his feet, and the red glow of lyrium.

Someday, hopefully someday soon, he needs to walk Redcliffe castle with his sharingan on, and overlay the proper state of the place into his memory. The cracked rock and layers of blood staining the walls are a horror he would render less... prominent. It will never go away; even the best Yamanaka couldn't redact it from his mind. But he can make it less prominent. He can give himself newer, more immediate memories of the same places, and make the bad ones... less prominent.

They’ll never go away, but they can be outnumbered.

The next door they pass through is new: in Alexius’ hellish future, this doorway had been completely grown over with red lyrium; he hadn’t even been aware that it had been there. It’s a risk, but for a second, when he is sure that nobody is looking, he activates his sharingan, and allows the new memory to push the old one back: see, the crystals are gone, were never there; the doorway is filled with nothing but a door, and it leads to an ordinary hall.

He feels better already.

Through this door are a handful of nicer cells, set aside for high-ranking or delicate prisoners, no doubt. Shisui is familiar with the concept, and even if they don’t have anything like it in Konoha, he has seen the ‘honourable hostage’ cells in the old strongholds, and even a castle once, on an exfiltration mission.

These remind him of those; instead of a tiny nook with open bars, there are solid, locked doors with small barred windows, leading into stone rooms a little bigger than Shisui’s bedroom back home. None of them have a window, but Felix’s, at least, has a nice bed and a side table, as well as a chair. Felix is half-sitting up in bed, and an unfamiliar mage is taking his pulse.

His skin is pale and washed-out, and there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, but his eyes are sharp, and they go right to Shisui’s hand, and then to his face.

“You’re the Herald,” he says. “My father—you are in grave danger. He wants to kill you, or worse.” He tries to sit up further, and gets nowhere when the medic clicks his tongue, and pushes him back down with a firm hand.

"Please don't strain yourself," the medic says softly. Felix sighs, and settle back into the bed.

"Fine," he says. "You brought the Herald; that's all that matters. Look--I need to tell you: My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves 'Venatori.' And they're all trying to get to you." He looks at Shisui as he says it, his eyes sharp and hard with resolve.

Shisui tilts his head thoughtfully, and says, "Well then, maybe you'll take it as good news that he tried, failed, and is now comatose in a cell?"

Felix's eyes widen, and he glances briefly at Cassandra--right, that makes sense--and then back at Shisui.

"I admit, I wasn't counting on you having a Seeker. Seekers, and Southern Templars are the real deal, aren’t they?”

“The Herald is the one who overwhelmed your father, boy,” Arl Teagan interjects. He seems almost offended on Shisui’s behalf, for some reason. Little Tobi yips an agreement, and Shisui feels his guts go a little mushy; what a good dog. Felix gives Shisui a surprised look.

“Maybe you really are Andraste’s Herald then,” he says.

“I can’t speak to that,” Shisui admits. “But I’m up and walking, and he’s not.”

“Good,” Felix says, sadly. He relaxes back on the pillows. “I don’t know what’s come over him, lately; he’s completely changed. I know he never wanted something like this, never—“ His words are cut off by a spasm of pain. The medic fusses over him, and shoots the rest of them the ‘you are upsetting my patient, and my patience grows short’ look. Felix waves him away.

“My friend Dorian is supposed to be joining me here,” he says. “To help stop my father.”

“I don’t want to upset your medic, but if you can give us a description and anything about his route and relevant passcodes, we can send Inquisition scouts to intercept him,” Shisui offers.

“I would appreciate that,” Felix says. “And I suspect Dorian would as well. All right—“

They get the full description, and enough relevant details that Shisui feels comfortable letting the medic shoo them out.

“We’ll need to get more intel from him later,” Shisui says. “But for now, let’s see if we can find this Dorian.”

“We can meet with the Inquisition scouts in the morning, and pass on the information,” Cassandra proposes. “And then meet with Mother Giselle.”

“Good idea,” Shisui agrees. “If Arl Teagan doesn’t mind playing host a while longer...?”

“My facilities are yours, Herald,” the Arl replies. “It is the least I can do, after you nipped their incursion in the bud. I’ve never been a very religious man, but I cannot help but feel that it’s an act of providence that you arrived when you did, that Grand Enchanter Fiona and her people were here to help keep them contained...”

“That was your own kindness and open-mindedness, from what I’ve heard,” Shisui replies.

“I will still thank Andraste and the Maker for their hand in bringing you here,” the Arl says. “And for bringing the Grand Enchanter and her mages here as well.”

“That aside... while we’re down here, I want to check on Alexius,” Shisui says. “And maybe the other Venatori as well.” Little Tobi whines a protest, leaning into Shisui’s legs, pressing him toward the stairs back up, and he can’t help but laugh. He’s not the only one; the Arl is laughing indulgently, and Varric is grinning at him, too.

“You should listen to the mabari, Fluffy. They’re right a lot more often than you’d think,” he says.

"They're always right, son," one of the guards, a man old enough to be a grandfather, pipes up. "He means they're always right."

Shisui snickers; he knows some Inuzuka with the same opinion of their partners.

“All right, all right,” he says. “The Venatori will keep until the morning.” Looking to the Arl he continues, “Do you think the rest of dinner’s still good?”

“Maybe we should just skip to dessert,” the Arl suggests, after a moment of consideration.

“I’m interested to try it,” Shisui replies. He really is; all of the food here has been so different to what he’s used to. Even the things that are the same—soup and roasted meats—are different. The flavours are different, the spices and seasonings are different, the colours and textures and presentation are so different...

Until today, outside of a barbecue or some other big outdoor affair, Shisui doesn’t think he’s ever been served a whole roasted anything. And he’s never eaten nug, unless it was in the stew back in Haven. The novelty is almost distracting.

Almost.

Not quite.

He can’t allow himself to be distracted. Not when so much is going on around him. Most of it he still doesn’t know or understand beyond what he’s been able to observe for himself, and... he kind of wants to get some privacy, and pick his squad’s brains.

“So, any thoughts on what you’ll be naming him?” Arl Teagan asks, when they’re almost back to the dining room. He nods at the little white pup trotting along at Shisui’s side, as if there was any doubt.

“Tobi,” Shisui replies immediately. The dog in question decides to bruise his shins again, so hey, it must be a good choice.

They arrive back at the dining room before long—with a messenger sent to, and returned from Connor along the way; he won’t be joining them for dessert—and settle back at the table, which has had the additional chair and setting cleared away.

