Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dear Varric,

It was a-

Cassandra leaned back in her seat, tapping the tip of her quill against the table. Not even a sentence in and she was already struggling to find the right word. Pleasure seemed too stiflingly formal, while treat was just cloying.

It was a surprise to receive your note with the reports from Kirkwall. 

Well, that was true. It had been tucked into the very back, a short scribbled scrap that had fallen out only once she had finished looking through the reports and picked them up to set them with the growing stack on her desk. Looking away from the mostly blank paper in front of her, Cassandra picked up the short note, holding it in front of her. An afterthought? A friendly nod?

She sighed, setting it back down beside her own writing.

Though I know, of course, that you have been working in Kirkwall for quite some time now, I had not expected you to be directly involved with locating the information requested. That was perhaps foolish on my part - I should have known you would be central to the Inquisition’s information network wherever you found yourself.

As to my own ties with the Inquisition, they are, as you suggested, a bit different these days. Though my work in Crestwood is in service to the Inquisition, it is only so in the most technical of terms. I serve in name more than actuality at the moment, though I would like to believe that this is something that helps the Inquisition as much as it helps me.

The rain, which had been throwing menacing looks from the heavy clouds all day, had just begun to patter down. Cassandra looked up as it grew more intense, quickly turning the last wisps of sunset into a flat grey sheet. Outside her window, the lake had already started its usual thrashing, as temperamental as ever in the dreary weather. When Cassandra had first visited Crestwood, and the rift had glowed its unsettling, queasy green above the waters, it had been easy to assume that there had been something supernatural about them.

Cassandra lit another candle in the increasing dim, smiling. It hadn’t taken long for the moodiness of Crestwood’s lake to become commonplace to her.

I have been stationed at Caer Bronach for several months now. Officially, I am operating to keep order in the region, noting any activities in weekly reports, as well as helping with the recovery of the village, which is still searching for stability after the revelations about the flooding of Old Crestwood. Out of all my official responsibilities, that is probably the one that takes up most of my time. Sister Vaughn, who you may remember-

Cassandra stopped, squinting at the sentence.

“Whom?” She muttered the word to the empty room.

It was hard for her to keep track of that particular difference. Putting her quill down, Cassandra crossed her arms, frowning down at her own writing. It was pointless to get caught up in something like that, but those were always the things that tripped her up. Not being able to find quite the right word, or not being sure if she was saying things correctly. The regular reports were hard enough, and she usually shied away from personal writing, which was always so much worse for some reason.

It should matter less, shouldn’t it? Not that Cassandra had ever had much of a reason for personal correspondence, but it seemed as though she should be allowed a degree of informality. With Varric, that degree could, in all likelihood, be pushed to its limits and still be fine. After all, his note had been barely more than a half-thought out addition to the report, a jumble of tiny words on a ripped corner.

Pinning it onto the desk with her index finger, Cassandra glared down at the note. That was always the way it worked with him, wasn’t it? He said a few words, and got her all worked up, and she was stuck stewing for the next week.

Finally, she simply settled for crossing out the line.

Sister Vaughn is the source of most of my work. You may recall her from the Inquisition’s work in draining the lake and uncovering Old Crestwood. She is a nice enough woman. Too nice, if anything. I think she believes that I could pluck the sun from the sky if I put my mind to it. She has heard one too many stories, and though I have asked her on multiple occasions not to feel any obligation to formality, it does not seem she has taken much heed of my words.

That is not to say that I do not respect her work, of course,

Cassandra resisted the urge to crumple the new page in front of her, which had started with her discussion of Sister Vaughn. She meant no disrespect, but it was easy to complain about the small frustrations that had been piling ever since she took charge of Caer Bronach.

That was the thing. Why she had sat down to write in the first place. For the past months, she really hadn’t had anyone to talk to about those frustrations. Her interactions with the Inquisition were mostly formal. During her earlier travels, Cassandra had stayed in regular contact with Leliana, communicating personal notes alongside her reports. However, Leliana’s growing duties as the newly appointed Divine Victoria, as well as Cassandra’s own investigations, had made communication less frequent than she would have liked.

It wasn’t as if there weren’t still people Cassandra cared about there, people she missed. The Inquisitor, for one. She liked to believe she had a decent relationship with Josephine as well. But they were both busy enough as it was. As for the other prominent members of the Inquisition?

Cassandra had trouble picturing Cole taking the time to write out a letter to her.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Cassandra clicked her tongue, unwilling to let those easy excuses slip by. Cole would respond to her. Most of them would. She just had trouble finding the time, or the words, or the motivation.

Yet here she was, writing a letter to Varric of all people. And being more honest with him than she had expected to be.

She smoothed the page out. She wouldn’t crumple it, yet. That didn’t mean she had to send it once she was done.

That is not to say that I do not respect her work, of course, merely that there are times I wish she made it a little easier to say no. She has many requests, all offered in the most unassuming fashion, but I have not yet found the strength to deny her even once. Perhaps if I am still here during First Day, I will resolve to find some way of turning her down. For now, I will simply continue to add her needs to my other duties.

As I mentioned earlier, my duties are not simply those of the Inquisition. In fact, the majority of them are of a more personal nature. I am not sure how much I ought to share with you (mostly because it has been rather dull, tedious work), though I am sure you are already aware of the bulk of it.

The man I asked after, Cedric, is a Seeker who was last known working in Kirkwall. He is one of several I am trying to track down. Since leaving Skyhold, most of my time has been spent attempting to salvage what is left of our order.

It has not been an easy task.

A sudden wave of tiredness swept over Cassandra as she wrote the words. It was a simple way to say something that had been weighing on her for quite some time. Not an easy task. It was a task that had taken her halfway across Thedas and back, with very little more than a few scraps to show for her work. The saving grace of the Seekers was the same thing that made it so difficult to actually make any attempt at saving them. When the Seekers scattered, they scattered far.

What was it that Blackwall had once said about the Wardens? About how they tended to disappear after a Blight? Cassandra knew she would never remember exactly, nor did she care to put much effort into recalling the sentiment of a man who had been lying to them the entire time, but she felt his words might apply surprisingly well to her own predicament. When they weren’t operating as a group, the Seekers sought to serve the Maker in all corners of Thedas. And they didn’t leave their duties half-finished.

In any case, I have managed a few hesitant leads. This seems like it may be the most hopeful.

That does not fully answer why specifically I have taken up a position at Crestwood, but perhaps that is a story for a later date. It is somewhat involved with my search, but it is a bit complicated, to say the least. Even worse, it has mostly proven to a be a fruitless search after ignorant whispering.

I don’t like the thought that I have dedicated the last months of my life to baseless rumor.

There it was again. A bit too much truth slipping through. Writing was always like that for her: either far too much spilled on to the page, or nothing did at all. How many hours had she spent trying to collect stories of the Inquisitor’s trip to the Fade, only to find that half of them had devolved into her own ramblings on faith? She was able to sort them out eventually, but it still bothered her that she had such trouble rooting through her thoughts without revealing them all on the page.

Then again, it wasn’t as if the page was the only place where that happened. Varric had always chided her for sharing her hand in their games of Wicked Grace, as well.

Nevertheless, I am not willing to let this thread slip just yet. Hopefully your information will prove useful to my search.

“And now it just sounds like a report again.” Cassandra dipped her quill into the inkpot once more. This wasn’t getting anywhere. She would sign it, set it aside for the night, and decided in the morning whether or not to send it or to toss it in the fire.

Then again, that presented its own challenge. The last third of the page beckoned with an unwelcome blankness, asking the same question she never knew how to answer. It was the smallest things that tripped her up, every time.

Finally, eyes drifting half-closed with the cloud of sleep hanging over her head, Cassandra set the tip of the quill against the paper and let her hand guide itself. Let Varric make of her words what he would. Odds were, he’d barely even notice them.

Best wishes,

she wrote with a flourish, 

Cassandra

---

Seeker

Hope this comes in handy, but what in Andraste’s name are you doing in Crestwood? Did you finally punch the wrong person and get permanently kicked out of Skyhold? Or are you still off on some daring mission of your own?

I’d love to hear the story if you have the time

-Varric

[found tucked into the last page of a report on the movements of Cedric Threll from 9:40 - 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

Cassandra woke with the sunrise - a clear one, for once. The rain had burned off in the middle of the night, though the chill hadn’t. She had heard from the locals that the winters could get bitterly cold, and wasn’t looking forward to the heavy snow that Crestwood weather would most likely bring with it. 

Cassandra moved with a practiced ease through her morning stretches, doing her best to ignore the cold of the stone floor that soaked up into her bones. Soon enough she would be moving, checking in with people, and that cold would fade to nothing more than a minor buzz. Morning aches would wear off with the day, so she concentrated on the familiar movements, losing herself in them. The first hour of the morning remained her own, she had established that very early on. That was one benefit of being in charge of things: when you told people to leave you alone, they did. Or at least, they did for a while.

Finally shaking the last of her morning dreariness away, Cassandra padded across the room to her desk, where her letter to Varric still sat, folded neatly and set to the side. She picked it up, tapping it against her lips with a sigh. Part of her wanted to toss it out the window, while another part wanted to read it over, nervous at what she might have revealed. Of course, she knew if she did that, she would definitely end up tossing it out the window. Or into the fireplace. Or perhaps ripping it into tiny shreds and feeding it to one of the Mabari that had taken up residence at the fort. They’d eat just about anything.

Instead, she set the letter back on the desk. Moving over to her neatly folded pile of clothes, Cassandra dressed efficiently, trying to sort through her thoughts. It was just a letter. A little friendly chatter around the campfire, so to speak, just chatter that took longer to reach the intended recipient.

The problem was that she had grown rather accustomed to the silence.

The letter remained on her desk as Cassandra finished dressing and finally left her room, locking the door behind her. Somewhere past the dimly lit alcove, she could hear morning routine of the other soldiers. Cassandra took stairs quickly, emerging out onto the open, central area of the fort.

The scouts on the night shift had just reported in, and were talking easily with those just waking up for the day, all of them clutching at warm drinks. They nodded politely at Cassandra as she passed, many attempting tired smiles. She did her best to match theirs, pausing occasionally to check in with them.

It was at the final group where she came to a proper stop. Charter, the somewhat informal scout master, sat on a table, legs dangling off the edge as she listening to one of the scouts report. A steaming cup of something sat next to her, mostly untouched. Cassandra waited as the scout finished and hurried off, presumably to the irresistible beckoning of a soft bed or a warm meal. Charter, turning back to the table and sorting through the papers next to her, reached over to her cup without looking up. She took a sip and then scowled.

“You’d think after over a year I’d have trained these people how to make a better cup of tea.”

“Well, the cook doesn’t burn dinner any more at least.”

Charter looked up with a smile. “That’s true, mostly. I suppose I’d rather deal with overly sweet tea than burnt food. And what about you? You want anything to drink?”

Cassandra shook her head, moving over to the table and looking down at the papers Charter had in front of her. “I’ve never been one for hot beverages in the morning. They just remind me how cold everything else is.”

“Each to her own then. I don’t think I could survive. As to the cold, well. I hope this isn’t too much for you, because this is just the start.”

“So I’ve heard,” Cassandra replied with a grimace. “I’ll deal with that when it comes. With luck, I will have what I need before winter sets in properly.”

Charter, in the middle of a sip of her tea, held up a finger. “Mmm, yes, about that. I might have news.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Real news? Or something else that Sister Vaughn has for me to do?”

“Real news,” Charter said with a chuckle. “Hopefully, at least. You know those bandits that we routed out of this place?”

“Yes, well enough. An unpleasant bunch, but no different than your average group. Stealing from travelers, occasionally killing. From what I heard they were taken care of rather thoroughly though. Are they posing a problem?”

“Well, not exactly. The group itself seems to be pretty much what you took it for. Not much more than a bunch of people looking for quick money and no one to answer to. But it’s possible they might have ties to our old friends the Venatori. I had an agent investigating in Orlais, who was killed on the road back when we first took the fort. It was suspicious, of course, but…”

“But what?”

“Well, we discovered that he had been sold out by one of our own. Once we figured out who that was, we assumed that the trail ended there. The notes we found on his body indicated that he had discovered someone in Orlais who was working with Corypheus, but not much more than that.”

“So what’s changed now?”

“Last night one of my agents found a hidden cache. A very well hidden cache. It had several reports from him. Most of them were rather innocuous, but one… well, here.”

Charter picked up the paper. It clearly wasn’t the original report, but rather, a careful transcription. Notes on the movements of the bandits, along with a list of expenses and dates.

“They were being paid?”

Charter slid off the table, moving next to Cassandra to look at the report over her shoulder. “It seems like it. Butcher noted that a great deal of money was being funneled from his mark in Orlais to the bandits here. Once a month, a messenger would meet with their leader. They paid a hefty sum, but didn’t seem to receive anything in return.”

“Then it wasn’t an exchange, unless these people were after information. But what would they need to know about Crestwood?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Charter said with a shrug. “It could be that they found something useful. Maybe it was related to Corypheus’ search for all things elvish.”

Cassandra looked over at Charter, who had taken the report from her. The woman was chewing on the tip of her thumb, as she often did when she was reviewing her own theories. Charter didn’t like to share anything unless she was sure, or at least sure enough to consider it worth investigating.

“You think it was something else though.”

“I think it could be. It’s not… it’s not common knowledge what you are doing here, Lady Cassandra, but we all know that you aren’t simply here to keep an eye on us.”

Cassandra murmured an affirmative. “I haven’t disclosed what, but I have been pursuing some rumors, yes.”

“Rumors of a new presence in Crestwood? Not bandits, that much is clear. There haven’t been any attacks. But there have been strange things. Odd people passing through town. Supplies going missing. And, occasionally, names floated on the wind.”

“You’ve heard names?”

“Not of individual people, no. It’s not something I specifically followed up on. Nightingale told me that when you felt it necessary to share information with us, you would. So I didn’t ask too much, but I heard. And, well… the Order of the Fiery Promise are good at disappearing for a while and then turning back up again, aren’t they?”

Cassandra did her best not to bristle at the name. She hadn’t heard it spoken out loud for a long time. Still, she couldn’t begrudge Charter the right to put together pieces where she saw them fitting.

“They are.”

“If I were a group like that, I’d want my next step mapped out. Find someone who has a hold on an area nearby, and pay them well to keep that hold for you in case you ever need a place to retreat to. We know they had sworn loyalty to Corypheus in exchange for access to the Seekers, but… that might not have been all he offered them. He had influence, and more importantly, money. Enough money to secure an escape route, I would imagine.”

Cassandra let out a long breath. It wasn’t anything concrete, but it was more than she’d had for a long while. She looked down at the report in Charter’s hands, searching for any sort of idea of where to go from there. It was tantalizing, so frustratingly close to an answer with no clear way to pursue it.

She’d have to take things slowly, one step at a time. The bandits had other places throughout Crestwood where they had holed up. Perhaps something had been left behind there that could give her some sort of clue as to who they had been in contact with.

Before sweeping off, Cassandra clasped a hand on Charter’s shoulder. “Thank you. I can see why Leliana spoke so highly of you. If you could get a copy of this to my desk as soon as possible, along with any other old reports on the bandits, I would appreciate it.” She moved to go, and then stopped, turning back.

“There’s also a letter in my room. Addressed to someone in Kirkwall. If you have the time, would you…”

Charter nodded, once. “Consider it done, Lady Cassandra. And… good luck.”

“Thank you,” Cassandra replied, ignoring the litany of worries that were creeping down the back of her skull. “Hopefully, I will not need it.”

---

Cassandra,

I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. I know your search has taken you to far corners of Thedas, and as ever, I am sure you are sleeping little and worrying much. 

The reason I am writing is to pass along some information I recently received. I have been busy with my duties as Divine, of course, but I still have kept in contact with some of my old agents from the Inquisition. One of them tells me that there have been some odd occurrences in Crestwood lately, more activity than is usual for the small town. Though nobles and merchants pass through on a regular basis when traveling between Denerim and Val Royeaux, they are all familiar with the region and move with little fuss. These new visitors are of a different sort. We’ve noted several small groups moving discretely along the countryside, and there have been a couple of people in the town asking for directions. In addition, a few soldiers stationed in Caer Bronach have reported seeing what they believe to be people outside the walls at night. Alone, they might mean very little, but I would be a poor (former) spymaster indeed if I ignored their combined presence. 

Of course, that all probably seems of little interest to you. However, another name I’ve heard on the wind might change your mind: I have reason to believe that there is a possibility that the Order of the Fiery Promise is involved. I know better than to speak in absolutes, and the rumors could be nothing more than idle speculation and stray gossip, but as Divine I have special access to information that makes me inclined to believe they are more than that. I’ve looked through all the information that the Chantry has on the Promisers, and this seems to match well. On multiple occasions, there has been unusually activity in small towns near areas where the Promisers were stationed, not long after their defeat. This seems to line up well with what I’ve heard, 

I have not asked any of my agents to dig into this yet. I felt that you deserved to know first, due to your personal involvement with the Promisers. If you wish, I can pass this information along to the Inquisition’s new spymaster, and tell them keep you abreast of anything they discover. However, should you wish to take charge of the situation, I would be happy to ask the agents in Crestwood coordinate with you.

Caer Bronach is a small keep, and there is no heavy Inquisition presence in Crestwood, but there is room for one. If you wanted to take up a temporary position there, I am sure I could arrange that without arousing too much suspicion. From there, you could investigate the rumors of the Promisers yourself. I will make sure that the Inquisition spymaster continues to work on finding information about what remains of the Seekers, so you could continue that search as well. All I ask is that you pass regular reports back to the Inquisition about the general state of things. The rest of the what you learn is yours to do with as you please.

I understand the desire to deal with things such as this privately, and I trust you enough to extend that offer. I know you view reforming the Seekers as a personal task, and I respect that you have worked so diligently to do so. If you wish to deal with this in the same manner, that is your choice. However, as a friend, I encourage you to pursue this alongside other members of the Inquisition. You would find everyone there happy to help, I am sure, 

On that note, there was one other thing I wanted to ask about, though I have had trouble finding the words to do so in our last several letters. When you first received word of a Seeker in the Dales, you left Skyhold rather quickly.

Varric left not long after, heading to Kirkwall. Am I reading too much into things? Perhaps you will chide me for my paranoia - it does not always serve me well, at least in personal matters. Still, I know that things have been strained between you in the past, and I cannot help but wonder if your leaving, followed so shortly after by his own, is not mere coincidence. If something did happen, you may not be inclined to share, but I wanted to offer a friendly ear in case you did.

(I look forward to you laughing at me for all this speculation in your reply, but old habits die hard)

In any case, take some time to think on what I have told you, and respond when you have the time.

Oh, and for my sake, turn in early tonight. Consider taking a long bath. You are allowed to rest occasionally. 

Sincerely,

Leliana

[Letter from Divine Victoria to Cassandra Pentaghast, 21 Eluviesta, 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

Cassandra watched Judith gather up bits of stray patchwork and half-mended clothes, setting most of them aside until she had a small pile of work. These she brought with her as she moved to sit down across the table, leaving the rest in a neat stack for later. Her sewing supplies had already been set out, and Judith picked at what she needed, testing the point of a needle before flipping through various threads. 

It was early in the day still, and a mist clung to the world, turning everything an ethereal grey and painting the windows with frost. Cassandra took a sip of water from the heavy clay cup in front of her, enjoying the warmth of the small house. Caer Bronach was too big to keep well heated, and Cassandra imagined her regular visits with Judith would become increasingly enjoyable as winter set in. The woman may have enjoyed shooting at any wolves on to her property with the crossbow she kept strapped at her hip, and she may have refused to move to safety even when the dead wandered the open plains, but she had told Cassandra several times that she had no tolerance for the cold. Her one luxury was a house kept warm enough to make even a varghest sweat.

It was one of many things that Cassandra appreciated about her.

Another important one was how well informed Judith seemed to be about the general mood of the nearby town, as well as the gossip of those that passed through.

Having finally settled into her mending, she turned to Cassandra, ready to move their conversation to the questions Cassandra had come to have answered. “Back when the bandits still held the fort?”

“Yes. I know it was quite some time ago, but anything you remember could be of help. I need to know if there was anyone else who came through here regularly, anyone suspicious.”

Cassandra watched the movement of Judith’s hands, steady and efficient. Her thumbs were callused enough that she didn’t bother with a thimble, just pressed the needled through the fabric in even strokes. Her gestures didn’t slow or falter as she sat in silence.

“Well, I find just about every noble snob that passes through here suspicious. Make good money off of them though. I don’t think I remember anything particularly unusual back then though. Traffic had slowed down when the bandits really took hold, people scared of being robbed on the road, you know.”

Cassandra nodded. She knew it had been an unlikely chance that anyone would remember a few odd travelers from so long ago, but it had seemed like a question worth asking. It was the first time she’d been by to visit since the discovery of Butcher’s reports, and so far all of her other searching had turned up nothing more than cobwebs and skeletons. If the bandits were tied with some Orlesian noble, and that noble was tied with the Promisers, those were two chasms she had not yet found a way to cross. Someone had made sure to keep a tight hold on any records of either of those things. At this point, she was forced to admit, the half-recalled hunches of a civilian were as useful as any other leads she might have.

But it seemed like those weren’t going to be of much help either.

“I know that there were still some people who came through,” Judith finally continued, “mostly the really well-off sort who could afford a bunch of burly guards. I can’t say that I remember any of them in particular, but there might be records at the Tenth Duel. Lots of people on the road spend the night there, and I know that the woman who runs it keeps careful track of them. I can also ask around the village next time I’m there, if you’d like. They are more likely to have seen something.”

“Thank you,” Cassandra said, happy to have even a small lead to follow. “I will check in and see if I and find those records. Any anything you can learn from the others would be useful, though I do not mean to ask so much of you.”

Judith waved a hand at Cassandra, not looking up from her work. “It isn’t a problem. You’ve certainly done enough for us while you’ve been here. Don’t think I don’t notice the projects that Sister Vaughn ropes you into. Who knows, maybe all this digging will impress your fancy Inquisition enough that they’ll hire me. I could use a change of scenery.”

Cassandra laughed, a short stout thing. “Perhaps, though I am not sure I believe that last bit. You seem rather settled here.”

“That’s just what I want you to think. I could leave any day.”

“Of course,” Cassandra agreed with a nod and a quiet smile. She stood, reluctantly, knowing she had a full day of work ahead. She would probably send Charter to town in order to look for the records from the inn, but she would want to actually sort through most of them herself, which meant hours and hours pouring over paperwork. Not her favorite way to spend an afternoon.

Judith didn’t get up as Cassandra left, simply nodded in return and continued her work.

The walk back to Caer Bronach was a distracted affair. Cassandra’s thoughts were caught up in sorting through her next possible actions, and the layers of fog left little of the countryside to attract her attention.

Which is why, to her embarrassment, she was taken almost completely unawares by the shadow that suddenly loomed out at her. She moved quickly to draw her sword, swinging it down in a sharp motion that left the point floating just inches in front of the terrified face of Gauld, a man Cassandra vaguely recognized from Crestwood.

She held it there for a moment longer, letting her nerves calm and tension uncoil as her thoughts caught up with the instinctive movements. Gauld took half a step backwards, and Cassandra did as well, sheathing her sword.

“My apologies, I am afraid you caught me by surprise.”

Gauld lowered his hands, which he had raised in surrender. “I… I can tell. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t-” Cassandra started, temper flaring. She caught herself, holding her tongue back. It was hardly his fault that she hadn’t been paying attention.

“You didn’t scare me, you simply startled me. My body occasionally reacts to things before my mind can assure it that they are not dangerous.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m walking down the middle of the road on a quiet morning,” he replied with a grumble. Cassandra shot a glare at him, but didn’t rise to the bait. He probably had things on his mind as well, and she had been the one to level a sword at him, so she couldn’t complain too much about his anger.

“Where are you headed? If you would like, I would be happy to accompany you the rest of the way to make up for-”

“No,” he said quickly, “no that’s not necessary. The road is usually safe these days, so unless there are any other distracted warriors wandering by, I’m sure I will be fine.” He stalked off before she could respond.

Cassandra watched as he faded back into the fog, and remembered as he did that he was a friend of Judith’s. He was probably headed to visit her, which meant that Judith would be sure to hear of Cassandra’s overreaction.

She rubbed at the center of her forehead as she turned back to the road. It was little more than a jumpy mistake, but still, Cassandra couldn’t help but feel as if something was slipping away from her. She had always been a tense person, always been inclined to speak with sword and shield before trying to work through problems with diplomatics. Still, holding a civilian at sword point made her wonder if she’d stepped past that. If suspicion and worry now ran so deeply in her blood that she’d never be able to root them out.

Leliana had been right when she said that paranoia did not always prove useful in personal matters. Still, Cassandra preferred being at the hilt of the sword rather than the tip of it.

Luckily, the road was clear the rest of the way back. Cassandra slipped into a quiet Caer Bronach, avoiding eye contact with the guards stationed outside the gates. They knew better than to try and start a conversation unbidden, a fact she was rather grateful for.

Charter was nowhere to be found, so Cassandra left a brief note on top of the other reports at the table, detailing the records she would need from the Tenth Duel. No one else seemed to require her immediate attention, so Cassandra headed off to her own desk, and her own reports.

There was a stack waiting for her, of course. There was also, however, a thick envelope set next to them, addressed to her. A letter.

She picked it up, hesitant, running her thumb over the familiar Kirkwall address scrawled in the top left corner. Was he still at that shabby bar? He certainly could have found someplace better, if he’d wanted to.

Cassandra shook her head. But no, of course he was still staying there. Maker only knew, he might have had it rebuilt just so he could. Varric was about as nostalgic as they came.

Sitting down, Cassandra slipped the letter open, unfolding several pages of tight, steady writing, as well as a single playing card that slid onto her lap. She picked it up, amused, flipping it over. The Knight of Dawn, if she wasn’t mistaken. There was nothing else written on it, and nothing else had been folded in with the letter, so Cassandra set the card aside, face up on her desk.

Seeker,

I have to admit, I was rather surprised to hear from you as well. Wasn’t sure you were the letter writing type. You’ve got nice penmanship, by the way. I’m impressed.

Since you didn’t ask (just forgot, I’m sure), I’m doing well. Kirkwall is as impossibly chaotic as ever. Even worse now that I seem to be seen as something of a so-called “responsible person” these days. How in Andraste’s name did that happen?

The rebuilding is going well though, or as well as can be expected. Those buildings you were so concerned about? Looking grand. At least the ones in Hightown are, because of course those got put back together first. Like I said, things really haven’t changed all that much here.

Well, that’s not completely true. I’m doing my best to help the not-so-dreadfully-rich where I can. Merrill has been useful in that, which is to say, she keeps me on my toes. Not a day goes by without her making sure I’m spending time assisting the alienage. The elves in the city were some of the hardest hit by the riots. There was of course the basic burning and destruction that comes with any good rebellion, but on top of that, the attack on the Chantry tended to prompt people into drawing deeper lines along previous divides. A lot of backwards asses getting it into their heads that anyone who wasn’t a human and a faithful Andrastian was the enemy.

Things have gotten a little better since our lovely Divine Victoria took the Sunburst Throne and basically told them all to go fuck themselves, but it’s always been an uphill battle. I like to think I’m helping, though half of the time I’m just exchanging insults with Bran, our wonderful “Provisional Viscount.”

Well, that’s not exactly fair. The man couldn’t come up with a good insult if his life depended on it.

That’s most of what I’ve been up to. Hard to believe it’s been almost a year of bureaucratic bullshit. Varric Tethras, mired in paperwork. If I had met myself ten years ago, I would have cried.

Seems like you’ve had your fair share of paperwork yourself though. Tracking down other Seekers? I’d vaguely heard that’s what you were up to, but I had no idea you were still at it. And still no luck. Well, I’m sure things will turn around for you eventually. I’ve never seen a problem you couldn’t deal with my bashing it hard enough. Or stabbing. Can’t forget the stabbing.

Still haven’t told me what you’re doing in Crestwood though. Is it top secret Seeker business? Or are you just doing that thing where you assume that anyone who isn’t you doesn’t need to know? I bet it’s the second one. Come on, Seeker, I promise I won’t go blabbing to anyone. And if you don’t tell me, I’ll be forced to draw my own conclusions. Maybe there is a nest of new, even deadlier dragons there. Or an army of demons. Or are you searching for the lost ashes of Andraste?

Speaking of stories, I thought you might like to know that the last chapter of Swords & Shields is going to be coming out soon. No idea if you’ll even be able to find it down there. Hell, I don’t know if they will print enough copies that I will be able to find one here in Kirkwall. But if you’re interested, let me know, and I’ll see if I can get you one specially delivered. I’ve got an in with the author too. I’ll see if I can get him to sign it for you.

Take care,

Varric

Oh, I almost forgot - the card.

Everyone dealt with it in their own way, and there have probably been a hundred different memorial services for Hawke here, but it felt wrong to be back in Kirkwall and not have one of my own. I gathered everyone up at the Hanged Man a few weeks after I got back into town. We played a few hands of Wicked Grace with her deck, drank too much, told some stories. It was nice. Everyone left with a card, and I set this one aside for you.

Just don’t stab it, okay?

Cassandra laid the letter down, smoothing out the folds and trying to sort through what she had read. She picked up the card again.

Eight months, if her memory was right. At least seven. He could be lying of course, it could be something he’d picked from any deck. Even if it was one of Hawke’s cards, that didn’t mean that he’d really had it saved for her the entire time. There were plenty of explanations, but it seemed pointless to dwell on them. This wasn’t the kind of thing Varric would lie about.

Leaning forward, Cassandra closed her eyes, resting her head against her hands and pressing her palms against her eyelids.

She didn’t move from that position for a long time.

---

Daisy, you want to explain to me how my scribbled mess of a note ended up tucked into the report sent to Crestwood? Because I’m fairly sure that I left it on top of a pile of trash, not my “please put inside important reports” stack.

~

Varric -

This came in the mail today.

I accept thank-yous in the form of flowers, or expensive dinners.

Your dear friend,

Merrill

~

One day , Daisy, one day you aren’t going to be right about everything. And I am going to never let you hear the end of it.

I’ll see you at the Hanged Man at 6. My treat.

[series of notes exchanged between Varric Tethras and Merrill, 13-17 Frumentum 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

Cassandra waited until late in the evening before sitting down to write a response to Varric. She was tempted to put it off until the morning, but she knew that doing so would only make it easier to push it aside then, and this was something she needed to deal with.

Something, she was surprised to find, she rather wanted to do, though that wanting was cut with a dreadful anxiety.

The first letter to Varric had felt more like fulfilling another task than anything. He had left a note for her, and she had responded in kind. She hadn’t even been sure he would write her back at all, let alone so quickly. Maybe in a month, she’d thought, or two, she’d find some equally stiff response. Which was ridiculous, because Varric didn’t do stiff, or formal, and if he was going to do something, he tended not to do it late, either. But thinking of it that way, expecting it that way, had made it easier for her to set the whole affair aside and focus on her work.

Once she’d finished sorting through the latest reports on the region, and sent Charter off to the Tenth Duel, once she’d watched the sun ease down the side of the battlements and the night shift settle in, however, there was no work to distract her. So she went into her room, closing the door with a dull thud, and stood over her desk.

The first thing she thought about, looking down at the letter again, was how much she missed him. Maker, it was a strange thing to admit, but it hit her in a rush. Not just him, all of them. The long, loud nights at the Herald’s Rest, the constant clamor of Skyhold. Hardly an hour would go by without someone coming to pester her there, and though she had hated it sometimes, it had also made her feel like she was part of something. Even knee deep in bog, the wet heat sticking under her armor, or half baked on the plains of the Western Approach, she’d been following a path clearly laid in front of her. And she’d been following it with others at her side.

People she might even call friends.

When had that all fallen away? It hadn’t been intentional. When she had left Skyhold after the defeat of Corypheus, she hadn’t been trying to leave Skyhold and the Inquisition behind. Quite the opposite, she’d felt like she was following that same path, working in the name of Andraste and the Maker and all that she’d always believed in.

But then nothing had happened. There had been no grand victories, no triumphant homecomings. She’d slept at inns and on the road, on days where she wasn’t pushing herself forward without sleep. She’d struggled through the same sort of inhospitable terrain as before, but it hadn’t lead anywhere this time, and along the way, she’d fallen into the habit of being alone.

Cassandra hadn’t ever sat down and admitted how much that hurt. It wasn’t a sharp pain, or a constant loneliness. Rather, it was dull throb, which only crept up on her on quiet nights. The worst part of it is that she was never sure whether she ought to be blaming herself, or others, or simply the unfortunate odds of circumstance. The latter was the most honest response, she knew, but the former was the easiest.

Brushing her quill between thumb and forefinger, Cassandra tried to work out a way to put those thoughts down in a few sentences. That was useless though. She’d never be satisfied, never come up with better words than I’m sorry, and that wasn’t what she needed to say.

So she dipped the tip of the quill into the inkwell at her right, carefully whetting it without letting any glob onto the end, threatening fat streaks and blotches.

Dear Varric, She wrote, refusing to let her hand pause.

Thank you for your quick response. I’m not usually good at responding regularly myself, but I’m forcing myself to sit down and write this the night I received your letter so that I don’t forget.

It wasn’t completely accurate, Cassandra knew, but it would do. Though, knowing Varric, he’d probably reply with some sarcastic offended remark about her having to force herself to write to him. 