Dessert feels like a revelation. It’s. Shisui is. He cannot. It’s.

Why has he never thought of apple tempura?

Because that’s what this is. Apples, peeled, cored, and sliced, battered, and deep fried. There’s a hint of spice in the batter, and honey and cream to go with the apples, and it is delicious. It’s served with a thick, almost syrupy plum juice that’s almost sweeter than the honey.

Yum.

Everyone at the table is amused, he can tell, but he doesn’t give a damn, because he’s fifteen, damn it, and sometimes that means eating as many sweets as he can shove in his face.

By the time he’a finished, he feels overfull and sleepy, but he doesn’t care, because every bit of hot delicious apple tempura has been devoured—mostly by him—and he’s had at least three glasses of that sweet syrupy juice that he is beginning to suspect was a bit more alcoholic than it tastes.

“Wait. You thought it was juice?” Varric asks. His smile turns into a teasing grin. Shisui considers giving him a rude gesture, but he likes Varric too much to bother. Varric’s great.

“You’re great too kid, but your inside thoughts are coming outside,” Varric says. “How much of this have you had to drink?”

“Um. Just three glasses,” Shisui says. They’re very small glasses. “Wait, maybe four? I think this is four.” He points to his glass—half full, time to finish it—and then finishes it. “Four,” he says decisively, setting it down. Varric and Cassandra exchange a look--he knows that look, that's the Adult Speaking Look look--and then Cassandra says,

"Perhaps we should retire." She looks both amused, and faintly disapproving, like she can't decide which way to be. Little Tobi makes a noise that agrees with her, and then Arl Teagan outright laughs.

"Yes, if your mabari agrees, you probably should." He claps a friendly hand on Shisui's shoulder, and Shisui grins at him.

"I've known him for less than a day, but I know that he's a good boy. Possibly even the best boy," Shisui says. He'll need to introduce Tobi to the crows. Kuroba and Akadama would love him; they always enjoy working with Inuzuka.

Tobi’s little tail adds some more bruises to his shins, and Shisui’s hand slips automatically under the table to scritch his little floppy puppy ears. The adult mabari he’s seen—Tobi’s mother—has docked ears and tail, and so do the statues back in Haven. He’s not sure he likes that, but he’ll have to learn why they do it, before he decides. Tobi is a very little—actually.

“Is Tobi old enough to be away from his Ma?” Shisui asks. It’s important that he knows. Tobi whines, and leans against his legs; Shisui gives his ears a reassuring rub.

"He is," Arl Teagan assures him. "Normally, we keep them another month before we introduce them to potential partners, but that's just so they can have their ears and tails docked. He can go with you if you like, but he's welcome to stay for the procedure and recovery in Redcliffe, while you meet with Mother Giselle, and take care of whatever else you have to in the Hinterlands."

"I'll think about it," Shisui lies. He has already decided, Tobi's ears are too cute, and his tail is too whippy to take them off. Besides, he'd hate having his ears clipped too, so he's not going to do it. When Tobi is a grown-up ninken he can decide for himself if he wants to. Yes.

"But," he continues, "I think Cassandra's right. I should go to bed before I break opsec and babble about something I shouldn't. I mean, you're pretty okay, Arl Teagan, but you get it, right?"

"Of course," the Arl agrees, smiling again. "I hope you'll join us for breakfast tomorrow morning before you head out."

"Before or after interrogation? Probably before? Ma told me never interrogate someone on an empty stomach." He closes his mouth with a grimace, and drags his hand down his face.

"An early breakfast it is," the Arl agrees.

Shisui and his squad are able to take their leave before he says anything else potentially embarrassing. His squad now includes one mabari warhound, who is definitely going to be raised as a ninken, as much as he can.

As soon as they reach their quarters, and the door is shut, Shisui drapes himself dramatically on the couch, flings an arm over his eyes, and groans. There's a thump and then a heavy weight on his stomach as Tobi settles there.

"Next time I'm about to inadvertantly drink alcohol, please warn me," he says. "A bit of watered wine is--whatever, I get it, I'm weird, most people here drink alcohol with meals. But I'd really rather not, you know?"

"Apologies," Solas says, speaking up after a moment of silence. "Your perception is so sharp that I had not considered that you might be unaware."

"As he says," Cassandra agrees.

"You could always spin temperance as a matter of faith," Varric suggests. Shisui can't see it, but he can feel Cassandra's dirty look. "Don't give me that look, Seeker, he'd rather not drink, that's fine, but he needs a reason people can accept."

"I appreciate the thought Varric, but I'd rather not fake a piety I don't feel," Shisui says.

"Sure thing, Fluffy," Varric agrees easily. Shisui moves his arm enough to peek out at his squad. "I'll let you know if I come up with another solution."

"I look forward to hearing your proposals," Shisui responds automatically. Now that he's laying down, he's. Actually really tired? Like he's feeling the chakra drain for earlier more than he thought he would. Damn.

Well. It's not every day you get flung into a hellish future.

The thought makes him suddenly very, very aware of the pair of time-magic talismans--amulets--secreted in his pockets. He wonders if anyone else is aware of them; Solas, maybe. One of them, at least. He can feel the... potential in them when he touches them, slightly different in each. It reminds him of the way it had felt to touch a hiraishin kunai; not quite the same, but not exactly, entirely, different, either.

Now is not the time to delve too deeply into that thought, but it's also one that he does have to explore. When he has time. He needs the time.

He wonders if, with some combination of magic and fuuinjutsu, he could make the time.

He puts the thought away, wraps his arms around little Tobi, and rolls back to his feet.

"We're going to bed," he says. "To sleep." He meets Solas' eyes briefly. "I'll leave the door cracked, so you don't have to knock if you need to wake me up for any reason." Understanding is clear in Solas' eyes; message received. The others nod in response to his other message, the normal one, and he heads for his room, leaving the door cracked.

"You can come and go as you please," he says to Tobi. "But you're not even a genin yet, so stay close to someone who can back you up, okay?" Tobi yips an affirmative, and licks his nose. Shisui's ribs get the bruises this time, and it makes him grin.

Tonight, he actually gets to get his scroll out, and change into pyjamas, put some things--including the time-amulets--away, and write in his mission journal. He won't forget anything easily, but if he dies, a report will exist anyone, and someone else can pick up where he left off, hopefully. When he's done, he leaves it for the snoops--nobody here can read it anyway--and climbs into bed, little Tobi curling up beside him.