It’s been a long, busy day for me, though in this instance that is a good thing. I’ve been checking at one dead end after another, but at the recommendation of one of the villagers, I’m digging into some of the records at the local inn. Hopefully they will give me some names to work with.

I suppose I ought to explain what exactly I am working towards, however. I know I must seem rather stubbornly reluctant to talk about my work in Crestwood, but it is a matter of personal interest. No one but Leliana, the Inquisitor, and my head agent at Caer Bronach are fully aware of why I’m here, and Charter (the agent) only knows because she figured it out herself.

I’m searching for the Order of the Fiery Promise. I’m not sure if you will recognize the name, since you weren’t there when we routed them out of Caer Oswin. They are a group that has long plagued the Seekers. In fact, they claim that they are the true Seekers, tasked to bring about the end of the world in order to cleanse it and start afresh. Not an overly friendly group of people, as you can imagine.

At Caer Oswin, they had been working with Lord Seeker Lucius, doing Maker knows what to the Seekers that Lucius had betrayed and lured in. When we killed him, I believed that was the end of things. The Promisers, as they call themselves, have always had a knack for springing back once every decade or so, but we cut through the bulk of their force, so I had no reason to believe I’d have any luck looking for more of them to weed out.

About six months ago, Leliana contacted me saying that she had a possible lead on the Promisers. There had been rumors of strange activity in Crestwood, rumors that seemed to match their previous patterns. I came here in hopes that I could do what so many others have failed to, and deal a more permanent final blow to the Order.

So far, I have not had much luck, with that or with my continuing attempts to locate the rest of the Seekers. As I mentioned, however, I’ve received new information within the past couple of weeks that might be promising, if only I can find a way to use it.

How is that for a story? It doesn’t live up to the one you would have crafted for me, I’m sure. But if it has a happy ending, I’m not sure I particularly mind. Your tales always tend to be full of tragedy.

I am glad to hear that Kirkwall is doing better. I know that it cannot have been easy work, and I doubt it will get easier any time soon. Still, you are working with friends to help a city you love. I am sure you must take some pride in that. Though I’m not sure exactly what you are doing in Kirkwall. Do you have an official position there? Are you working directly for the Inquisition? Or more informally?

Relatedly, have you been back to visit Skyhold at all? I was hardly even aware of when you’d left for Kirkwall, and haven’t managed more than a few short visits back myself. It seems to be quieter these days, if no less busy.

Thank you, by the way, for the card. I don’t know that I can express what it means to me. I’m sure the evening was wonderful.

For the first time since she’d begun writing, Cassandra’s hand hovered, unsure. She wanted to say more, about how she was sure Hawke would have wanted to be remembered that way. About how she wished she could have been there. It felt like it might be overstepping her bounds, however. Cassandra still couldn’t help but wonder if Varric blamed her for Hawke’s death, couldn’t help but think bitterly of how angry she had been when she found out that he had been hiding the Champion. He’d claimed that he was afraid she might die - that he thought she would have, if Varric had gotten in touch with her earlier.

And Hawke had died. He had been right, painfully, precisely, unswervingly right. Cassandra had never quite known what to say to him. Never quite known how to ask if he hated her for it.

I’ll keep it with my copy of The Tale of the Champion, she finally wrote, a sad smile sneaking onto her face as she did. Yes, the one with the hole in it. I don’t think I could bring myself to replace it, these days.

All the Best,

Cassandra

She stared down at the paper, then blushed before hastily adding a last note.

P.S. And yes, if possible, I would like a copy of the final chapter of Swords & Shields. The series is hard to locate here.

P.P.S. If anything happens to the  Knight-Captain , I will personally come to Kirkwall to seek my revenge.

Cassandra was properly smiling now, despite the worry that had tugged at her only a few minutes ago. She folded up the letter, sliding it into an envelope and sealing it with the wax crest of the Inquisition. After writing out Varric’s address, she set it on top of a few other documents she had prepared to send out the next day.

A knock outside interrupted Cassandra’s preparations for sleep a few moments later. Pulling off her armor and setting it on the bed, she moved across the room, opening to door to a rather soggy Charter.

Despite her water-logged clothes, Charter smiled broadly, digging inside her jacket to retrieve a large stack of papers. They were, miraculously, still dry.

“I know it’s late,” she said, holding out the papers, “but everything went so smoothly at the Tenth Duel that I wanted to get these to you right away. Full records of everyone who has stayed there over the last year. She didn’t have anything going back further than that, sadly. I went ahead and sorted out the obviously uninvolved folks, though I still have that information for you to look at, if you want. There’s one thing I wanted to point out in particular though.”

Cassandra, who had stood back and watched as Charter rambled excitedly, finally gathered her thoughts together, taking the proffered documents. Nodding at Charter to come in, Cassandra moved to her desk, moving aside everything else and laying them out in front of her. Charter followed closely behind, hovering nearby. She pulled off her gloves as Cassandra sat down, rolling up her sleeves to avoid dripping on anything.

“Here,” she said, pointing. “And here and here.” She continued, pointing to eight different entries within the past seven months. “And then much earlier, about at the start of the records.” Charter’s finger hovered over the nine names, ending on one dated in mid Umbralis of 9:41 Dragon. Cassandra skimmed over the entries, a cold fear creeping over her. “They are the same name, each time. No other cargo, no big group like most of the nobles and merchants travel with. They each stayed only a few nights before leaving.” Charter stood back, looking at Cassandra. “What do you think? Could this person be tied in with the Orlesian noble that Butcher was investigating?”

It took Cassandra moment to gather herself up. “They are Seekers.”

“What?”

“The name. It’s not one person, it’s an alias that Seekers use. It’s meant to help us keep hidden, while also signaling others who might be in the area. These people were all Seekers.”

Cassandra skimmed over the list again. “Maker,” she whispered under her breath. “The last one is dated only a few weeks after Cedric was noted leaving Kirkwall. It must have been him.”

Charter’s grin and frozen and darkened, as she processed what Cassandra was saying. “Do you think…”

“It’s exactly what happened at Caer Oswin. They are being lured in by the Promisers, one by one. No wonder it has been so hard to find them. Someone else has been getting to them first.”

“Are they dead then?"

Cassandra shook her head. “For their sake,” she finally said, “I can only hope so.”

---

Honestly, I’m not sure why you keep writing this series, but as soon as you make those few changes, I’ll get it off to print (mind those hanging prepositions, Varric. You’re better than that).

As to your questions about how widely it’s been sold: as I have mentioned several times, it is your least popular series. It has been marketed in Ferelden and Orlais though, at least in the major cities. I’m not going to write up a full list of every store that sells it down there, but if you have a specific place you are curious about, let me know.

Also, if your next chapter is going to be the final one, have you considered killing off the Knight-Captain? I know you said you didn’t want to, but I really think it might be the best dramatic note to end things on. Your readers love it when you do that kind of stuff.

[letter to Varric Tethras from unknown Coterie member, 4 Matrinalis, 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

A bell jangled as Cassandra opened the door to the Tenth Duel. She grimaced as the entire room turned to look at her. It was always difficult to try and operate in small towns. 

Nodding briefly at Judith and Gauld, who were sitting in the far corner of the room, Cassandra ignored the rest of the crowd, making her way to the front of the room. The owner was just as Charter had described her, small and angry and keeping track of three different conversations at once. Cassandra took a seat at the bar, waiting as the woman sorted out a group of nobles who were unsatisfied with the type of soap they had been provided with their baths.

“It’s horrendously dry,” one complained, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket. “I feel like some sort of drake, frying in the sun. You have to have something easier on the skin.”

Cassandra quickly tuned out the yammering. She’d had enough of whining nobles for a lifetime. These ones were someone else’s problem. Instead, she turned her thoughts towards the looming concerns that the Order of the Fiery Promise presented. It was bad enough when she thought that they had simply being staying in Crestwood to recuperate. But they weren’t just resting, they were active. And whatever they had been doing with the Seekers back in Caer Oswin, it was likely they were trying it once again.

So how had that happened? Cassandra had laid out a few different possibilities. It could simply be luck. The first Seeker who had come here, they could have tripped into the Promisers purely by accident. The Seekers were supposed to be firm and steady, and well equipped to withstand torture, but Cassandra knew well enough that ideals did not always equate to reality. If that Seeker had shared details, then that could be the information that they were working off of in tracking down the other Seekers. It was a stretch of rather unlikely odds, however, and Cassandra knew the other two possibilities were far more likely.

The second idea that she had considered was that the Lord Seeker had prepared them for something like this. It hadn’t been clear, when the Inquisition attacked Caer Oswin, how much the Promisers knew. Mostly, it seemed as if they were ignorant followers to Lucius’ plans, whatever those had been. It was most likely Lucius who had worked most directly with Corypheus, Lucius who had been behind the injections of red lyrium. This also meant that Lucius probably knew about the payoff of the Crestwood bandits. He could have put other back-up measures in place, given the Promisers inside information. He would have access to the locations of even the most distant Seekers, the ones too far outside his range of influence to be lured in at the time. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that he could have laid out instructions for how to attempt to contact these people, should his work at Caer Oswin be interrupted or end prematurely. This didn’t explain the early arrival of the single Seeker back in Umbralis, but that could simply have been a test. Bring one in, just to see if they could, and then wait a while before putting the plan fully into motion.

There was, however, a third option. One that seemed the most likely, and the least appealing. Someone else within the Seekers might be working with the Promisers. She had assumed that Lucius was the only one involved, but in hindsight, that seemed almost childishly naive. Corruption ran deeper through the Seekers than Cassandra liked to admit, and just because Lucius had been the only Seeker she had found at Caer Oswin, didn’t mean he was alone in his loyalties.

Caught up in these thoughts, Cassandra only belatedly realized that the owner of the inn had finally driven away the crowd of nobles who had been pestering her. She had now moved off to check on the diners, and Cassandra stood, moving to intercept her when she came back to the bar to refill a mug of beer.

“Excuse me,” Cassandra interjected, stepping carefully in alongside the woman while also taking care not to be in her way. “I was hoping I could talk to you about the visitors you’ve had over the past year. A few in particular.”

The owner paused for a short moment, eyeing her. “You’re Lady Cassandra, right? The one in charge of Bronach? My name’s Lin, I’ll be with you in a second. Don’t know how much help I will be though.”

Cassandra shrugged and watched her hurry off, retreating back to the bar to wait. She surveyed the rest of the room as she did, trying to keep herself from getting once again entrenched in her own thoughts. It was fairly quiet, and Cassandra could tell that it was mostly the locals eating down here in the main room. Most of the nobles probably had their own food, and possibly even their own cooks, and ate in the privacy of their own rooms. Wouldn’t want to rub elbows with the wrong crowd, after all. There were some people who she could clearly identify as merchants, however, gathered around a central table and laughing loudly and some grand story that one of the villagers was spinning for them. Some other small clusters littered the room, which Cassandra presumed to be groups of servants, happy for a break from their duties.

As she had noted earlier, Judith and Gauld sat in the far corner, thoroughly caught up in their own conversation. She couldn’t quite tell from where she sat, but it seemed like they might be holding hands under the table.

Unbidden, and quite unwanted, memories of playing Wicked Grace in Skyhold wormed their way into her thoughts. She’d joined these games quite regularly, to her surprise as well as the rest of the group’s, Cassandra imagined. They’d never questioned her, however, and aside from the running joke that her terrible attempts at bluffing soon became, they didn’t poke as much fun as she had expected. Usually it was simply a few easy hours where she could forget about the press of her other responsibilities. Josephine would beat everyone, Varric would boast, Cullen would complain, and the Iron Bull would probably make some sort of crude comment. Sometimes they would all swap stories, and sometimes they would just content themselves to casual gossip. She avoided thinking about the last game she had played before leaving Skyhold, and focused instead on all those that had come before. The easy camaraderie, the buzz of chatter and the familiar bits of Maryden’s songs. It had been something of a home to her, to all of them.

The last time Cassandra had felt that way, before the Inquisition, had been when she was training to be a Seeker. It had made for quite a different experience. Still, she valued her time with each group. She would be willing to give her life to maintain either of them. Not just because she had felt at home with them, but because she’d seen the good they could do. But now, despite her best efforts, it felt like both had slipped away from her.

“You wanted to talk with me, Lady Cassandra?”

She didn’t jump at the voice, but Cassandra did internally scold herself for being so easily distracted again. Resolving to focus, she turned to Lin, who seemed to have finally found a quiet moment.

“Yes. My agent was here a few days ago to ask for your records. I had a few names in particular I was wondering if you might remember.”

“Well, ask away. I can’t make any promises though. I remember a face like nobody else, but I’m terrible with names.”

Cassandra pulled out the list that she had written up, laying it on the counter in front of her. “It’s just one name, actually, though I think these were actually multiple people using the same identity. They’ve been coming here about once a month, since Nebulis.”

Lin bent over the paper, tracing through the entries one at a time. Her brow furrowed, as if she was trying to recall something, but when she sat back, she was shaking her head. “I think I might remember a couple of these entries,” She said, “but nothing particular about them. I could probably recognize them if they came back, but…”

Lin shrugged her shoulders. After a moment, she added, “I can assure you that they were different people, at least. I would have remembered if the same person stayed here this many times.”

Well, that was something. It was definitely Seekers coming by, and definitely different ones, which meant they were indeed being lured in. “What about this last one,” Cassandra said, pointing to the entry that she had previously identified as Cedric. “He was here only three weeks ago. Would have had a Free Marches accent.”

Lin tapped the name twice, humming thoughtfully. “Free Marches you said? Yeah, actually… yeah, I remember because he had me send a letter back up there. To Kirkwall, I think.”

Cassandra leaned forward. “Kirkwall? Did he say who he sent the letter to?”

“No, not that I recall. But he was the young, handsome type, with a smile that could charm the pants off of just about anyone, so it’s not hard to guess.”

Well, it was better than nothing. Much better, in fact. Cassandra thanked Lin for her help, then hurried outside. The night air was cold, but it jolted her thoughts as she saddled her horse, helping her focus. If Cedric had a sweetheart back in Kirkwall, and had been in contact with them before disappearing, they might know more about where he had disappeared to. They might even know who had contacted him in the first place.

She mounted her horse with a smile, clucking and gently squeezing his sides with her legs to urge him forward. He moved carefully through town, breaking into a steady trot as soon as they left the last building behind. Cassandra resisted the urge to push him to a gallop, instead using the ride to gather her thoughts and decide how to continue her search.

None of the reports she had received on Cedric had indicated that he was seeing anyone. Then again, she hadn’t asked anyone to specifically look into that. She could write to Varric directly, Cassandra realized, explain the situation and see if he could dig up anything for her.

Her smile broadened, as she watched the clear sky unfold across the open plains. Even when it wasn’t raining, nights in Crestwood were usually weighed down by cloud cover. Seeing the stars spread out all the way across the horizon like this was a rarity. Cassandra wasn’t usually the type to spend much time appreciating the view, but she couldn’t help but be a bit awed at this one. The excitement of a new lead to follow didn’t hurt her mood either. It had been a while, since she’d felt like she was actually getting anywhere. And she was sure that Varric would find what she needed.

That thought, of relying on him, of knowing she could trust him to see her through, curled up in her stomach, warm and hopeful, and carried her all the way home.

---

Daisy,

This letter is probably only a few days ahead of me, but I wanted to send word that I’m coming back to Kirkwall. It was a bit of a rushed decision, but I think it’s for the best. Sometimes you spend a long time working towards something and then you just… take a step back, and realize maybe it’s not quite what you thought it was going to be. Or that the people you thought, well…

Let’s just say that I just realized that Skyhold wasn’t the place I wanted to be right now.

I probably don’t have to explain something like that to you though, do I?

I’m making preparations already, though I don’t know how long that will take. I want to check in with everyone here. Goodbyes are important, you know? And I want to make sure that the Inquisition has a good way to keep in touch with me. I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to do once I reach Kirkwall, but I think I’ll still try to help where I can.

I should be shipping out of Highever by the end of the week, at the latest. I’ll pick you up a dress while I’m there - they have some lovely fabrics. Very soft. I also have some books I’m stealing from Skyhold’s library, about spirits and demons and all that Fade shit. The owner is currently Maker-knows-where and I think you’d like them.

And yeah, there’s more to my leaving than I’m saying here. It’s more than I could write in a letter anyway. Buy me a drink or six once I’m back and maybe I’ll tell you.

Love,

Varric

[Letter from Varric Tethras to Merrill, 14 Verimensis, 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

Fortunately for Cassandra, Varric’s letter arrived only a few days after her discovery about Cedric. She hadn’t wanted to write until she received his response, knowing that overlapping communications could possibly lead to confusion. Besides, she’d needed some time to sort through things. 

Still, when she returned from her morning walk to Charter’s news that a letter from Kirkwall was waiting on her desk, she had to contain a traitorous desire to bolt straight for her room.

Instead, she nodded graciously, and waited as Charter ran down the other reports from the previous night. Her impatience must have been more obvious than she realized, however, because Charter wrapped up the conversation rather quickly.

“It was a fairly quiet night, all in all,” she said, watching Cassandra with a sly smile. “though if you have time to take a patrol with me, there are a few places that I was thinking we could look at fortifying the keep.”

Cassandra tried not to grimace, gritting her teeth and nodding. “Yes, of course. Give me a moment and I will-”

“Creators, it was a joke!” Charter shook her head. “Go read your letter, and see if you can get more information on our playboy Seeker.” She waved Cassandra off, muttering something under her breath.

Under different circumstance, Cassandra probably would have had several things to say in response to that, but it was too early to argue, and she did really want to read that letter.

Cassandra only ran into a few other scouts on her way up. Greeting them with a nod and a short hello, she made it to her room in short time, kicking off her boots at the door and padding over to the desk. The letter sat at the center of it, once again set aside from the rest of her reports. Settling in, Cassandra pulled one leg up under her as she sat down. She opened the letter carefully, peeling up the Kirkwall seal.

Once again, there were several sheets, and something wrapped up inside. The unfolded pages revealed it to be not one thing, but several - four tight, small packets of dried herbs and flowers. Tea packets, Cassandra realized after a moment. She blinked at them for a second, wondering what they were doing there, before finally slipping them off the page and setting them aside for later.

Dear Cassandra,

First of all, what in the name of Andraste’s sacred knickers are you doing getting involved with the Promisers? Did the part where they injected weird shit into Seekers not clue you in to the fact that they are maybe not the best people around? Though, no, I suppose that just makes you more invested in putting yourself into the middle of things, doesn’t it?

You mentioned that your story seemed dull, and I have to say, I don’t think you quite know what the word “dull” means. I mean, yeah, it’s a lot of a paperwork in the middle of it, but that’s always the way things go. Do you know how much paperwork Hawke had to do? Actually, well, none. She made me do most of it. But the point still stands. You catch the Promisers, and I swear to you, it will be just as good as any of my tales, once it starts to be passed around. All glory and guts and glamor.

Just try not to get killed along the way for that dramatic ending, okay? Or to get out of everyone asking you for details about your heroics.

Anyway: Kirkwall. Please, please don’t ask what official position I have there. I don’t really know myself. I guess if I had to describe it, I would say it’s… unofficial advisory to a very obnoxious group of people who think they are actually in charge. I have an office, for some reason, and people come to me a lot to sort out things I want nothing to do with. I’m technically also operating for the Inquisition, or something, but mostly that just means that I march around with a big squiggly eyeball on my chest, demanding that people pay attention to me because the Herald of Andraste said so (they still don’t, most of the time).

To tell the truth, I think things got kind of messy with how quickly I left Skyhold. There wasn’t a lot of time to sort out what I was going to do, I just kind of barged into Kirkwall and started finding people to boss around. Bran didn’t take kindly to that, let me tell you. I think it’s worked out well enough. Even if I had taken the time to lay out some sort of detailed plan, I doubt that much would have come of it. Plans have never held up well in Kirkwall.

I haven’t had the chance to get back to Skyhold, sadly. It’s been hard to find the time, I guess. I do miss it there, but... Well, Kirkwall has always been home. I guess I just haven’t found enough reasons to leave again. Not sure I trust that this place would still be standing when I came back. But who knows, maybe one day Bran will finally get fed up with me and kick me out on my ass. You think the Inquisition would take me back if I showed up after that? Probably, knowing them.

I’m glad you liked the card. I wasn’t sure if it would seem too sentimental, but even if you didn’t know Hawke well, I think she would have wanted you to have it. She always was good at taking in strays. Didn’t take much to be family to her. At very least, I know she respected you.

And I’ll get a copy of Swords & Shields to you as soon as I can. My publisher is still trying to bully me into changing the ending. Doesn’t she know to leave creative genius alone? This kind of stuff can’t be pushed around for the sake of the audience. I do what’s best for my characters.

Well, maybe “best” isn’t the right word.

In any case, I promise that it will be in your hands before the end of the year. Barring any unforeseen disasters, rebellions, apocalypses, or weird Fade shit, that is.

Oh, one last thing. The tea bags are some mixture that Merrill made up for me. It has chamomile in it, whatever that is, and she says it’s good for sleep and calming nerves. Figured you could use some.

Sweet Dreams,

Varric

Cassandra’s breath hitched for a short moment, and she set the letter down, trying not to linger on the last lines. She could feel warmth creeping into her cheeks, framing a smile she couldn’t quite shake.

Trying to focus, she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. Drawing on her training, she set aside the churning feelings and narrowed in on her goal. The letter, and the personal things bubbling in reply, they weren’t important. Cedric, he was important, the rest of the Seekers.

Still, she thought, breathing out slowly. She hadn’t expected that. It had been nice to hear from Varric, nice to write him. Nice to wait for him to write her in return. It was supposed to be a quiet nice though, a distant nice, an understated hum at the back of her head. It wasn’t supposed to be so… present tense.

Instead of trying to get her thoughts in enough order to reply, Cassandra stood, stretching. After a brief hesitation, she grabbed one of the tea bags and headed outside. The sun had properly rising now, climbed past the walls of the fort and well into the sky. There was much more bustle than there had been when Cassandra had gone into her room, and she moved down to the central area carefully, avoiding rushing soldiers and scouts. Charter was right where Cassandra had left her, still sorting through reports and assignments for the next week.

“Do you know where I could find some hot water?” Cassandra said, holding out the packet of tea as it was some sort of wet animal she wasn’t sure what to do with. She’d never really been a tea drinker. Really, anything other than plain water was fairly unusual for her.

Charter raised an eyebrow. “And where did that come from? Wait,” she continued, holding up a hand. “I don’t actually need to know. I’ll just go grab you a mug and some water from off the fire.” She slipped off, leaving Cassandra still clutching her tea bag.

Sighing, she leaned back against Charter’s table, bringing the bag to her face and sniffing hesitantly. It did smell nice, at least. And her nerves could use calming right now.

The problem was, she didn’t have time for this. There were clear steps she needed to take, paths opening up to the Promisers that might close if she didn’t take them right away. It wasn’t as if there was anything directly in the way of those paths, it was simply that it was easier to follow them when they were all she was worrying about. She’d set aside her feelings once already, in order to chase after the Seekers. She knew she could do it again, if she had to.

In any case, it didn’t matter. There was no point in getting worked up over a few kind words. She would write back to Varric to try and get information on the person Cedric had been seeing in Kirkwall, and worry about the rest of it later.

Cassandra smiled as she caught sight of Charter weaving back towards her, a steaming cup in her hand. She set it down on the table next to Cassandra, who dropped the tea bag in.

A soft, sweet smell rose from it, as the herbs dyed the water a pale yellow. Cassandra watched the color deepen, wrapping one hand around the cup. Despite the thickness of the heavy clay, the heat of the water warmed her palm, almost to the point of burning.

After a few minutes, Charter nudged her with a spoon. She stared at Cassandra a moment, then fished the tea bag out, pressing it between the rim of the cup and the back curve of the spoon to squeeze out the last of the water.

“There you go,” she said finally, tossing the used bag into a bucket of trash a few feet away. “Do you have a letter for me to send, I assume?”

“Not yet,” Cassandra replied, blowing gently on the cup of tea. “I’ll have it for you in a bit.”

Charter didn’t reply, just nodded and turned back to her reports, thought Cassandra would have sworn she say something mischievous twitch across Charter’s face. Something told her that it would be best not to push the subject, however. She probably would not be any happier for knowing what was going on behind the smile.

Instead, Cassandra slipped back to her room, blowing on the tea the entire time. That was one of the reasons she didn’t like to drink anything hot. It always took an age to cool off, and half the time she got caught up in some other task and completely forgot about it.

Cassandra set the tea on her desk, vowing that this time she would return to it before it was ice cold. She blew on it one last time for good measure, then picked up her quill.

Dear Varric,

There is no need to lecture me about the Promisers. I know very well how dangerous they can be, that is why I have to involve myself here. Not only are the Seekers in danger if I don’t, but Crestwood could be as well. It is my job, both as a Seeker and a member of the Inquisition, to see to it that they are taken care of.

Still, your concern is appreciated, even if it is uncalled for.

There is something you could do for me, however, related to this. I have dug up some new information on the Promisers and the Seekers in the past few days. Cedric, the Seeker who you reported on earlier, was at Crestwood some weeks ago. He seems to have sent a letter back to Kirkwall from here, presumably to a romantic partner. Is there any way you could try and get into contact with them? I need to find out if they know anything about the person who contacted Cedric and brought him here to Crestwood. I think it could be tied in with the recent actions of the Promisers.

I’m sorry this is such a short response. As I mentioned, a lot has happened in the past few days, and it is important that I get this information as quickly as possible.

Many Thanks,

Cassandra

P.S. Don’t think I didn’t notice your sly comments about the fate of the Knight-Captain, however. I stand by what I said in my last letter.

P.P.S. Please thank Merrill for the tea. I have a cup in front of me right now.

Remembering the tea, Cassandra picked up the cup, taking a careful sip. Despite her usual distaste for the stuff, it was rather good.

It tastes delicious, she added, before folding up the letter. There were more things she wanted to say, but now wasn’t the time. She would wait to see what information Varric could find out, to see what she could do about the disappearing Seekers.

Maybe after that, Cassandra thought, running her forefinger around the outside lip of the cup. Maybe then she’d try to find a way to ask if she had missed her chance.

---

Dear Varric,

I know this is sudden, but something has come up with the Seekers. Information about where one of them might be, and I’m going to be leaving Skyhold. I’m not sure when I will be back.  I was hoping to have a chance to talk with you before I had to leave. If what happened-

~

Dear Varric,

I have to leave Skyhold for a while in order to locate one of the Seekers I have been searching for. I want you to know that I’m not trying to run away, I simply-

~

Varric

Leaving tomorrow for the Dales. Not sure when I will be back, but if you would like to talk before I leave, I will be at the smithy most of the day.

[collection of crumpled notes on the desk of Cassandra Pentaghast, 12 Verimensis, 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

Cassandra was greeted by a surge of sound when she opened the door to the Rusted Horn.

A band had somehow squeezed into a small area at the back of the bar, all sporting colorful and twisted masks. After a moment’s examination, Cassandra realized they were meant to be demons. The singer’s mask, at the center of things, had hefty purple spikes and sharp lines that pulled the shape of their face into something unnervingly angular. The rest of them were tucked further into the shadows, and harder to distinguish, but she could make out the blocky reds and oranges of a rage demon, and another mask seemed to have the unmistakable curving horns of a desire demon. They weren’t exactly accurate, but they had a life to them that was unnerving.

It was going to be an interesting evening, that much she could tell.

Moving inside, Cassandra realized very quickly that she wasn’t going to have much luck scanning the crowd for familiar faces. The colorful masks made for a sea of demons and monsters and distorted heroic figures. Feeling a little overwhelmed, Cassandra reached up to touch her own mask, checking that it was still properly in place. It was a cheap one she had picked up from town, a crimson dragon that lay across the top half of her face, with fangs cut to curve down around her own mouth. It was gaudy, and ridiculous, and even among the other costumed people, she felt out of place.

Off to her right, Cassandra saw a small figure clad in soft browns and whites and a feathered mask weaving through the crowd towards her. The figure’s small hand wrapped around her forearm, pulling her gently towards the bar. It took Cassandra a moment of confusion to recognize the long ears that stuck out either side of the mask.

“Charter?”

“Ah, not tonight Lady Cassandra,” Charter said, reaching the bar and turning back to face her. “None of us are who we are tonight. it’s Satinalia!”

“So who are you then?”

Charter dipped into a sweeping bow. “A nightingale, of course! Do you like the mask? I’ve been working on it for the past couple of weeks, when I could find the spare time.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows, genuinely impressed, though the gesture was lost behind the red scaling of her own mask. She settled on a stool next to Charter. “It’s lovely. I didn’t know you were so fond of the holiday.”

Charter shrugged. “I like a good excuse to dress up and have fun. Not all of us are dead set on parading our work around everywhere.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what you it sounds like, Lady Seeker. You’re supposed to be going in disguise tonight, you know. Not walking around with a giant identifying symbol emblazoned on your chest. How do you think I found you so quickly?”

Crossing her arms, Cassandra tried not to feel self-conscious. “I do not exactly have a less… noticeable set of armor.”

“Have you considered, I don’t know, not going in armor at all?”

“Is that a question I need to answer?”

Charter looked at her a moment, then laughed in surprise. “No,” she said finally. “No, I suppose it’s not. Well, I like the mask at least.”

“It’s gaudy.”

“That’s rather the point. Anyway, there is a cute Queen Asha over there who was pestering me for a dance earlier, if you don’t mind. Do try and have fun though.”

Charter slipped off before Cassandra could respond, patting her shoulder twice as she did. Cassandra, for her part, did her best not to glare a hole into the bar in front of her. There had been a reason she had come here, she was sure, but the minute she had stepped inside she had been ready to crawl out of her skin. Large groups of people were bad enough under normal conditions. Historically, large groups of people in showy masks had the tendency to be even worse for her.

Turning back to the party, Cassandra smiled stiffly at someone in a mabari mask who waved at her, shaking her head when he gestured for her to come join him. Dancing would not make any of this better, she wagered.

“Would you like a drink, Lady Seeker?” The man at the bar, in a phoenix mask, had sensed a potential customer in her and sidled up. “3 coppers for ale, 2 silvers for wine. We’ve got the good stuff out for Satinalia.”

Cassandra debated the offer for a short moment. She didn’t often drink, but when she did, it was usually for social events. At least, a little ale helped pass the time more quickly. But there were too many unfamiliar people, and she had been tense ever since she had learned that the Promisers were luring in Seekers. Cassandra wasn’t about to let her guard down just because she was annoyed and uncomfortable.

“No, thank you,” she said in polite reply, quickly turning away from him to cut off any further conversation. Now that she had thought of the Promisers, she could feel same nagging worry that had been distracting her the past few day bubbling up. She scanned the crowd again. Could any of them be here? With everyone masked, it wouldn’t be hard for someone to slip into the group. There was nothing to be gained by it, as far as she could tell, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating to be unable to look beyond the painted eyes and exaggerated, frozen expressions.

Before Cassandra could get too caught up in her worries, however, Charter appeared at her elbow again, hand in hand with her Queen Asha. “Lady Cassandra,” she cut in, slightly breathless. “I just heard they were starting a game of Wicked Grace upstairs. Shall I have them deal you in?”

Cassandra held up her hands, shaking her head in an emphatic no. “I don’t think I need to make a fool out of myself in front of everyone. Especially since I am apparently incredibly recognizable at the moment.”

“Oh, come on. It will be fun. And everyone’s at least a little tipsy, so no one will be playing well.”

Which was, apparently, the end of the argument, because Cassandra found herself being reluctantly half-dragged to her feet a moment later. Queen Asha shrugged her shoulders, giggling quietly as she trailed along behind them.

Playing Wicked Grace against people who were wearing masks, Cassandra soon found out, was a completely different creature than a normal game. The bluffing was part of it, but she’d never been able to read people well anyway. What made things difficult was the fact that it felt like the table was swimming in colors and strange faces. It was disorienting, to not have familiar shapes to hold on to.

Despite that, or perhaps because of it, she soon found herself remembering the rhythm of the game. Charter had dropped her at the head of the table, playing a few rounds before disappearing again with her Queen. Everyone recognized Cassandra, even if most of them had never met her, and she quickly became something of a guest of honor. Most of their usual stiffness with her wore off quickly, between the combine influences of drinking, masks, and the fact that Cassandra was still spectacularly bad at Wicked Grace.

“Are you sure you want to do that, Lady Cassandra?” Another dragon at Cassandra’s right, this one dark blue streaked with neon yellows and greens, leaned in, shouting over the din of the bar. “You’ve already lost 10 silvers tonight.”

Cassandra glanced down at her cards, then back over at her drake heckler. “That sounds like something someone would say if they had a terrible hand and were trying to bluff their way out of it.”

“Or maybe someone who feels bad taking all your coin,” they said with a sharp smile. Some of the onlookers laughed appreciatively, one of them saying something about how they should play with the Seeker more often. Cassandra grimaced at the thought. This was fun, but there was no way she was going to be sitting down to a game without the helpful mask that let her keep her embarrassed blush hidden from the crowd.

The betting continued past Cassandra, and she sat back, watching the werewolf whose turn it was to bet, as they consulted with a owl in shimmering black who had been hovering behind them the entire game. Conversations floated up around her, and though she had no particular desire to be a part of any of them, it was nice to listen in, catching tidbits, gossip about which masked troublemakers had snuck a kiss from the elected King of the celebration.