Sleep comes quickly, thanks to mental discipline, and when he finds himself in his dreamscape, he 'cracks the door' for Solas, and starts his routine maintenance on his mental constructs and defences. It’s easy enough, usually, but there are definitely things he’ll have to be awake to repair properly; they were eroded by the madness in the future.

Honestly, he's not sure how he made it out of that with any of his mental defences intact. He's going to definitely pick the whole experience apart and incorporate it into his genjutsu though. It was very effective on Alexius, and not just because of the personal component. Something about the shadow of the red lyrium, he thinks.

Though Shisui deliberately left his ‘door’ open, when Solas arrives, it’s politely, allowing Shisui to sense his mental presence, and rearrange his dreamscape a bit, before stepping in. Said dreamscape is the reflection of a particular park on the bank of the Naka, in the springtime, with the petals of several different trees blowing in a soft breeze. He has a pot of tea and snacks waiting too, because it may be just a dream, but Shisui was raised with good manners.

“This is lovely,” Solas says, when he arrives. “Your home?”

“A public park,” Shisui agrees. He gestures to the other zabuton, and Solas sits easily, like he’s used to it. “This is the Naka river,” he adds, gesturing to the lazy, petal-filled water to his right. “Normally, there’d be kids playing down the bank, and other people setting up for flower-viewing, this time of year.”

Briefly, he allows a genjutsu memory to play out in his dreamscape, something from last year’s hanami, when he stole a few hours away with Itachi and the rest of his family. Solas watches appreciatively, for the few seconds it lasts.

“Your skill at dreaming is remarkable, particularly given your age,” he says.

“It’s not any different from manipulating illusions when I’m awake,” Shisui demurs.

“Awake or dreaming, it is a remarkable skill.”

"Everyone has their talents." Shisui pours their tea, politely giving Solas his, first. He is both guest and elder after all. Solas eyes the tea skeptically, and Shisui laughs.

“You really don’t like tea, do you?” he asks. He had noticed, on the road, during watches.

“No,” Solas replies. “I dislike bitter things, and anything that makes it hard to return to the Fade at night.”

“Good news then,” Shisui says, grinning. “There’s no caffiene in dream tea, and this is a jasmine blend—Auntie Mikoto’s best tea. If I screwed the brew up enough to be bitter, I’m pretty sure she’d manifest from my subconscious to tell me off.”

His grin widens when Solas tentatively takes a sip, and his eyebrows rise to what would be his hairline if he had hair. (Shisui can see the faint stubble, the follicles; Solas can shave all he wants, he can’t hide from a sharingan.)

“It’s good, right?” Shisui asks.

“It is not bitter at all,” Solas says, wonder in his voice. “I am surprised; I have never had a tea that is not at all bitter that was not actually a tisane.”

"Tisanes are pretty much only medicinal where I'm from," Shisui says with a shrug. "Try the snacks." Mochi, mostly; it's what he's missing tonight. Solas takes one, and after inspecting it, takes a bite. The surprise on his face makes Shisui smile again.

"It's lotus seed paste," he says, nodding to the gooey filling. He pops one into his own mouth, and then a strawberry daifuku, mmm. After that, he starts methodically crunching through a large box of senbei from the shop in the Uchiha district; the rest of Konoha is really missing out, honestly.

Solas takes one, less cautiously than the mochi, but still—Shisui can’t blame him for being careful, having seen what passes for crackers and other dry snacks in this place. Ugh. No. He’d literally rather eat his harness. It probably has more nutrients.

“Oh, these are really quite good,” Solas says, and takes another.

“This is my favourite flavour,” Shisui says, offering him one of the sweet teriyaki glazed senbei. It’s sweet and umami at the same time, all crisp and a little sticky, and yes, he is eating another one right now. The nice thing about dream senbei is, they only run out if he lets them, and why the hell would he ever let them?

Time, in a dream, is fickle, but Shisui is an Uchiha with a mangekyou sharingan, and the ability to precisely control the passage of time within the realm of his own mind. So he allows the pot of tea to deplete at its own pace, and uses that as a measure of being a good host, before he finally says.

“So. Solas. I think we have some things to discuss.”

Chapter Text

Solas’ shoulders visibly stiffen for a moment, before he consciously relaxes them, and he sighs softly. A half-dozen emotions colour his face in potentia, but he actually settles on none of them.

“Yes, I rather think we do. Where would you like to begin?”

“Where I would like to begin and where we should begin are two very different things,” Shisui replies, leaning forward over the table between them, just a little, and watching Solas through slowly spinning sharingan. “For instance,” he continues, voice hard for a moment, “What I really want to do is ask you just who you are, and what you want. I want to ask about the things I saw the first time you visited me in my dreams. What I should ask is about your connection to this-“ he waves his left hand, letting sparks of Solas' Fade-chakra swish around it “-and the Breach.”

Shisui watches Solas as he speaks, and it is abundantly clear that those things are nothing that Solas wants to discuss at all, ever, in this life or the next. He has a remarkably good politely blank look, but Shisui is an Uchiha, and his clan wrote the book on blank looks. (The Hyuuga wrote the second volume, admittedly. But it was definitely the second volume.)

"Unfortunately," Shisui carries on, leaning back again. There is an infinitesimal easing in Solas' shoulders when he does. His relaxation lasts barely a second before he clearly remembers where he is, and Shisui resists the urge to flash his teeth. "What I need to talk to you about is that." He tips his head back, and points up at the sky that has, as he has been speaking, changed from a clear blue with a scattering of fluffy white clouds, to an exact reflection of the fathomless abyss he had seen when he had looked up when outside in the hellish future of Alexius' making.

Solas obligingly looks up--and visibly, physically flinches.

"Is that what it looked like to you?" he asks, voice hushed and full of no little dread.

"Yeah," Shisui agrees. "I take it it's different for you?"

"Somewhat, yes," Solas replies.

There is, Shisui thinks, something he isn't saying, but he's not going to force the matter, yet.

"So, Solas. You're the Fade expert. What in the Sage's name did I see?"

Solas stares up at the green-and-black sky again, for a moment that stretches to infinity, and Shisui allows it. He is clearly trying to put together an explanation.

"Will you allow me to demonstrate how it appears to me?" Solas asks, finally, after that small infinity of silence. Shisui can feel a polite prodding at the shape of his mental space, and after a moment, he allows the reshaping of the appearance of the sky, and nothing else, quickly reclaiming control after Solas' vision is set in place. (Possibly he's a bit abrupt about it, given Solas' poorly-hidden wince. Sorry-not-sorry.)

Frowning, Shisui cycles between the two visions of the sky; clearly, they are seeing not entirely the same thing, although...

"If the Fade is the world of dreams, then wouldn't the objects viewed be more directly affected by the mindset of the viewer? We may, on some level, have been seeing what we were expecting to see." Which of course compels the question of just why Shisui's subconscious was expecting--that. He doesn't think that he's seen anything like it before, but... He is uncomfortably reminded of the gap in his memory between his suicide attempt, and awakening in the Chantry dungeon in Haven. (And why the hell does a temple of any kind have a dungeon in the first place? More questions, ergh.)

"Yes," Solas says. "And no. There is, as in all things, a limit of distance. That far into the sky, into the Fade, neither of us should have been able to influence what was seen."

"'What can be seen, can be affected,'" Shisui quotes automatically. It's only been drilled into him since the day he awoke his sharingan. Solas tilts his head curiously.

"Really?" he asks. "And what about that which cannot be seen?" Shisui answers with a shrug.

"If it can be perceived, it can probably still be affected, even if it can't be seen," he says. In his case, rather explicitly, though he refrains from mentioning it. He still thinks it though, and barely manages to keep from reacting to the visceral memory of Danzo taking his eye. That fucker.

"Well... In that case, I have some suspicions about what you saw, but nothing more solid than a hypothesis. I would not cause you undue distress based on little more than speculation, but if you like, I will tell you my current thoughts on the matter," Solas says. There is something about what he is thinking that frightens him; Shisui can see it in the faint tension at the corners of his eyes, at the way his neck is not quite relaxed, despite being treated to Auntie Mikoto's best genjutsu-enhanced tea.

"Tell me," Shisui says. "I'd rather know." He thinks that that should be obvious by now, but maybe not; it's a struggle to overcome the perception others have of him being a child, even with people like Solas, who should know better.

"In short," Solas says, after a silent moment of consideration. "Beyond the Fade, beyond the Veil and the waking world, is the Void. It is--it should be--sealed away and inaccessible; terrible things have happened when people have sought what lies beyond it. However, what I hypothesise, what I fear, is that that is what you are seeing, beyond the formless miasma of the Fade. Why you would see into the Void when I did not..." He trails off, meeting Shisui's eyes briefly, and tilting his head curiously.

"Yeah, probably," Shisui agrees. “Wait,” he adds, holding up a hand to interrupt whatever thought Solas is about to express. He has a thought. “I wonder... When I first looked at the Breach—when none of us could talk to each other—it looked like this—” Green mist and fathomless void both vanish, replaced by a shimmering rainbow of chakra, colours shifting like an aurora, all overlaid with the crackling green that matches Solas’ chakra.

“Oh,” the other man says softly. His eyes are faintly wet, and Shisui politely does not draw attention to that fact. “That is lovely. Simply lovely. I... Now I wonder...”

“Wonder what?” Shisui asks. Solas hesitates again, and says,

“I wonder what the rest of the Fade would look like to you. Humans do not normally see things in the Fade with the same vibrancy as elves.”

"My clan is different," is all that Shisui says to that. Solas should be well-aware of the fact that he sees things differently by now. He tips his head back again to look for a moment at the colourful, vibrant sky, before replacing it with the warm, comfortable light of late afternoon. He thinks they both relax at that, though Solas not without regret, and Shisui allows the memory of birdsong, insects, and other animals to rejoin the soft flow of the Naka. Another pot of tea, he thinks, and then pours for them both.

"So, why do I think 'Pride' whenever I think or hear your name?" Shisui asks, deliberately changing the subject, and not giving Solas a chance to ask a question of his own. It's his mind, he makes the rules. (He would also rather not dwell on thoughts of something called the Void.)

"Because it is my name," Solas replies easily. "In Elvhen, 'Solas' is 'Pride'."

"Your Ma named you Pride?" Shisui asks. That's. Okay, he has heard worse, but still. "Shit," he adds with sudden realisation, before Solas can reply. "I got some of that language from you too, didn't I?"

"I have often heard you speak words in the Elvhen tongue, all unknowing, it seems, of what you had said," Solas replies, inclining his head as he does. "I suspect that there is a great deal more than 'some' in your mind." He hesitates a moment before adding, "It is my native tongue, after all. I suspect," he continues, "that it lingers more in your subconscious than anything else, though it will rise to the surface when necessary--when you were speaking of so'via'lin, for instance."

"Tenketsu," Shisui says automatically, remembering that moment in the warped, hellish future. "Yeah, all right. I guess I have more meditation in my future." Not that he doesn't try to meditate every day anyway; it's part of building a strong, healthy chakra network. But there's general meditation, and there's meditation with purpose. This will be the latter.

"I would be happy to help you practice," Solas offers. "I have little opportunity to speak it, these days, and I have... missed it."

"I'd like that," Shisui replies, smiling. It sounds really nice, actually. And much easier than trying to meditate an entire language out of his own subconscious on his own.

“Very well then,” Solas says, eyes twinkling, and. Oh shit, he speaking a different language. Shisui can understand it just fine, and he thinks—

“Are we starting now, then?” he asks, in, he thinks, the same tongue. Judging by Solas’ faint smile, he got it right.

“There is no time like the present, or so I have heard,” the mage replies. “And indeed, our conversation may well be better carried out in Elvhen than in the common tongue; as you are already aware, the vocabulary is somewhat lacking.”

“Yeah, how do you lack something as basic as tenketsu?” Shisui asks. Even civilians have heard of tenketsu! Well. Non-combatants, anyway, which is the same thing in a ninja village. Not all of them, but enough of them.

“Ignorance, I would think,” Solas replies, eyes briefly shuttering, fingers flicking. “I have, unfortunately, encountered an abundance of it, in the waking world.”

"I got the vocabulary from you," Shisui says bluntly, in case Solas managed to forget. He doubts it. "That you didn't know a word for them despite having one in Elvhen implies a much broader level of ignorance."

"Yes, I thought was rather implied. However, I admit that my knowledge of the common tongue is as yet imperfect, so I will grant the possibility that more specialised vocabulary exists in places I have not had access to. The Circles, for instance." He looks sour at the thought, briefly.