Cassandra was pulled from her reverie as the band on the floor below struck up the first chords of Andraste’s Mabari, and a cheer rose up from the crowd. There was a rhythmic sound that picked up along with it, spreading upstairs quickly. They were all stomping their feet, Cassandra realized, a steady thump-thump followed by a quick clap-clap as the first verse of the song fell in. The game was half-forgotten, as several people at the table stood and went to cluster on the steps or the railing, closer to the band. Those that remained sitting joined in the noise by slamming their mugs on the table along with their stomps.

By the time the second verse had rolled in, Cassandra had quietly excused herself from the table, leaving behind her lost silvers as willing sacrifice to get away from the chaos. Playing a few rounds of Wicked Grace was one thing, but once Fereldans started singing about mabari, she knew it was time to make a quick exit.

It was cold outside, colder than Cassandra had realized. The crowded bar, filled up with bodies and noise, had been almost stiflingly hot, and now that she was away from the pressing mass, she shivered in the darkness. Closing the door, she took a few steps away, looking out over the rushing waves of the lake. Farther up the bank, where the water-logged ruins of Old Crestwood had been previously laid out, the greyish white rock glowed softly under the moonlight. The wreckage had been cleared by the time Cassandra had come to stay at Caer Bronach, though no one had quite decided what to do with the space. It seemed disrespectful to flood it again, and a memorial had been proposed on a few occasions, but nothing had ever moved past the stage of theorizing. So it remained, open slabs of rock, usually slick with rain.

Cassandra sighed, watching her breath curl out in front of her and melt into the night. She’d never understood how people could dedicate themselves so completely to something that they didn’t get distracted by other sufferings. She had her Seekers, and her self-appointed mission to track down the Promisers, and she wouldn’t admit it to most people, but there were times where she couldn’t help but see the other paths laid down in front of her. Now she saw one, curving gently off. One where she stayed in Crestwood, one where she grew to know the people behind the masks, and lived to see something new built on the rocks in front of her. It wasn’t hard to imagine.

There were other paths, too, that she’d ignored in the past. Cassandra didn’t like to think about it often, what might have happened with Varric if she hadn’t left Skyhold. It was nothing more than a flicker of possibility, and she’d tried so many times to forget it, but then she’d remember the sound of his voice, or the way his hand fit against her waist, or…

The sound of the door opening made Cassandra stiffen. She didn’t turn around, knowing that if she reached for her sword now she’d find nothing but empty space. It was probably just someone else leaving the party anyways. She stayed facing the coast, carefully tracking the sound of footsteps on the stone bridge behind her. They paused, a few feet away, and Cassandra tightened her hands into fists at her side.

The door to the Rusted Horn opened again, she heard it, and a rush of noise, a chattering group.

“They know you are looking.”

Turning in a rush, Cassandra managed to catch sight of a separate figure fading into the mass of people that had emerged from the bar. The edge of a mask, a trailing hand, but it was too quick, and it was nothing.

Standing just outside the open door, Charter lifted the bottom of Queen Asha’s mask to sneak a kiss on her cheek. She turned, seeing Cassandra and grinning widely.

“Good night?”

Cassandra tried to shake the tension from her shoulders. Her brain was still buzzing, but everything was too muddled to try and put into words, to share with Charter.

“Not as good as yours, I would wager.”

Slipping her arm through Cassandra’s, Charter hummed the chorus of Andraste’s Mabari. “Haven’t you already lost enough money tonight? Are you sure you want to be making any more bets?”

They walked together towards Caer Bronach, Charter noticeably more wobbly than Cassandra. It was possible, Cassandra thought with the barest hint of a smile, that Charter hadn’t only taken her arm for show.

By the time she had deposited the still humming Charter near her tent, Cassandra had mostly set aside the tension from the earlier whispered words. Walking slowly to her room, she tried to sort through them again with a clearer head. Was that supposed to be a threat? Or warning? If “they” meant the Promisers, then who was it that had come to talk with her? She briefly entertained the idea that she could try and have Charter investigate, but realized quickly that it would be a pointless task. Even if it hadn’t been practically the entire town there, everyone was in a mask. Either her mysterious visitor was someone from Crestwood, in which case a list of names would hardly narrow anything down, or they had slipped in uninvited and disguised, in which case no one would know their name anyway.

Still running down a list of possibilities, Cassandra pushed open the door to her room, and felt her breath catch for the second time that night.

The room was completely overturned. Her bed had been slashed, and papers were scattered everywhere. The only thing that had been left in its original position was her desk. Cassandra moved carefully towards it, and the open book laid across the top. A knife stuck upwards out of the book, though the hole it pierced was not one of its own making.

It was her copy of The Tale of the Champion, splayed open and pinned her desk like some sort of dead animal. All around it were scattered playing cards, spilling onto the chair and floor.

She couldn’t tell if it was a full deck, and some were turned upside down, but something Cassandra had a hunch that if she sorted through the mess, she’d find everything but the Knight of Dawn.

Well, and the Angel of Death. That one wasn’t strewn with the rest of them.

Cassandra let out a shaky breath, letting her fingers fall along the edges of the impaled card, face up on the open page of her book.

End of the round, she thought, keeping her face as blank as possible.

Somehow, Cassandra suspected she hadn’t won this hand either.

---

As to Varric, I’m not sure that I know much more than you. He left a few days after she did, saying that he wanted to see to the reconstruction of Kirkwall, though all I’d heard from him before now had convinced me that he was planning to stay with the Inquisition for a while longer. He didn’t seem particularly upset to me, from what I could tell. All the goodbyes were friendly enough, and he even played one last game of Wicked Grace with all of us (I won, of course. You’ll see that my days as a bard have not gone completely to waste).

Well, that’s not quite right. He did seem a little… distracted, I suppose? He asked about Cassandra at one point in the evening. Apparently, he wasn’t quite sure where she had gone, and why. Now that was a surprise to me, I will admit. She stopped by to say her farewells to me before she left. I assumed she had done the same for everyone. I suppose they were not on close enough terms for that, though that seems odd. I know they’ve never been the best of friends, but still, leaving without a word to him is rather callous. Perhaps you are right, and we are missing a piece of the puzzle, but if so, I’m afraid I have no clue what it might be.

I wouldn’t worry about it too much though. I’m sure you have enough other things to attend to anyways. If something did happen between them, I have no doubt they will work it out before long. They always have somehow managed to do so before. And if it was merely coincidence, well, I wish them both the best, though I will miss them.

[excerpt from a letter from Ambassador Josephine Montilyet to Divine Victoria, 25 Verimensis, 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

By the time that night passed away into the gentle, misty rain of morning, Cassandra had managed at least two or three hours of sleep, which was more than she expected. It would be a long day, but she was grateful for every bit of help she could get, and a few hours was better than none. Still, as she watched the horizon slowly brighten as the sun slid up somewhere behind the clouds, Cassandra had trouble finding the determination that so rarely eluded her. 

She had slept in one of the extra tents in the castle, near the rest of the soldiers. It was hopefully only a temporary position, until they could get security tightened down and the damage to Cassandra’s room repaired. For now, however, it was safe enough, with extra guards posted around the sleeping area.

Charter found her a few hours after dawn. Technically, Charter had the first half of the day off, having made a compelling case to Cassandra that, having worked for months with hardly enough time for sleep, she rather deserved a day and a half for Satinalia and the following morning. Cassandra had relented without much fuss with regards to Satinalia, and had decided she was better off not prying about the morning after.

In any case, it turned out to be a non-issue, because as soon as Charter heard what had happened the night before, she had snapped into focus.

“It must have been the tunnels.”

Cassandra, sitting in front of a table with the layout of the keep spread in front of her, nodded. “That’s what I was thinking as well, though I’m not sure how they even knew about them in the first place.”

Charter stopped her pacing and sat down across from Cassandra. “It could just be information from before we got to the keep. If the bandits were connected to the Promisers, they might have mentioned something.”

“And what,” Cassandra said, running her fingers through her short hair, “they just happened to guess that the Inquisition cleared them out? It’s not as if they aren’t guarded, either. I’ve talked to the sentries, Charter. They didn’t see anything.”

“So you think it’s a leak.”

Cassandra sighed. “What else could it be?”She tried to keep any bitterness from her voice. She may have been stationed at Caer Bronach for a while, but the people working here were Charter’s more than they were her own. And she knew that Charter wouldn’t putanyone at risk for sentiment. It was best to give her time to digest the implications.

“In any case, I want those tunnels collapsed, today. They were an asset when we were the only ones that knew about them. Now they are a risk.”

Charter nodded, not meeting Cassandra’s eyes. “All of them?”

“All but one. And station permanent guards by it, not just regular patrols. Having an escape route is useful, and we should be able to keep one safe, no?”

“What about the… leak?”

Cassandra stood, shaking her head. “I will leave that to you. If someone here is connected with the Promisers, I trust that you will be able to find them.”

Charter nodded, once. She didn’t smile, as this was no time for smiling, but seemed to brighten a bit at Cassandra’s words. She must feel, Cassandra realized, at least somewhat responsible for what happened. It wasn’t just the idea of a traitor that was weighing on her, but the idea that she had put Cassandra, and everyone at the fort, in danger by not realizing it. Cassandra felt some of her nerves settle. She did trust Charter, trusted her instincts and her desire to protect those in her charge. If anyone could figure out what was happening, it was her.

“In the meantime,” Cassandra finally said, “is there somewhere relatively dry I could set up? I need to send a report to the Inquisition about all of this.”

“There’s a room at the top of one of the towers,” Charter said, standing as well. “It’s close quarters and a little dreary, but it should work for you.”

She headed off, pulling one of the other agents aside at the bottom of the steps as Cassandra trailed after her. “Hey, Reeve, tell everyone no games of Wicked Grace in the backroom today, alright? Lady Cassandra is going to be working there.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” he said with a shrug, “someone filched our deck.” Catching sight of Cassandra, he straightened a bit, nodding. “But yeah, I’ll make sure you aren’t bothered, Lady Cassandra.”

He hurried off, and Charter continued upward. Though Cassandra followed behind, her thoughts were elsewhere. She hadn’t told anyone about the cards scattered in her room, gathering them up and tucking them away before calling the guards in. It had been a rather pointless gesture, something she had done without fully knowing why - perhaps because they had felt so personal. The rest of the damage to her room sent a clear enough message. She’d been threatened enough times to recognize a little wanton destruction as the warning that is was. But the cards, the book, the Angel of Death and the theft of her own Knight of Dawn… that had been more pointed, purposeful. She just couldn’t figure out what that purpose was.

Though Cassandra still had no clue to the why, she suddenly felt like she might have a better understanding of the how.

Once Charter had shown Cassandra to the room and made sure everything was orderly, she turned to go. Cassandra stopped her before she could leave.

“You said that people play Wicked Grace in here?"

“Yeah, a few times a week. It’s a nice way to unwind. Why, do you want in?”

Cassandra shook her head. “From the sound of things, that is not really an option right now anyways. How many people usually play? Is it just the spies,” she caught Charter’s raised eyebrow and then corrected, “the scouts, Or do our soldiers come here as well?”

“Well, I don’t know everyone. I don’t play often myself. I think there are maybe ten of us that come to the games regularly, though it varies each time. But just about everyone had played at least once, even the other soldiers. They don’t come often though. Don’t have the guts to go toe-to-toe with us, I think. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Cassandra said, waving her hand at Charter. “I was simply curious. If you could find out which regular members of the group were on duty last night, however, I would appreciate seeing a list of their names.”

Charter frowned, crossing her arms. “You think one of them is the informant to the Promisers.”

“It’s merely speculation, but yes, that might be the case. Certainly, we cannot rule out anyone just yet.”

She didn’t uncross her arms, but Charter did seem to relax a bit at that. “Well, I’ll see what I can find out for you. In the meantime, I’ll send some people up with writing supplies.”

Sitting down at the table, Cassandra tried to sort through things while she waited. Another part of the night she hadn’t shared was the warning she had received earlier in the evening, before coming back to her room. Someone had been at the Rusted Horn, and someone had tried to… well, she wasn’t exactly sure. It was warning, but was it a threat, or a genuine attempt to keep her safe? Would her mysterious masked speaker have told her more if they hadn’t been interrupted?

Either way, it seemed fair to say that they were at least somewhat separate from the attack on her rooms. Could it have been one of the Seekers that had come to Crestwood? With a mask on, they’d be able to hide the effects of the injected red lyrium, if that was still what the Promisers were doing. But if it had been a Seeker, why not contact her directly? If they had escaped, why wouldn’t they have openly sought shelter and given answers?

Cassandra’s contemplations were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Yes?”

A scout poked a hesitant head inside, then came through, holding various writing materials. Cassandra nodded them over, slightly annoyed at the nervousness apparent in their careful movements. Charter must have sent them with a warning to be on their best behavior.

“Here’s the things you asked for, Lady Cassandra,” they said, setting everything down on the table. “And Charter said to tell you that she is working on the list of names you asked for earlier, as well as a more comprehensive report on… last night.”

“Tell her to bring both to me as soon as she is done,” Cassandra said, waving the poor scout off. She turned back to her table, frowning down at a pile of blank pages. How was she supposed to lay this all out in a report? Though the Inquisitor knew of her work trying to find the Promisers, this was an entirely new degree of relevant. In a few weeks, the situation had gone from “vaguely impossible” to “close enough to the truth to provoke threats.” Though Cassandra had relayed much of this information already, she was sure she hadn’t put much effort into conveying the urgency of it.

In the end, Cassandra decided to rely on as much detached formality as she could muster. She did, however, include an accounting of the Wicked Grace cards in the report, as well as her suspicions that the cards had come from a deck kept within the castle. She didn’t add the last thought she had strung from that chain, which was that whoever had added the cards to the mess would have had to have known where they were kept.

Previously, Cassandra had assumed that if anyone from within Caer Bronach had been working with the Promisers, it had been a simple matter of giving them access to information about the layout of the fort and the people inside, which was dangerous enough, especially since that information would contain access to the multiple escape routes. With that information, anyone could have snuck inside to leave their message. But there was also the possibility that they hadn’t snuck in at all, that the person who had breached the keep was someone already working there. That was beyond a leak, beyond someone who wanted money or power or the chance to switch sides if they felt like the wind was blowing in a new direction. It meant loyalty.

Finishing her report, Cassandra held herself back from sealing it inside an envelope. It might not be a bad idea for her to deliver the report personally. If she could meet with the Inquisitor, she might feel more comfortable sharing her suspicions as well. 

Instead of deciding immediately, Cassandra set aside the report and moved on to her next task. The spread of the news around the fort had been muddled and worried. Most people knew that something had happened the night before, but not exactly what, or why. Before now, that had been a way to avoid the possibility of information spreading to the Promisers, and to let her move more efficiently. But it seemed like ignorance would only hinder them at this point, and any innocents deserved to know where the danger was coming from. Cassandra wouldn’t share anything that might be news to the Promisers, in case they were able to get ahold of the information, but she did want to write up something concise that could be passed around, letting everyone know the basics of the situation.

Cassandra had just about finished that as well when there was another knock at the door, this one quick and light. Charter opened the door a moment later, waiting just outside for a sign from Cassandra.

Setting the notice aside, Cassandra motioned her inside. Charter sat down at her right, laying out several different papers on the table.

“I have a couple of lists for you to look at, if you want, though I’m not sure how much they will help. I’ve also got as good of a report on everyone’s movements last night, but it’s a bit… scattered. Satinalia was a bad time for this. Or a good time, in their case. Half of my people gave me vague reports, and the others gave me reports that I’m fairly convinced are blatant lies because they were off canoodling with the first half.”

“Canoodling?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow.

“Seemed like the most polite way to break the news that we have zero leads because all my people are sleeping with each other.”

“Ah.”

“In any case, it’s all here, if you want to look through it. And one other thing.” Charter held out an envelope that Cassandra recognized immediately, even before noting the address.

Cassandra took the letter, setting it on top of the rest of the reports that Charter had shuffled over to her. “Anything else?”

“That’s all I have right now. I’ve already set people on closing down the escape routes, however. I told them not to tell anyone else what they were working on, and I’m going to post guards at four of the caved in routes, as well as the one that’s left open. Hopefully that will make it harder for anyone to tell which one we’ve left active.”

“That is… quite clever. Thank you. I have a few things for you as well, but…” Cassandra looked down at the letter. It drew her attention for two reasons. There was the part that she didn’t want to share with Charter, but there was also the possibility that Varric had found something else out about Cedric and who had contacted him.

Before she could explain the second or excuse the first, however, Charter had slipped out of the room.

Cassandra sighed and opened the envelope, slipping out the letter. She was almost a bit surprised when, unfolding it, she found nothing else inside.

Dear Cassandra,

I’m not sure you are aware of this, but I am actually quite good at reading between the lines. It’s an important skill for anyone trying to deal with the Merchant’s guild. I rather pride myself on being able to untangle the most subtle of implications.

Your mentioning that the disappearance of a Seeker might be tied to the Promisers was not subtle.

My point in saying this is: what in the blighted world have you gotten yourself involved with down there? Am I wrong in taking this to mean that the Promisers have lured in a Seeker? Perhaps more than one Seeker?

And if that is the case, may I take a moment to mention that you, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, prominent member of the Inqusition, current head of Caer Bronach, might also be in the slightest bit of danger? You know, because of the giant, glow-in-the-dark bullseye you’ve painted on your back?

Just wanted to point that out. In all fairness, I’m sure you have thought about all that, though somehow that thought doesn’t make me feel much better. I know you tend to dive in headfirst to any trouble in your path, but you are allowed to be a bit of a coward sometimes, Cassandra. You really should try it sometime. It’s served me well so far. I’m not dead yet, at least.

In any case, I do have some information for you. A name, in fact. Well, two, really.

The first is Rowan Haylen. He’s your Seeker’s Kirkwall paramore. Nice kid, though he flusters easily. It wasn’t a fun task, to tell him that his boyfriend is probably in the hands of the Promisers. I told him I would keep him updated on anything new I learned though, so if you find Cedric, whatever state he’s in… would you let me know?

Anyway, Rowan was actually pretty easy to find. When I was searching for information about the Seeker, I kept things quiet. This time, I just put out a general call for anyone who had seen him. Got the usual rash of liars looking for a reward, but this kid came within the day. He’s been pretty worried about the guy, I guess, since he hasn’t heard from him in almost a month. Didn’t want to get in contact with the authorities, because he’s, well… let’s say he’s good with a bow, shall we? A nice bow with a little glowing crystal on top that sometimes casts spells on people. Can’t say I blame him for wanting to lay low.

He didn’t show me the letter he got from his boyfriend, but from the sound of it, there wasn’t anything too interesting in that one. Just the usual sappy, puppy love stuff. What he did tell me, however, is that the reason Cedric left for Crestwood is that he was contacted by a messenger. An Orlesian messenger. I’m not really sure what to make of that, to be honest, and Cedric didn’t have a name or anything, but he was able to draw me a rough sketch of the crest that the messenger was wearing. From there, I was able to figure out a house name.

(By figure out, I mean I spent an entire evening flipping through a huge catalogue of Orlesian nobility, and you owe me big time).

The house name is Sournois, apparently. They are fairly small time, and they’ve been down on their luck for several generations. The type that’s been clinging to a title and little else.

Good stuff, right? Well, I can do you one better. I asked a friend of mine to do a little digging, and it turns out that house Sournois has one particularly disgraceful branch, a Lord Bencour, something of a deadbeat and a debtor. Not only does he sound like an altogether scummy person, he also is rumored to have had some sort of dealings with our old friend, former Duchess Florianne de Chalons. I don’t know what Orlesian nobility has to do with the Promisers, but if this guy was involved with Florianne, something tells me he might be the best place to start a search. I’ve included information about where he lives, as well as everything I could dig up about him.

I guess I’ll leave off with that. You probably don’t want to read any more of me lecturing you. But please, be careful. And let me know before you go do anything completely thoughtless, okay?

Stay Safe,

Varric

Cassandra pulled out the separate sheet that came with the letter, which laid out all the information Varric had mentioned. She set it next to the letter, Charter’s reports, and her own writings from earlier. She had a lot still to sort out, but one thing was clear.

Cassandra needed to go to Orlais.

---

Darling Dearest Most Wonderful Aveline,

Would you mind seeing what you can find out about the Sournois family for me? I know they are outside your jurisdiction and I know you hate me asking favors like this but in this case it will be a lot quicker and easier to do things your way than mine. I need to know if anyone in this family has been involved in anything illegal within the past couple of years, even rumored to have been involved, or if they have associations with anyone suspicious. I need anything you can find, as quickly as possible.

I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise.

Many Thanks,

Your Favorite Dwarf in all The City,

Varric

[Letter from Varric Tethras to Captain of the Kirkwall Guard, 29 Frumentum, 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

“When are you leaving?”

 Not looking up, Cassandra continued to pack her bag, hurriedly rolling her clothes into tight bundles. Charter hung back at the edge of the room.

“Tonight, if possible.”

“And what about investigating the potential of a-”

Cassandra shoved another pair of pants into the last corner of free space, then stood and turned to face Charter. She was not an easy person to read, but if Cassandra had to guess, she would say that the woman was worried. Though exactly what she was worried about, Cassandra couldn’t be sure. There were certainly plenty of options to pick from.

“Can I leave that to you? I doubt you will have any more luck with me here. Besides, unless you have any idea of how to find substantial leads, our best chance might be to simply work from the other side. Discover the Promisers, then find out from them who they are working with in the Inquisition.”

Charter didn’t pace, didn’t move from where she was standing, but she seemed to emanate an uneasy restlessness simply by the way she distractedly chewed on the tip of her thumb, not meeting Cassandra’s eyes. “You may be right, but going directly after this man seems dangerous. Why don’t you send word to the Inquisition, and have them investigate?”

“Do you really think any of our messengers can be trusted at the moment?”

“Do you think they can’t?” Charter snapped, looking up suddenly. She stared at Cassandra, searching for an explanation.

“I… am not sure.” Sighing, Cassandra flipped her bag closed, moving to her desk and waving Charter over. Her room had been mostly straightened up, though the bed was still a mess, and there were heavy cuts in the desk that would never come out. Cassandra had moved back into the space a few hours ago, despite that fact, seeking the privacy and the chance to pack for her trip without arousing suspicion or provoking any questions. That privacy had only lasted until Charter had come to check on her, however.

Well, she would have wanted to share her plans at some point, and Charter finding her gave Cassandra the chance to share something else she had held back. Pulling open a half-hidden drawer tucked against the bottom of the desk, Cassandra took out the Wicked Grace cards, which she had stacked and tied together. The pierced Angel of Death card was on top, staring back accusingly. The knife that had pierced it was sitting in the drawer as well, but Cassandra kept it pushed out of sight. There was no need to get into the details of the scene, the cards would do well enough.

“I didn’t tell anyone, but I found these in my room along with the rest of the mess,” she explained, as Charter took the deck from her, untying it and flipping through it. “There was a card I kept, a… personal item. It was gone, replaced with that.” Cassandra gestured to the Angel of Death that Charter held up in one hand.

“Rather a dramatic message.”

Cassandra laughed, despite herself. Charter had a way of describing rather dreary situations that took a bit of the tension from them. “Indeed. I cleaned them up and hid them away, in case the information proved useful. I believe it has.”

Charter put the Angel of Death back on the top of the deck, then set the deck back in the drawer. “You think these are the cards that Reeve was talking about losing.”

“I think there is a good chance they are. No one should have known about the card I kept here, unless they had been reading my mail.” Charter raised an eyebrow at that, making connections she didn’t vocalize. Cassandra did her best to ignore the unspoken question. “I find that unlikely, since nothing has shown any sign of tampering, though it is a possibility. I think it’s more likely that whoever was here found the card, and decided to leave an extra message of their own. If that is the case, then they would have had to find a deck somewhere.”

“Which is why our deck is missing. And why you wanted to find out who might have known where it was kept.”

“It’s a… weak line of logic, I admit, but it is enough to make me suspicious of almost everyone here.” Cassandra closed the drawer with a quiet clack, running her fingers along the grooves left on the top of the desk.

“Well,” Charter said eventually, “I am certainly no stranger to suspicion. But we cannot simply fire everyone here. The best way to smoke out a spy is to continue as if everything is normal, and wait for them to slip up.”

“Which is why I am only sharing this with you. But I am still going to Halamshiral. I will also send news to the Inquisition, of course.”

Charter trailed after Cassandra as she walked back to her bag. It was hastily packed, but it would do. Leaving as soon as possibly was the priority. Cassandra wanted to get to Bencour before any possible warning could reach him. If he was to disappear before she could question him, then much of her work - of Varric’s work - would vanish with him.

“And what will the official word be on your trip?”

That, at least, Cassandra had a clear answer for. Turning to the stack of papers she had left next to her bag, she sorted through them until she found the notice she had written earlier. After receiving Varric’s letter, and making up her mind about leaving for Orlais, she had made a few additions. Now it laid out the basic information she had about the Promisers being in Crestwood, and added that she had also discovered a possible lead on them in Denerim, some rumors from merchants who had recently passed through Crestwood.

Looking over the page, Charter read the last sentence out loud. “In light of the recent events of Satinalia, which I believe to be the actions of the Promisers, I am leaving Charter in charge of fortifying our defenses while I am gone.” Charter looked up at her. “What exactly am I supposed to fortify?”

“Other than closing the escape routes? Nothing. But perhaps this will make them think we are on the defensive.”

“Sending out false information to try and throw off the spy.” Charter frowned. “It’s not the oldest trick in the book, but it might be second. Do you think they will really fall for it?”

“I do not. But it may buy me some time. Whatever the Promisers are doing, and however they are planning on dealing with me, it is clear it will be happening soon. Which is why I need to leave for Halamshiral.” Meeting Charter’s critical gaze, Cassandra added pointedly, “tonight.”

“And what do you want me to report to the Inquisition?”

“Nothing. I am sending word through Varric. Give the regular report next week.”

It was clear that Charter still had her doubts, but Cassandra didn’t have time for them. She sent Charter off to spread the news about her departure, promising to meet up again before leaving. Cassandra, in the meantime, finished checking over her supplies and sat down at the remaining smooth surface of her desk to write her letter to Varric.

It took her a long time to figure out how to begin. The basics of what she wanted to say were easy: that she was pursuing his lead, that there had been some sort of threat to her safety, that she believed someone in Caer Bronach was working with the Promisers. Factually, it was simple enough. She had already laid out most of the details in a formal report to the Inquistion that she would include in the letter. All she really needed to tell Varric is that she would like him to relay her message to the Inquisition.

But his concern jangled around in her head, sarcastic and blithe, but so hauntingly genuine. Whatever doubts she had about what might still lay between them, about the depth or shape of his feelings about her, Cassandra was sure of at least one thing: Varric was scared for her. Not just uneasy, not just slightly on edge. Cassandra knew what it was to be afraid for the safety of another, and she saw it in the letter she had read that morning. She couldn’t simply answer that fear with cold formality, however much that came easier to her.

Dear Varric,

Cassandra stared at the page, at the familiar greeting. They had only exchanged a few letters, she realized suddenly. It felt like more. But it hadn’t taken long for her to grow accustomed to it, reaccustomed to his biting humor.

I’m sorry to say that this letter will do very little to soothe your worries. I am headed for Halamshiral tonight, hoping to track down the man you mention in your letter. This is probably not all that surprising. It is important that I see this through myself, that I am there to question him, to make sure that nothing slips through unnoticed.

There is another thing that I have to explain, however. It has to do with the contents of this letter, the contained pages you will find, addressed to the Inquisitor.

I believe I have properly startled the Promisers. If they were not aware of my presence and my search before, they certainly are now. Last night, they managed to sneak into Caer Bronach and make a mess of my room. The typical needless destruction, mostly, an attempt to remind me that they know how to use swords, perhaps. Though some of it was rather… unsettlingly personal. I would rather not spend too much time on the details, but the point remains. Any worries about the situation may not be completely unfounded, if they can manage to get inside my rooms with such ease, just to leave a threat.

This is why I am sending my report through you. I’m not sure how much I can trust the normal route of delivery, since there is a chance that someone has been going through my mail. I am going to send this letter from the next town past Crestwood. Hopefully it will reach you untampered with, and at very least, the Inquisition will receive proper word of what is happening. If everything goes well in Halamshiral, this may be on its way to being wrapped up by the time the Inquisitor hears of what is happening.

If it doesn’t, or if the Promisers make their next move before I return to Crestwood, then an informed Inquisition will be a more powerful ally, or at very least, a better prepared one.

I’m sorry if this all seems somewhat scattered. I would be lying if I said that what happened last night hasn’t affected me. Please don’t think that I am in any direct danger at the moment. I trust the people working here, and I trust my own abilities. Whatever I find at Halamshiral, I will use it to track down the Promisers, and find out what they are doing with the Seekers. It is my duty.

That being said, I appreciate your concern. It is nice to know that-

Cassandra stopped.

It was nice to know that he was thinking of her. He made it obvious in small ways, and suddenly she was drawn back to Skyhold, back to sitting at her table in the smithy, counting up clues as if she could use quantity to makes sense of that which she couldn’t figure out in the quality. It had hit her all at once, the idea that he could be… that he could have…

you care.

Many Thanks,

Cassandra

What more was there to add? Cassandra set the quill down, putting a stopper on the inkwell and tucking back into the pouch she had pulled it from. She’d bring her writing supplies with her, in case she needed to send a letter from Halamshiral, or make notes about what she found. Setting them aside, she folded the letter, pressing her fingernail firmly along the crease and sliding it into a bulky envelope along with her report for the Inquisition. The address was already written out, and Cassandra hurried to seal it and be done with things.

The letter found a home in an outside pocket of her bag, wrapped tightly in case the rain started up again, and Cassandra focused back on the things she still had to do to get ready. Packing, preparing, planning with Charter, trying to salvage things before they slipped away. She’d have to lose at least half a day to riding east, and then swinging back in a wide circle, so to appear as if she was headed towards Denerim. That claim might not hold up until she got back, considering that the trip to Halamshiral would be much longer than the one she claimed to be taking, but she had to do her best to preserve the lie as long as possible. Let them believe it, Cassandra thought, half-praying to the quiet room. Let me have enough time to figure this out before someone ends up dead.

Her bones shuddered in the cold when she finally stepped outside, heavy pack slung over her shoulder. It would be a close thing. If she was lucky, the slim odds would fall to her side of the race.

But she had never been the lucky sort. So she’d just have to be fast instead.

---

Seeker -

What in the name of Andraste’s heavily disputed Mabari companion was that game of Wicked Grace last night? You are either the worst player I have ever met, or you are pulling a very long con and are going to rob all of us blind. I’m honestly not sure which.

But if it’s the first, I might have some tips for you. Drop by if you ever want some advice. You know where to find me.

Varric

[note from Varric Tethras to Cassandra Pentaghast, 12 Parvulis, 9:41 Dragon]

Chapter Text

Cassandra knew that there was nothing to be gained by pushing herself, and her horse, to the point of exhaustion, so she did her best to focus on the steadiness of her progression, rather than the speed of it. As long as she kept on at a continuous pace, she would reach Halamshiral in time. She had to.

 The first several days melted together without much to mark them. Cassandra slept on the road, or rather, just off of it, only stopping in towns to get food and water. It would have been easy to spend her time fretting, but she kept that part of her mind sheared off from the rest. Part of her Seeker training was being able to detach herself from things, if she needed to. The information about Bencour, about the Promisers, her worry about the missing Seekers; Cassandra kept all of it tucked away, somewhere she could see it but not touch it, remember it but not dwell on what it meant.

By the time she had finished her wide arc towards Denerim and back up around Crestwood, however, Cassandra’s mind had given her something else to chew on. Varric. It was, she noted with bitterness, a multi-faceted issue, and one that swirled around and back into itself enough that just touching one part of it made the whole thing fall apart.

She never had been able to tell Leliana of her true suspicions as to why Varric left Skyhold. Partly because it was a personal matter, and partly because it had taken her a lot of time to digest the news, and process the implications behind it. Cassandra hadn’t known, before she received Leliana’s letter, that Varric had left. It had been three months that she had been trailing across Thedas, and not once had her path taken her back to the center of the Inquisition. She stayed in contact, of course, but she hadn’t asked after him. What would she have said? There was always the possibility that she could have written to him directly, but it hadn’t been easy to find words that weren’t an apology, and no way to apologize without admitting that she had been hiding something from him when she left. Cassandra hadn’t been ready for all that, and she let things fester, and then turn stale, and eventually fade into nothing more than a neglected buzzing at the back of her head.

So when Leliana had asked her, innocently enough, whether or not something had happened between Cassandra and Varric that could have sparked his leaving, she had politely dodged the question and moved on. And Leliana, for her part, hadn’t made much of it.

The truth of the matter, the fact that she had a very good guess as to why Varric left Skyhold, the thought that Cassandra had managed to put aside for more almost half a year, had finally decided to lodge itself firmly in her mind. The timing couldn’t have been worse, but Cassandra couldn’t shake it, so she replayed the scene time and time again.

She tried to remember what she had been thinking, when she had learned that there was word on a Seeker in the Dales. As well as trying to wrap up other loose ends, Cassandra had been sending out tentative questions about the scattered remains of the group since the defeat of Corypheus. When she came home that night to the sealed envelope on her desk, the first trace of the order she’d seen since the brutality of Caer Oswin, she’d been excited. Happy.