"I'll ask Fiona then," Shisui says. "She's their leader, right? So it stands to reason, if anyone would know, it's her. I'll ask Felix, too. Tevinter has a... what do you call a magically-based society? A magiocracy?"

“That word is as good as any,” Solas allows, inclining his head. “And that is a good idea. I do not much speak the tongue of Tevinter, and they may well have a better vocabulary than the peoples of the south.” He makes another face, and Shisui makes one right back.

“Yeah, I don’t know much about them, except what I’ve seen from Alexius and his people, and what the free people have told me, but there’s a lot not to like.” A flood of embarrassment hits him suddenly, and he buries his face in his hands. “I can’t believe they’re joining the Inquisition! Why would they do that?” He won’t turn them down, obviously, but it’s. Embarrassing.

“You would hardly be the first breaker of chains to gain a loyal following from the newly unchained,” Solas replies. “I have seen such things many times—the memories echo through the Fade, and I could show you sometime, if you like.”

“I believe you,” Shisui says, waving his hand. Truth and lies are ridiculouslyeasy to parse inside his own mindscape. It's his mindscape after all. “It’s just weird that it’s happening to me.”

"I suspect that everyone who finds themselves in this kind of situation--broadly speaking--must feel the same way," Solas says. "You are certainly taking it better than some have."

Shisui shrugs at that; what can he say? Nothing that doesn't give away more than he feels comfortable with. However affable Solas seems, however helpful, Shisui has not forgotten the nature of his chakra, the connection to the Breach--and the mini-Breach--and the things that he saw when Solas contended with the defences of his mind.

Countless dead. A dreadful lupine shape with six glowing eyes. An intricately worked sphere, crackling with familiar, acidic green... For some reason, of all things, his mind catches on that.

“What is this?” he asks abruptly, creating an image of it between them. Solas’s eyes widen minutely, very briefly; most people, maybe even most Uchiha, would have missed it, but Shisui’s eyes are sharper than most. Solas could almost give a Hyuuga a run for their money in the field of controlled expressions though.

“It is an ancient artefact of my people,” Solas replies. “And item of great power, and very rare; it is believed that they are connected to the gods of the Elvhen pantheon.”

“Believed by who?” Every word of it is the truth. But the whole thing reeks of Not Lying, and Very Definitely Telling The Truth, and Shisui has met those techniques, thanks.

“Scholars, what few there are on the subject,” Solas says, meeting his eyes, and barely flinching this time. Good for him.

“And you?”

“I believe that the truth of the matter may be lost to time. Unless, I suppose, you could ask one of those gods themselves.” Again, he is Very Definitely Not Lying, but the actual truth is definitely not quite present. But Shisui can see the shape of it, what Solas is talking around, and... he isn’t going to bring it up just yet. He wants more information, more perspective, before he chases that rabbit. Still, he can’t resist asking:

“I don’t suppose you know where to find one?”

Solas’ lips quirk up a little at that.

“I assure you, I know not the location of any gods, Elvhen or otherwise. In fact, I am not even certain that gods, as such, even exist.”

“They exist,” Shisui replies, seriously. “I can’t speak for any of the gods of Thedas—Elvhen or otherwise—but gods exist.”

“As I recall, your gods are more akin to powerful spirits,” Solas says. Without seeming to notice, he pours himself another cup of Auntie’s tea, and sips it with every evidence of pleasure. “Here, people tend to regard them as something rather more—take the Andrastians and their Maker, for instance.”

Shisui’s nose wrinkles, and he shakes his head.

“Don’t tell Cassandra—or Leliana—I said so, but no thanks,” he says. He also pours himself another tea, and helps himself to more dream senbei. Solas tilts his head slightly, inviting him to continue, and with a shrug, Shisui says,

“I just find it hard to buy that one god made everything, just like that.” He waves a hand. “It’s ludicrious. Everyone needs help. Now, one god trying to take credit for everything? That I’d believe. People can be real assholes, and gods are people too.”

It’s something the Elders are always reminding them of: the gods are people, and like any other people, they can be kind, or cruel, or indifferent. They can helpful and friendly, or they can be completely vile—just like anyone else. So, sure, pray to them, or leave offerings, or ask them for help, or whatever, but it’s not like they’re obligated to even notice you.

(Sometimes, Shisui thinks his clan as a whole—or maybe some ancestor—must have offended the gods. That’s ridiculous thought though, right? Right.)

It’s a matter of some debate whether or not the mangekyou-based jutsu are actually invoking the gods they name; whether or not the Uchiha can call directly on some shard of the divine, and bend it to their wills. It’s as good an explanation as any, Shisui supposes, but he’s never felt anything other than his own chakra when he’s used his mangekyou, and the speculations of those without it are just that: speculations. It’s probably for the best that nobody knows for sure; for all his hopes that his suicide attempt would awake that eye in Itachi, he would much rather that it had been unnecessary.

To say that he tries not to think about the matter more than he has to would be an understatement.

“But yeah, as far as my people are concerned, gods and spirits are the same thing, in different degrees. It’s just a matter of how powerful they are, and how you treat them.”

Solas listens to this with rapt attention, never noticing a pause while Shisui thinks, because Shisui does his thinking outside the temporal context of Solas’ experience inside his mind. (He's good at that, at arranging time to suit him, inside his own mind. The Chief had been surprised by it, but Shisui's still not sure why; maybe it has to do with the kind of abstract thinking skills that are usually only developing at his age?)

“Fascinating,” Solas says. “I truly do not think that I have seen anything quite like your folk anywhere, either awake or dreaming. I wonder..." He trails off, hesitating. His eyes leave Shisui's for a moment, but he'd swear there's a mometary greenish flicker in them when he looks back. Interesting.

Still, he hesitates.

"What is it?" Shisui asks finally, tilting his head slightly.

"I find myself wondering--no, rather, considering that your eyes might have something to do with it? I have noticed that you seem to see things somewhat differently, and night vision is the very least of it," Solas finally says.

Of course Solas wants to know about his eyes. It’s always the damned, cursed eyes.

Shisui rolls said eyes.

“They’re called ‘sharingan,’” he says, after a small eternity of consideration. “They’re the kekkei genkai of my clan. I’m not sure how to translate it,” he adds, anticipating the question before Solas asks it. “I can’t find an equivalent term in either language, which is kind of weird, when I think about it. You know tenketsu, but not kekkei genkai?” He shakes his head. “It’s a power or trait inherited through a single family or clan, that cannot be otherwise learned, taught, or copied. Though it’s been tried,” he adds wryly.