But she’d also been relieved, for completely different reasons. Because minutes ago her head had been spinning with questions, and the news meant that she could set them all aside, if she wanted to. It had been a choice she made in seconds, unthinkingly, unwittingly. Standing over that desk, clutching the letter in one hand and squinting to read it by candlelight, Cassandra had decided for both her and Varric what the future would be between them.

It was five days after she left Caer Bronach when Cassandra realized that she could have loved him. She couldn’t say if she’d been in love with him, at the time, because that was too far away and too fuzzy, and the line between what she felt and what she wanted to feel was a grey one. But she could have loved him.

It was a strange thought, made even stranger by the fact that what she had once believe to be conclusive and finished was proving not to be. By the time Cassandra had settled in Crestwood, she was convinced that it might be nearly a lifetime before she heard from Varric again. Maybe they’d see each other in passing, or be pushed into working together for the Inquisition, the next time Thedas was plunged into some unthinkable danger. But that wasn’t a relationship, that was nothing more than the whistling trail of an arrow missing its target.

But he had written her, and she had written back. So there it was again, that itch, that potential she wasn’t sure how to acknowledge. Cassandra would be lying to herself, more than the usual amount with things involving Varric, if she tried to claim that there wasn’t any spark there.

Spark. For what might as well have been the hundredth time, Cassandra rolled her eyes at her own romantics, briefly burying her face in her hands. Her mount continued jaunting onward at a clean trot, having already done most of the galloping she would push him to do for the day. The two of them, alone on the wide stretch of road, left very little for Cassandra to distract herself with.

“Spark,” she whispered to herself, still hanging from that single word. Cassandra shook her head. It was the kind of thing that people in her books said, gazing longingly across a crowded room, or after brushing hands with someone that social mores dictated they couldn’t be with. It was something for girls and young women, and she  was certainly not either of those things. Oh, she’d daydreamed of it sometimes, longed for it, but dreams and reality were very different things. And besides, grand romantic thoughts like that were supposed to come when there was room for them, not when she was desperately trying to unravel the mysteries of missing Seekers.

Still tracing those same thoughts in circles around her head, Cassandra practically sighed in relief when she reached the crest of a hill and saw Halamshiral stretching out below her. She’d known she was close, but had been preparing herself for another night sleeping outside, making it into the city sometime early the next day.

Patting her horse’s side, Cassandra eased him forward into a canter, smiling to herself. Oh, but the Maker did provide such wonderful excuses for ignoring her feelings.

The city itself was something of a patchwork, Cassandra realized once she had made her way through the front gate. When she had visited the Winter Palace with the Inquisition, it had been all splendor and bright lights. While it wasn’t surprising that all of that sparkle had laid over a rather chaotic truth, it was still strange to see that truth for herself. The entire city could only be described as sprawling, and somewhat twisted in on itself. It was easy to see that it had been built and rebuilt over the years, Orlesian architecture eating up the clearly foreign foundations. Yet the elvish patterns still thrived, despite having been overwritten, bursting out on draperies and carved door frames like flowers through a cobbled road.

It wasn’t all the sort of elvish that Cassandra had come to expect from Solas and the Inquisitor, nor was it all the rough-around-the-edges bright colors that Sera brought. Unlike other cities, Halamshiral had no alienage, no clean line between human and not. There were simply too many elves, and so everything seemed to be scrambling over itself, a flurry of Dalish and city elf sensibilities, twisted around the familiar Orlesian structure that Cassandra was more familiar with. Yet at the same time, Cassandra noted as she rode through town, seeing distant, untouchable buildings raise above the chaos, it seemed as though that structure was more firm and unshaken than it might appear to be. Wealth and poverty had a sharp divide, and that divide seemed to fall, quite coincidentally, along the difference between pointed ears and round.

The most unsettling part was knowing that it had to be a world better than what it had been like the last time she was there. Since Briala had been brought into the nobility of Orlais, things had been changing, if slowly. From what Cassandra had heard, the duchess had been working hard to dismantle the hold that rich humans had over Halamshiral, though it could not have been an easy battle.

Well, Cassandra thought, bringing her horse to a halt in front of the slightly weary looking office of the city guard, perhaps she could help with at least one of those rich humans.

Though she had been expecting a bit of hassle with the process of reporting her news about Bencour, and her intentions with him, Cassandra quickly found out that he was already well known to the guard.

“We’ve had our eye on him for a while now,” the Captain explained, not looking up from the papers she was filling out. “He’s always been, well… loose with the law, but you know how it is with those noble types. Had a feeling something might be coming his way soon though, once the Kirkwall guard started asking around. You with them?”

“In part. I received this information from Kirkwall, but I am working as an agent of the Inquisition, and as a Seeker.”

Cassandra did her best to keep the irritation from her voice. She wasn’t exactly surprised at the harsh attitude, and she had certainly expected worse, but it was still hard to understand how people who fashioned themselves as guards could be so casual about law-breaking. It was true that law in Orlais was a tenuous thing, of course, between the absolute immunity of the chevaliers and the ever changing grand Game,but as with anything involving politics, that was often hard to remember in the moment.

Finally looking up at Cassandra, the Captain raised a single thin eyebrow. “Are you now? Well then, Madame Seeker, don’t let me stand in your way. Bencour lives in High Quarter, and you are welcome to do as you please with him. Doesn’t seem like I could stand in your way if I wanted to. But it you want to actually have him arrested, I’ll need more than the rumors we’ve been hearing for the past year. His alliances have always been known, but that’s hardly enough to arrest a noble, no matter how slimy he may be.”

“Is my word as a Seeker not enough?”

The woman barked out a sharp laugh. “Can your word as a Seeker keep my job safe when the other noble houses in Halamshiral come knocking? What about protect from assassinations, hmm?" 

Cassandra didn’t reply, focusing instead on keeping her fists unclenched and her smile steady, if clearly forced.

“In that case,” she finally said, “I shall see to talking with him myself. Thank you for your help.” Stiff as a board, Cassandra turned on her heel and marched out of the guard house, ignoring the confused looks of the other workers as she clanked past.

Outside, she watched the sun shiver down the spines of the richest buildings, towering at the outskirts of town. High Quarter. Halamshiral didn’t have an alienage, no, not when elves outnumbered humans five to one. It had the inverse of that, however, the place where the rich humans of the town made their home. Cassandra shook her head, boosting herself back into the saddle. If she was lucky, Bencour would be in that evening. She could catch him before the sunset, get answers, and be on her way. She didn’t want to spend any more time in the town than she needed to.

---

Dearest Josie,

I hope you are doing well. It’s rather lonely back at Skyhold without you (though I am hardly here for long. The Hinterlands aren’t going to explore themselves, after all, and there is still so much to be done to build up our resources). I know that it’s important that you find us a way into the Winter Palace, but that doesn’t mean I miss you any less.

In any case, you are the one missing out on all the fun. Varric has apparently started up a weekly game of Wicked Grace, and he tells me that we are both invited. I’ve sat in on a few games, though I haven’t played any myself, because I’m afraid I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing. You will have to teach me once you get back, and we can sweep in and take all their money.

You’d be surprised how many people show up to the games. The usual suspects are there, of course, but Varric even managed to coax Cullen and Cassandra into playing. Creators, how did that happen? I’m not sure, myself, but they both seem to enjoy it and be there of their own volition, though Cassandra grumbles the entire time. Varric has apparently been coaching her, but it doesn’t seem to have done her much good. Still, it’s nice to see the two them getting along, and it’s nice to have a chance to spend time with everyone doing something other than beating up bears and Red Templars.

[excerpt from a letter from Inquisitor Lavellan to Josephine Montilyet, 7 Frumentum, 9:41 Dragon]

Chapter Text

Bencour’s house was obviously the most neglected on the block, half tucked into an alleyway at the end of the road. That wasn’t to say that it wasn’t opulent, of course, but it lacked many of the unnecessary flourishes of its neighbors. Cassandra, who had left her horse at the most reputable stable she could find at the edge of town, stood in front of the door, trying to gauge what she might find inside. It looked worn, neglected, not empty, but…

She snapped her wandering thoughts off, marching up and knocking on the door. Bencour couldn’t be more than a grubbing noble at best, and she didn’t have time to wait around. Still, Cassandra let her hand fall on the pommel of her sword, hanging easy at her side. At least this time, unlike her last trip to Halamshiral, she didn’t have to leave behind that particular comfort.

It didn’t take long for footsteps to shuffle up inside, and a moment longer, Cassandra noted, for the thud of deadbolts being pushed aside. The door opened like something from a horror story for children, yawning and shrill. To Cassandra, however, it spoke to desperation. The man in the doorframe spoke it too, though he was dressed finely enough in a servant’s outfit. He was just old enough for it to be notable, and tall but in a way that lent him very little grandeur, though it might have once. Cassandra didn’t have Leliana’s grasp of fashion, or Josephine’s understanding of subtle politics, but she knew well enough the look of fear in someone’s eyes when the unraveling they’ve been waiting for finally comes.

“Can I help you?” Taking in Cassandra’s armor, he added, “Lady Seeker?”

“I have come to speak to Lord Sournois,” she responded curtly, hating the taste of formality. Bencour may have been unworthy of his title, but it did her no good to discard it just yet. Besides, if the man in front of her had any sense about him, and any knowledge of Bencour’s actions over the past year, he would be well aware that the thin veneer of politeness was more for his sake than out of respect for his master.

“I’m afraid he is not-”

Cassandra took a step forward, cutting the man off with a raised hand. “I find that highly doubtful, and if he is, I suggest you figure out a way to find him. I do not come here with an abundance of time, and that means that you do not have it either.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then another, just long enough for Cassandra to wonder if loyalty in the household ran deeper than she had been expecting. But then the challenge bent, and broke, and he stepped aside, beckoning her in.

Cassandra found herself quickly herded into a proper greeting room, mildly surprised at how well kept the interior of the house was. The rooms she saw were brightly lit, at least, and in better condition than the outside appeared. Sitting stiffly on something that looked vaguely couch-like, she wondered if that was intentional. It was possible that Bencour had been keeping himself better than he wanted to seem. However, as Cassandra looked around the room and noted the age to everything, the film of dust and disuse, she felt safe in the belief that it was a lie he was more likely telling to himself.

Bencour took long enough that Cassandra was just starting to get anxious, but the moment he swept in, she knew that he had been waiting just outside the door, trying to make her stew. So he wasn’t going to make things easy, as she had hoped. It would have been nice if her presence alone had been enough to scare him into cooperation.

“Lady Seeker,” Bencour said with a half-bow, eyes locked on her, “I’m sorry if you find me ill-prepared to be entertaining visitors today. However, perhaps if you could tell me why you have come, I could to me best to-”

“You know exactly why I am here,” Cassandra spit, jaw clenched. Calm hadn’t stayed with her long, not seeing him smile as if the knowledge of his actions were some shared joke. “Do not pretend as if this is some grand coincidence. You have been selling out the Seekers.” She stood, holding his gaze just as he had held hers, heart thrilling quietly to discover that he was only a sliver taller than her. “I do not take that lightly.”

Bencour took a step back, and Cassandra could practically see the speeches falling from his lips. He had prepared for this, she thought, he had rehearsed the scene. Well then, let him learn to improvise. She had no need to follow his script. She took a step forward, than another, careful to move herself closer to the door, and force him away from it as he shuffled backwards.

“Perhaps you expected me to try and ask you polite questions,” she continued. “Or perhaps you have forgotten that not everyone views lives as chess pieces. Whatever the reason, I am not here to play your Game, and I do not have patience for politeness, Lord Sournois.” Cassandra bore down on the syllables of his name, now standing only a few feet away. To his credit, Bencour had only moved back a few paces, quickly drawing himself up and refusing to give ground. He searched her face, a mixture of concern and calculation playing across his own.

“I have had no contact with the Seekers,” he finally said. “And if this is about the rumors that I was working with Florianne, I can assure you, they are nothing more than that. Neither the Empress nor your precious order have anything to fear from me.”

“A messenger bearing your crest passed along a message to a Seeker barely a month ago. That contact brought him to the waiting hands of the Order of the Fiery Promise, to death or worse. Do not pretend to be innocent in this.”

Bencour blanched. “The… what? I don’t have any idea what you are talking about, and there is no way that someone could have-”

Lunging forward, Cassandra pressed him back the last few feet until his back was against the wall, her arm crushing against his shoulders. “No way that you could have been identified? You do not deny the act, only the manner in which you were discovered?”

“I don’t,” he spluttered, “I don’t… this group you are talking about, I never worked with them. I don’t know who they are, I swear.”

“Then who were you working with?”

“I don’t know!” Bencour wiggled, not meeting her gaze, trying to slip out and away. Cassandra pressed down harder. “He came to me, after Florianne was discovered, and told me… he said he knew that I’d…”

“If you are trying to avoid implicating yourself,” Cassandra cut in, “then it is not worth your breath. You gain nothing by wasting my time.”

“He blackmailed me, but I never knew why. He’d send me names, and I would get in contact with people for him. That’s all it was. I didn’t even know they were Seekers.”

He was holding something back, she could tell. Cassandra eased back a bit, letting her arm fall. “But you know something. More than you are saying.”

“Do I?”

“I am no more a fool than you are. You wouldn’t endanger yourself for some weak threat of blackmail, not when half the court already seems to suspect that you are no good.”

It had not taken Bencour long to recover some of his composure. He leveled a glare at Cassandra now, though it was something of a weak, simpering one. “You are clearly unaccustomed to the Game, if you think that of blackmail as an insufficient reason. I may be a debtor and a disgrace to my family, but if it was publicly confirmed that I had allied with Florianne, I would be as good as dead.”

“Social disgrace is hardly comparable to-”

“I was not talking about social disgrace, Lady Seeker. The court does not take kindly to those who back a losing team. There is more than one person who has been looking for a chance to have me done in.”

Cassandra shook her head. “Even if that is true, I cannot believe that some man you’d never seen showed up one day and had you doing his dirty work the next.”

“There was…” trailing off, Bencour slipped out sideways and walked towards a nearby chair, collapsing into it with a sigh. “I cannot explain it. He spoke of a plan, and a grand destiny, said he would have the world bowing before him.”

Cassandra snorted. “That sounds like it could be any Orlesian noble.”

“He wasn’t.”

“So then who was he? You must know something.”

Becour looked up at her, and Cassandra saw a shadow of the same calculations she had seen earlier. “He was like you. A Seeker.”

The cold confirmation seeped into her bones like lead, and Cassandra was suddenly conscious of her breathing. In, and out, like she would forget how to if she didn’t mark each one, and she had known, but she had never believed. Was it just one? More than one? Was he truly working with the Promisers, or was their something more at play? Bencour’s description of him certainly hadn’t seemed to fit with what Cassandra knew of the Promiser’s goals.

“When was the last time you heard from him?”

“A few days ago. But it wasn’t the usual letter, it was… nonsense.”

“Show me.”

Cassandra could see that Bencour wanted to challenge her, but she pinned down his compliance with one look. Wordlessly, he lead her out of the room and up a flight of stairs, to a small office. It was tucked away behind a locked door, cluttered and dim, lit only by the last wisps setting sun. It was mostly empty, aside from writing materials, and an envelope set at the center of the desk, cut cleanly at the top. The letter opener sitting next to it had the Sournois family crest build into the hilt.

Carefully, Cassandra moved into the room, picking up the envelope. She slipped out the contents, thoughts thrumming in a place far beyond surprise. It was almost expected, really. She’d known what she’d find the minute Bencour opened the door.

The Knight of Dawn lay in her open palm, staring up accusingly. Cassandra closed her hand around it, setting the envelope back down. There was nothing else she could learn here. She had to get back.

Pausing outside the room, Cassandra turned back to face Bencour. “I have been informed that there is no particular… legal recourse, I can take, at this time. There is no real proof, yet, of either your support of Florianne or your actions towards the Seekers. But do not think that means there will never be. If you try to flee, or to contact them again-”

He held up his hands, issuing no protest, though Cassandra thought she saw a sort of grim satisfaction on his face. It burned to leave him here, to leave everything unfinished. But if the Promisers had somehow known that she was coming, if they could have been so far ahead of her, if they truly were working with a Seeker, then she couldn’t afford to see to the details of sorting out this particular injustice. She had to get back to Crestwood. If she still had time, she needed to set things right.

By the time that Cassandra was mounted and leaving the city, she’d already left thoughts of Bencour behind. Her previous mount was still well worn from the trip to Halamshiral, so Cassandra had worked out a deal with the owner of the stables, promising that the Inquisition would compensate her for the price new horse. Dennet wouldn’t be happy, as he had looked over every one of the Inquisitions horses personally and promised that they were the best money could buy, but Cassandra needed something fast, and fresh, and she needed it as soon as possible.

She rode as far into the night as she could manage, only stopping once exhaustion and the cloud-covered darkness made it impossible to continue without risking injury. There was no way she could have known, of course, that the Promisers had tracked her every move so well. And the information had been useful, would be useful, hopefully. It had been a worthwhile trip.