“And yeah,” he continues. “It lets me see things differently.” He gestures up at the sky, referencing the earlier discussion. “Including in the dark. They glow a bit, but as far as I know, that part is cosmetic.” And a result of the chakra being fed into the eye; the more chakra, the more glow. It’s actually possibly to have your sharingan on, but otherwise only acting passively, and have barely any glow if your control is good enough.

Shisui's control is more than good enough, but he seldom bothers; maybe he should.

“I... see,” Solas replies thoughtfully. He finishes his tea, and nods when Shisui silently offers to pour him another. “And the blood magic?”

It takes Shisui a second to process that.

“Oh! You mean the crows? It’s just a summons contract,” he says, waving a hand. “There’s barely any blood involved at all.”

“I was actually more curious about the way you control thoughts and perceptions, but yes; let us speak of your friends,” Solas says. Whoops. He definitely noticed that. “They are not ordinary crows.”

“What was your first clue?” Shisui counters. “Nah, summons aren’t ordinary animals. Most of them are as smart as people, and many of them are smarter.”

“Are they not spirits?” Solas asks.

“No, not unless you and I are spirits,” Shisui says.

“Ah, I see,” Solas says again. Shisui wonders if he really does. He might; he's proven to be sharp, very sharp, even. Sharper than Shisui would normally like in an opponent, but... Solas isn't really an opponent. And they do really need to lay some cards on the table if they're going to make progress against the Elder One. "Are they more like creatures that are, perhaps, descended from animals that were possessed by spirits long ago?" he asks.

"If they are, that's their business, and maybe the business of those they're contracted to," Shisui replies sharply. He's not spilling any beans on his crows, nope.

“May I ask them?” Solas asks.

“You may try,” Shisui replies. “But they only speak Continental.” For now, anyway; Kuroba is already picking up the local lingo, and the rest will pick it up from him, or as they are summoned. Solas gives one of his not-quite-smiles anyway.

“I will bear that in mind,” he says.

“So about the—“ Breach, Shisui does not say, because something has tried to breach his mind without invitation, and is currently falling into his defences. A spirit, he thinks; it feels different than a human or an elf. It’s also more evasive, and quicker to realise its mistake, trying to extricate itself.

Something must show on his face, because Solas says,

“Shisui? What is wrong?”

“A spirit—maybe a demon—is trying to get into my head,” Shisui replies. “Like you did.” Solas looks mildly alarmed, and so he shrugs.

“Don’t worry,” he says cheerfully. “It already knows that it fucked up. It’s—ah, definitely a demon. Despair,” he adds, making a face on purpose this time. “Ugh. There are worse feelings, but that one’s up there.” And one that he is very, very familiar with; probably what attracted it in the first place, if he understands what he's read right. Ugh.

Solas glances around—as if the presence of a demon getting the piss scared out of it in another part of Shisui’s mind would affect this one—and then back to Shisui.

“I would never have known if you had not said something,” he admits.

“That’s because this time you had an invite,” Shisui explains. He tries not to let his face do things without his permission, but it just! Feels so weird! His traps aren’t made with spirits in mind, and so they don’t exactly work on the demon the way they ought.

Which isn’t to say they don’t work, just that it’s different. And it feels weird. It feels really weird. And nothing at all quite like anything else.

“Hmm...” Shisui tilts his head slightly, considering the demon. It’s really trying very hard to tempt him with... nothing at all interesting, because nothing is can offer is anything that he wants. He knows despair; he has felt its depths, and rejected it wholesale already. “It’s not very good at this.”

Really, it’s quite banal: never see your family again (he should be dead, so since he’s not, his chances are greater than zero), they’re all going to die (everyone dies, but if anyone can save the clan, it’s Itachi), the Future From Hell is inevitable—yeah, right, pull the other one. That mess is already well-averted.

Shisui rolls his eyes. Try harder, dumbass.

“So, in your professional opinion, should I kill it? Or just expel it? I mean, it feels almost like hitting a baby,” he admits, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. (Seriously, he's getting second-hand embarrassment here! Demons are supposed to be scary and dangerous, step up your game, Despair!)

Solas is staring at him like he’s grown a second head. Shisui ignores him, and considers the demon, confused and half-panicked, all because he won’t give in to its blandishments. Seriously. Killing it wouldn’t be like hitting a baby, it’d be like kicking a puppy. While an Inuzuka watches.

“You pity it,” Solas says.

“Well, yeah,” Shisui says. “It’s in my head, which as you know, means I’m a bit in its.” The reminder makes Solas briefly, visibly uncomfortable.

Good.

Shisui gives the man his sunniest grin, as the soft breeze ruffles his hair, and gently stirs fallen flower petals.

“It’s confused and dismayed, because it doesn’t understand,” he explains. “It’s pulled out a lot of tricks, and surely something should have worked? But I know how to tell the difference between real and not-real. It’s not prepared for that, so...”

“Confused and dismayed,” Solas repeats. Shisui nods.

“Exactly.” Abruptly, Shisui gets to his feet. “Let’s take a walk,” he says. Solas rises, and steps over to join him.

“Which way?” he asks.

“You pick!” Shisui replies, grinning. “It’s lovely either way along the Naka—that’s the river—and also into the woods.”

Solas looks around thoughtfully, and Shisui can feel his consideration, the probe of his mind in the different directions; Shisui doesn’t let him get anywhere with that, of course. Nothing but the beauty of nature in any direction. A little wrinkle forms between Solas' brows as he tries to parse the nature of Shisui's mindspace, and has no more luck than he has before. It's satisfying in the way that only stumping one's elders can be.

"Across the river, and into the woods, perhaps?" he finally says. Across the river, the woods shift quickly from flowering trees to larger, heaver, deeper, darker--Hashirama trees aplenty, much more appealing in the tree road than on the ground, but still nice.

"All right," Shisui says, and starts walking across the river. Solas follows him, looking curiously down into the river as he does. Rounded stones and silver-scaled fish, sparkling in the sun are what he’ll see, along with the occasional bit of debris—stray kunai and the like. Not much, though, since D-ranks keep the river around the village relatively clean. He had never said so at the time, but as a genin those had been some of his favourite; seeing the clean, clear water, and all the junk piled to one side had been incredibly rewarding. So are the occasional ‘treasures’ and even more occasional treasures. He has some stashed at home (he ignores the twinge of pain that hits him at the thought; everything will be fine, Itachi can handle it), and a couple of favourites in his scroll, just because.

On the far bank of the river, the blossoming fruit trees are just as thick, but they quickly give way to a mix of wild forest and Hashirama trees. Solas pauses at the first one they pass, bending to pick up a fallen leaf, holding it between his fingers, and turning it curiously. He looks up at the tree, his gaze following the branches, the leaves, and back to the one in his hand.

“Is this a Hashirama tree?" he asks, staring back up at it again.

"Yeah," Shisui agrees. "They only grow around my hometown, and a few other places in Fire Country-" he drops the name deliberately, and it gets him a look from Solas "-because they were created by one of the founders of my home: Senju Hashirama. Actually, you can probably see the monument from here," he adds, leaping up into the branches. Solas follows after a moment.

"There," Shisui says, pointing out through a small gap in the foliage. "The face on the left? That's him." Solas settles beside him, one hand on the branch to steady himself.

"I see. And... the rest? The other founders, I presume?" Shisui wobbles a hand.

"The man to his right is his brother, Tobirama, who was also a founder, but the other two weren't. Well, I think Sandaime-sama was around, but he would have been a kid... He's about the same age as my grandpa," Shisui explains. "These are our leaders."

Solas looks at them, and Shisui can feel him doing the maths.

"How long do your people live?" he asks. The question actually surprises Shisui; it's not the one he was expecting.

"We're lucky to make it to thirty, if I'm honest," he admits. "A shinobi's life is dangerous." Less so recently, with the war over, so maybe Shisui's generation will have a longer lifespan, but it's a pretty sorry state, if you ask him. Still, it's better than it used to be, for sure.

Solas looks perfectly aghast for a moment, before something dark and stubborn moves through his eyes, leaving something distant and almost pitying. Shisui doesn't think the look is--quite--directed at him, but...

"War?" Solas asks. Shisui nods.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I mean, it's over now, but I fought in it when I was younger. The life of a shinobi is always dangerous though, even in peacetime." It bears repeating.

"Are most shinobi like you?"

"No. I'm considered very good," Shisui replies, shrugging a little. "And it's true; I'm one of the best of my clan, and my clan is one of the strongest." Possibly the strongest these days, considering the Senju clan currently consists of one AWOL Sannin and a single very old priest in one of the clan shrines. Hell, by now it might just be Tsunade-hime and nobody else.

Solas arches an eyebrow, but it's clear that he understands Shisui's words aren't some idle boast, but rather a matter of plain fact.

“I would like to see them in person someday,” he says abruptly, looking at the trees once more. “They are impressive enough here. To be in the presence of such ancient trees would be a privilege.”

“It just seems normal to me,” Shisui admits. “And they’re not all that old; just between sixty and eighty years, most of them. They’re that big because they were made that way to begin with.”

Once again, that gives Solas pause, in a way that Shisui finds somehow deeply satisfying.

“So when you say he created them...?” He trails off, looking up at the Hokage Monument again, eyes drawn to the stern visage of the Shodai.

Shisui clasps his hands in the snake seal, and gestures up, drawing Solas' attention again.

“He literally created them, with his chakra.”

“He was a mage?”

“Nearly everyone is, where I come from. Inside the village, at least. Maybe not everyone can use their chakra, but everyone has it.” He starts walking again, this time through the tree road. Once again, Solas follows him easily.

“How is this done?” he asks, gesturing at Shisui's feet. “In the waking world, I mean.”

“You can walk on top of snow,” Shisui points out. “It’s exactly the same; just a matter of degree. This-“ he points to where his feet are stuck to the tree “-is actually easier, because a tree is more stable than snow.”

“I see,” he says thoughtfully. “It never even occured to me; of course water-walking makes sense, since snow is a form of ice... does that mean it works because trees are also largely water...? No, no, because it works on stone as well...”

As Solas thinks out loud, Shisui continues to lead him along an easy path through the branches, because why not? He wonders how far Solas will follow. How long. He wonders when the older man will notice how long they have been in this dream without waking.

Shisui has been keeping track: it has been three hours inside the controlled space of his dream, and far less outside. Even outside in the Fade; he has become more and more aware of it, especially after travelling to the hell future that—

He stops abruptly on one broad tree limb, and turns to face Solas again.

“That future,” he starts. “I think we both agree that it must never come to pass.”

“Yes,” Solas says, inclining his head slightly.

“Then I need you to tell me what your connection is to the Breach,” Shisui says. “And this.” He extends his left hand, and allows it to crackle green; even inside his own mind, he can’t fully make it go away, and it’s.

That’s.

He does not like it.

Someone else’s power attached to him, leeching from him, worming its way into his chakra—not that he can’t keep it out, mostly. Keep it isolated. But he can still feel it.

The forest looms darkly around them, Shisui’s memory of a warm, protective, shadow that surrounds all of Konoha: the Shodai’s legacy, looking after them all. It’s just a memory of course, but it’s Shisui’s memory, in his mind, and hell yes it’s part of his defences.

Solas sighs, softly. There's a minute twitch of his shoulders, as if Solas has suppressed some reflexive movement. His fingers also twitch, and Shisui can feel his chakra--see his chakra--sharpen, like electrified shards of ice, before he slowly, deliberately, relaxes it. Smooths it out.

Shisui gives him the space to do it. It's not an easy question to answer, that much is certain.

“It was my fault," Solas says finally, softly. "An accident—it was never meant to happen—but it was my fault, and I regret it.”

“It’s full of your chakra—your magic,” Shisui states matter-of-factly. “It’s plain as day to me, even if nobody else seems to notice.”

“My magic was used in its creation—as I said, it was my fault, even if it was none of my doing,” Solas replies, looking away for a moment. There’s a shadow on his face, one that makes him look all the more troubled by the matter.

“Elaborate, please.” It’s a politely phrased order, and Solas recognises it as such, meeting Shisui’s eyes again with a sharp look.

“I had put a portion of my power into a device, to... power it, for want of a better word. When the time came to retrieve it, much to my chagrin I found that I had given too much, and was no longer strong enough to unlock it safely. So, as doing do unsafely would undoubtedly kill whoever performed the act, I arranged for the device to fall into the hands of one reprehensible enough to deserve the fate, and arrogant enough to believe that he could avoid it.”

It has the ring of truth, if not the whole truth. (Shisui can see, sense, taste a few other pieces of the puzzle--the orb, the demonic wolf, the Elder One.)

“But?” Shisui prompts, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, arms crossed, chin raised slightly, head cocked like a crow as he watches Solas. The older man’s shoulders mantle in response this time; not unlike a wolf’s. (Shisui is reminded again of the six-eyed demonic wolf he had seen, the first time he had a glimpse of Solas’ mind, and he wonders.)

“I underestimated him,” Solas admits. “Or else he possess some power I do not know; I would prefer the former rather than the latter, but unfortunately, I suspect that the man I gave my device to... is the same as Alexius’ Elder One.”

Shisui just.

He just.

He has a headache, in his own Sage-forsaken brain.

He.

No.

“Solas why,” he starts. Holds up a hand to forestall any half-assed answer, because right now, none will be good enough.

“You. That plan. Has got to be the worst plan I have ever heard, and that includes the battle plans of kindergartners. Under sixes,” he adds, realising that Solas probably has no concept of kindergarten. Half the people he’s met here have been barely literate, if that; education seems to be reserved for the upper classes. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and holds up a hand again; Solas stays quiet, though he’s practically bristling with the insult, and clearly wants to say something.

“Seriously, what made you think that that was a good idea?” he asks.

“I... in my defence, had just woken from a... magically induced coma, and it seemed like the most efficient way to retrieve my power,” Solas says. His embarrassment seems genuine at least. So does his remorse. “I know now that it was a mistake. I will not do its like again.”

He paces down to the end of the tree branch and back again, hands in the small of his back. Down, and back, and Shisui allows it. It's clearly difficult for Solas to even think about, much less talk about; he does not seem like the kind of man to often make mistakes, much less those on such a grand scale. He allows a third turn about the branch before speaking again.

"All the rest of that aside, tell me what you really think is necessary to close the Breach? Without any hemming and hawing to keep Cassandra from smiting you," he adds, as Solas opens his mouth to answer.

"More power," he says succintly. "It would be a simple matter if I could reclaim my device from our enemy--the two of us could easily manage without any outside aid. As it stands, I fear we need to recruit the aid of many more mages, the stronger the better, as even with every precaution, the process might kill a weaker mage."

So, S-rank mission, nobody below tokujou, or the local equivalent. Shisui nods.

"And?" he prompts.

"Adequate defences," Solas says, grimacing. "The process will be draining at best, and I have no doubt that Alexius' Elder One will try to interrupt us--whether he is the man I gave my device to or not."

"Haven is a shit base, from a military perspective," Shisui says. "But it's what we have. So we'll need to fortify, and and get more defenders. I want Seekers and Templars; they're pretty much ideal for keeping the Elder One's minions at bay."

Solas frowns; dark disapproval mingling with genuine concern.

"Shisui, I know that you find their abilities useful, but I cannot stress the fact that our own Seeker Cassandra is the exception rather than the rule when it comes to mages," he says. "They would defend us from the Elder One, and then turn upon us as soon as we had, to their minds, served our purpose. Did you ever finish reading Master Tethras' book?"

Shisui shakes his head.

"I haven't had the chance," he admits. He wants to; Hawke is really cool, and knowing that she's a real person, and not just a fictional character? So much cooler. Like, as cool as the Founders, except she's still alive, and a person he can maybe meet someday, if he gives Varric the puppy eyes. The dwarf seems suspiciously susceptible to them, and he has no shame about exploiting that fact.

"You should," Solas says simply. "The ending will be, I imagine, revelatory. And if you doubt the veracity, you need only ask Varric himself--or Commander Cullen."

"Commander Cullen the ex-Templar," Shisui murmurs.

"Indeed." Solas inclines his head slightly. Shisui drags a hand down his face, and shakes his head.

"I still think a mage-templar or mage-seeker team would be a force-multiplier," he mutters into his hand. "It's not like--ugh." You know what? Fuck it. "You realise that there's not really any difference between what they do and what mages do, right? I mean, you're a sensor, and you feel it."

Solas looks at him like he's grown a second head, and since they're kind of in the Fade, Shisui checks to make sure he hasn't.

He hasn't.

"It's just different applications of chakra," Shisui continues. "It looks different, but not any more different than, oh, different elemental releases."

"Looks--ah, you can see the magic?" Solas asks, meeting his eyes again, briefly. "I had suspected as much, however, to hear it..." He trails off, and says no more, though he is clearly thinking of something. Something troubling, for all that he suppresses that emotion quickly enough that Shisui barely catches the minute wrinkle between his eyes before he smooths it away.

"What's wrong?" Shisui asks.

"Nothing," Solas says quickly. "Nothing, I just... long ago I knew someone else who could see magic. I have not thought of them in a very long time. It is a rare talent you possess, da'len."

Shisui can read between the lines: whoever it is that he’s reminding Solas of, they’re long gone, one way or another. Dead, maybe. But.

“As you say, Honoured Elder,” he drawls back. Solas’ lips twitch.

(Elsewhere in Shisui’s mind, Despair tries again, and again, fails. Admittedly, Solas’ presence makes it easier to ignore.)

“Despair again?” Solas asks. At Shisui’s questioning look, he adds, with a wry look of his own, “You have a tell.”

Shisui makes a face at him.

Solas smirks. And then he sobers.

“You should eject it from your mind,” he says. “If you do not plan to destroy it. You may have the advantage, but spirits have their own ways, and can be more insidious than you realise.”

“I agree,” Shisui says. Surprise shows briefly in Solas’ eyes, quickly chased away by warmth. “I’ll warn it off of the mages of around Redcliffe, too,” he continues soberly. “If what you say is true about how much power is necessary to close the Breach, then we need them too much to worry about anyone being bothered by demons.”

“There is a powerful Sloth demon around here as well,” Solas replies. “I doubt that it will bother you, but you should be mindful.”

"Thanks," Shisui says with a nod. Elsewhere in his mind, he gathers Despair by the scruff of its neck—so to speak—and shoves it unceremoniously. A few words to warn it off of the mages, and then he can dismiss it from his attention.

Oddly, his mind feels lighter for having ejected Despair; perhaps it took some of his own lingering gloom with it? Since he has an expert right here, he poses the question.