Cassandra just hoped that the trip wouldn’t come at the cost of the lives of Crestwood’s soldiers, or civilians. There was no doubt in her mind that they were planning something, and it seemed only logical to put things into motion while she was out chasing down their twisted trail.

Reaching into her bag, Cassandra pulled out the Wicked Grace card she had found in Bencour’s possession. It was wrapped tightly, as if it was alive somehow, simply waiting for the chance to strike. Pulling aside the cloth around it, she ran her fingers down the smooth back, tracing out the familiar spirals that marked most decks, before flipping the card over.

Her fingers froze, hovering above the card’s face. It was glowing.

Not all of it, but several bright marks along the surface were vivid in the darkness. There was something that looked like a triangle at the bottom of it, or a building of some sort, or a…

“A cave,” Cassandra said to herself, following the line that extended up out of it. There was a circle, another marking, crossed by two wavy lines and three dots. A coin of some sort? A room? She dug through her memories of the caves around Crestwood. They were numerous, though most of them were fairly small, and very few had any sort of open space in them like what seemed to be indicated by the drawing. And what were the lines meant to be? Water?

Another piece clicked into place. There was one tunnel, she remembered, somewhere east of Crestwood, that had lead to a clearing with a small lake. It was where they had killed three wyverns, when she first explored the region with the Inquisitor.

At the top of the card were a few other symbols which seemed to indicate a passage past the clearing. That must be where the markings were trying to lead her, because all of her searchings had never found more than the pond.

The card had been sent to Bencour by the Promisers, at least as far as she knew, so what did this mean? Was it a trap of some sort? It seemed like a rather haphazard way to lead her into one, especially when they already seemed to have the upper hand in all this.

Could it have been a message from the same person who tried to get in touch with her during Satinalia? Even if it was, that didn’t give her many more answers. In any case, she didn’t have a great deal of time, and trying to chase down the passage indicated on the card might be a fruitless venture at best.

No. Cassandra tucked the card away, determination settling over her. No, she couldn’t believe that. It was something, and if she was playing into the hands of the Promisers, then she was no worse off than she had believed herself to be a few minutes ago. She had to believe that this was something; a sign, a hint.

She had to believe that someone, somewhere, was trying to help her.

---

Cassandra,

No news or sign of activity at the fort, but I do have something else for you. I’ve managed to track down the location of one of the Seekers you asked me to look for. Seems he’s been active in the Dales recently. I’ve got a couple of town names, nothing too specific but it looks like a good place to start.

-Cullen

[note left at the desk of Cassandra Pentaghast, 11 Verimensis, 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

Reaching the edge of Old Crestwood just as a light afternoon rain began, Cassandra lead her horse carefully in a wide path around any possibilities of running into someone. She’d been traveling on the main road most of the trip in order to save time, but now, she felt, the need for stealth superseded her desire for speed. If there was some kind of trap waiting for her, she might as well try and keep every possible advantage she could, and attempt to avoid, or at least minimize, the chance to being spotted.

She tied her horse ten minutes away from the cave, another precautionary measure. Moving by foot was quieter, and she could have her weapons more closely at hand. Cassandra kept her shield strapped to her back, since it was unwieldy to keep it hoisted in front of her, but drew her sword as soon as she dismounted, pointing it steadily outward. The air practically tingled with unease, light raindrops slick and cold against the back of her neck. Everything was waiting for action, but none came, and so Cassandra inched forward, each step ringing in her ears.

The mouth of the cave loomed up quicker than she was expecting, just as blank as she remembered it. There were no indications that the Promisers were holed up there, no trampled earth or snapped twigs. That didn’t mean anything concrete, Cassandra reminded herself, still clutching her sword, but even her prickling paranoia couldn’t shake off the feeling of emptiness hanging in the quiet air. Quiet, but not silent. The breeze curling up into the cave carried all the sounds she would expect in an afternoon like this one. Her mind told her to be aware, and her knowledge of the situation told her that danger could be waiting ahead, but truthfully, all of her instincts told her that whatever the strange message on her card had meant, there was nothing malicious lurking around the next corner.

Well, she thought, taking a few hesitant steps into the cave, maybe the one after that.

By the time she had made it to the clearing with the pond, Cassandra had relaxed enough to sheathe her sword, though she kept a wary hand hovering not far from it. All she had found during the laboriously slow walk was the normal scampering nugs and bursting growths of deep mushrooms.

Pulling out the Knight of Dawn, which she had tucked into her belt, Cassandra faded back into the darker corners of the tunnel to reexamine it. Holding it out, however, another thought caught her attention, as the faint glowing blues of a nearby mushroom hovered in the corner over her vision. Was that what had been used to mark the card?

Cassandra bent down, holding the card carefully out next to an outcropping of deep mushrooms. She had assumed that someone had written on the card with some sort of special ink, or used magic to make it glow, but it certainly had the same tint as the mushrooms. Running a finger along the cap of one of them, Cassandra was left with a slightly sticky residue on the tip. She flipped the card over, drawing a mark down the back. It looked remarkably similar to the other symbols, if a little brighter.

Straightening, Cassandra flipped the card back over and examined it. There were deep mushrooms all over Crestwood, but it was still odd to note that they grew in the exact place the card had directed her. She tucked the card away again, venturing into the clearing. She was too close now to the truth to spend time theorizing. Whatever was waiting for her, a few more directionless questions would be very little extra preparation.

It took Cassandra quite a while to find the place the markings on the card indicated, and by the time she did, her legs were well soaked through. The water of the pond wasn’t as murky as some that she’d had to wade through, but that did little to help her mood. The actual rocks that hid the passage were at the edge of the water, and once they were moved aside, it was easy enough to crawl into it from dry land. It rankled her somewhat more to know that whoever used the passage regularly had been able to avoid the discomfort of water-logged pants clinging to their legs as they moved forward through the narrow tunnel, which was only just  high enough that she didn’t have to move on her knees.

As irritated as she was, Cassandra’s discomfort burned away the moment she stepped into the wider room.

Information flooded her in waves, and she processed it in steps. Before she knew anything, she knew that someone was dead. That smell, at least, she could distinguish amidst the rest of the chaos. She couldn’t exactly search for its source, however, because there was too much of everything else grabbing at her attention.

The only light came from the deep mushrooms that grew all around the cave, which was perhaps a little smaller than Cassandra’s own room at Caer Bronach. It was hard to see anything in great detail, but there were papers everywhere, scattered across the ground, some half ground into the dirt. Cassandra picked a few up, squinting in the dim light to try and make sense of them. They looked like they were written by different hands, though she couldn’t quite untangle any of the words. Letting the papers drop back to the ground, she continued searching the room for some semblance of order, or sense.

It wasn’t just papers, it was an entire jumble of junk. A table was placed near the middle of the room, spilling over with it, stacks of books and stones, armor and swords and broken bits of pottery. There were candles, maybe hundreds of them, tucked between rocks and placed all over the ground, though all of them had burned out. When was the last time someone was here?

Looking more closely at the walls, Cassandra realized that the chaos extended there as well. Marks in a chalky white wrapped around the room. Some were unfamiliar, but the symbol of the Seekers was there, appearing by itself or in disjointed clusters. She brushed her fingers against one of them, unable to determine what it was about the harsh lines that was so unsettling. Keeping her hand on the wall, Cassandra moved around the perimeter of the room.

She made it all the way to the other side before she finally discovered the body, slumped against the wall. Crusted blood flaked on the shirt around the knife plunged into his side, at least a few days old. The man’s hands were tied behind his back, but there didn’t seem to be any other kind of restraints. Cassandra crouched down, trying to get a better look at him.

Running her hands lightly along shoulders, Cassandra realized with a jolt of familiarity that the hood bunched down around his neck was the sort the Inquisition scouts wear. Other details clicked into place then, the whole outfit solidifying. She carefully reached around to tip his face towards her, holding back any fear that tried to crawl up her throat, keeping herself steady.

She knew him. He was from Caer Bronach, without a doubt, though her brain struggled to find a name. It was the man Charter had talked to, the man who’d complained about the missing deck of Wicked Grace Cards

Reeve, that was it. She’d seen him only a handful of days ago. What had happened? Was he the one who had left the cards in her room?

Taking a knife from her belt, Cassandra slit the ropes around his wrists, pulling his hands up to look at them. As she’d suspected, his right pointer finger glowed with the same substance from the mushrooms, the same that marked the Knight of Dawn.

Cassandra rocked back on her heels, trying to piece any sort of logic together. Reeve must have been working with the Promisers, but that didn’t explain why he’d sent her the card. And he hadn’t even sent it to her, he’d sent it to Bencour. The extra step made little sense, especially since he should have had no way to know that she would even go to Halamshiral. He must have had some reason for betraying the Promisers, for leading her here, and that was why he had been killed. But that still didn’t explain what the strange cavern even was.

Charter would have to know something about this, Cassandra thought, standing, or at very least know when Reeve had gone missing. She had to get back to Caer Bronach, back to somewhere she could find the time to try and sort through this mess.

As much as it hurt to leave Reeve lying in the dark, she had little choice but to turn around and hurry back out the way she came, worry nipping at her heels. If he was dead, that meant that the keep might not be safe. Something could have happened there.

Cassandra wasted none of the time in leaving that she had on entering the cave. She didn’t run, but she half-jogged through the tunnels, reaching the grey afternoon light within a few short minutes. It was strange to see the world still as she had left it, a gentle rain still falling. The room she had found, and the body, had shaken her, and it was wrong that the world had not been shaken as well. It made Cassandra wonder what else was buried in secret caves and hidden passages, hidden away just far enough that everything else continued as usual.

Caer Bronach was equally, unnervingly quiet, when Cassandra finally reached the front gates. She hadn’t expected fighting, necessarily, or chaos, but she had expected something other than the polite nod that the guards posted outside gave her. She dismounted, handing her horse over to one of them with instructions to see that it was cared for, and walked slowly up the front steps.

Charter was at her table, and caught Cassandra’s eye before she was more than a few steps onto the main landing. They stared at each other, and Cassandra shook her head, a tiny, worried signal. Charter jolted her head to the right, and both women slipped away to the side. Moving through a doorway, Charter hurried away the guard that had been positioned inside, waiting for Cassandra.

“This is the escape route left open,” Charter offered. “If we need to get out of here, just say the word.”

Cassandra smiled grimly, shaking her head. “I’m not sure, actually. I’ve found out quite a bit, but none of it exactly…” she trailed off, finally finishing, “makes sense. I wanted to ask if anything has happened here since I have been gone.”

“Well,” Charter said, frowning, “everyone has been on edge, of course. They are all worried, and it’s been oddly quiet, but, well. It’s been quiet.”

“No one has gone missing? Or requested leave?”

Charter shook her head. “What’s going on?”

“I found Reeve dead. His body was hidden away in a cave not far from here, and-”

“That can’t be right,” Charter cut in. “I would know if someone had been killed. I don’t know that I’ve specifically seen him in the past couple of days, but there is no way that someone could just… that something like that could happen without me knowing.”

“I know what I saw.”

“Then we are talking about a lot more than one rogue agent, Lady Cassandra.”

“That’s what I was worried about.” Cassandra tried to keep the fear from her face. “Charter, you need to leave here, and get word to the Inquisition.”

Normally Charter would have voiced a louder protest, but she seemed to sense her words would only roll off of Cassandra’s shoulders. “What about you?”

“I’m going to stay here. If we both leave, someone is bound to follow us. But you can slip out, pretend it is just part of a regular patrol or something. Hide out with Judith for a few days, until you know that you weren’t followed, and then head for Skyhold.”

“I assume you already know that I don’t like this, right?”

“I will be fine. Odds are, they won’t try anything just yet. If they do, I will get out of here. But we need support, and you know that we stand a better chance of getting it if you go alone.”

Charter didn’t say anything for a time, just stared at Cassandra. Finally, she sighed. “Alright. What do you want me to tell them?”

“Tell them there is something wrong, that we think there may be a large portion of our forces who are compromised. They should already know about Bencour and my trip to Halamshiral. I learned that there is another Seeker helping the Promisers, though I don’t know if that will be of much use. Still, maybe they can make something of it. And tell them…” Cassandra tried to find words to describe the terror that had crept into her when she found the hidden cave. It wasn’t something she could explain with her usual dryness. It wasn’t something quantifiable.

“Tell them there is something more to this, though I’m not sure I know what it is. Something strange.”

Sensing that there wasn’t more that Cassandra wanted to say on the subject, Charter slipped away with little more than a brief nod. Cassandra watched her walk back to her table, as natural and relaxed as ever. It was a good act, one that she know she would have no luck imitating herself.

Following a short time later, Cassandra moved carefully up the steps to her room, eyeing everyone who passed her with suspicion. They couldn’t do anything in the middle of the keep, surely, they couldn’t have enough people working with them to make that possible. Unless they only wanted to kill her, of course. It only took one person for that, and Cassandra kept her senses sharp for any wary movement that might signal a fracturing of the normal bustle of the day.

She made it to the door of her room without trouble, and had just opened it when she heard someone call her name.

Something hopeless and inevitable curled a tight knot inside Cassandra’s stomach, as she turned, pivoting quickly, hand reaching for her sword.

She had just enough time to make out a familiar face, a rush of cloth and sharpness, a smile, before the world slipped backwards and fell away into sharp, angry darkness.

---

Cassandra,

Andraste’s ass, of course I care! Just… please don’t die, okay? Take care of yourself. And send me some kind of response as soon as you get this so I know that everything is alright.

[letter from Varric Tethras to Cassandra Pentaghast, 8 Umbralis, 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

Cassandra was used to the sudden need to take stock in a strange situation, to run through a list of aches and pains and possible injuries, to account for dangers and threats around her as she woke. She was not used to how slowly her mind moved through the process now, barely dragged along in the wake of instinct.

Nothing was broken, which was good. The internal checklist progressed rather easily. She was stiff, and her hands were tied, and her head was throbbing, but those were all things she had expected, and could cope with. Once she moved towards the external, however, she found herself at a loss.

Her eyes were useless in the darkness that pervaded wherever it was she had been dumped, and the rest of her senses did little to clarify the situation. It was a cave somewhere, or underground, judging by the cold dirt she could feel under her fingertips. But that didn’t makes sense, because Cassandra was sure she could smell burning, the bitter stench of crackling flesh. It seemed out of place, and she couldn’t see any flames, so her mind bucked in protest, still struggling to shake off the fog that seemed to be clouding everything.

She was in danger, she’d been captured, and she had to find a way out. The sound of footsteps made Cassandra stiffen, as she worked at the ties around her wrists.

“Seeker?”

Cassandra’s breath hitched. “Varric?” She heard the footsteps change course, scuffing towards her. A match flicked to life in the darkness, and there he was, leaning down over her.

“Having a bad day?”

His voice seemed odd, almost echoing, though Cassandra couldn’t tell if that was just the confined space, or throbbing in her head. “We don’t have time,” she spit out, her dismissal of Varric’s remarks springing into place to fill the confusion.

“We have to…” she paused, considering him briefly before the match spluttered out. His smile was crooked, perhaps a little forced, but it looked like his, had to be his. “How did you find me?”

The cave was black again, but Cassandra could hear Varric bending down, hear him unsheathing his knife. His hand, hesitant in the darkness, reached for her, fingers tapping at her shoulder. Carefully, Varric trailed down her arm, finding the ropes at her wrist.

“It’s sort of a long story. Someone…” He paused, searching for a name. “Charter, she contacted me.” He said the name with relish, with satisfaction, an invisible grin clearly audible.

“But how did you find me here,” she repeated, “and where am I, anyway? It’s some sort of cave, but I have no idea where, or how I got here, or-”

Finally sawing through the ropes, Varric pulled Cassandra to her feet. She stumbled a bit, having to lean against his shoulder to steady herself. When she didn’t immediately straighten, he brought his hand up against the small of her back to steady her.

“Don’t worry about it just now, okay? We have camp nearby, come on.”

She decided it was useless to question him farther, though his voice still sounded strange, and it bothered Cassandra that she couldn’t place the reason why. There was something he wasn’t telling her, something he was trying to hide. But he was also right. She was too weak to spend time interrogating him her.

Limping forward, one hand trailing along the wall to keep them steady, Cassandra was surprised to find light leaking down as soon as they rounded a corner. She hadn’t thought she would be so close to an exit. Whatever had happened, was happening, at least she didn’t have to wait long for answers.

Varric’s hand, still supporting her, tightened around her waist as she sped up. “You alright there, Seeker?”

“I’m fine,” Cassandra muttered, suddenly annoyed at him. She had to get outside. The opening was just a few steps away, but she couldn’t seem to see past the light, and it was frustrating her. Something was wrong. “I just, I can’t seem to-”

Taking a last step forward, stumbling out of Varric’s grasp, Cassandra tripped to her knees, finding paved stones under her. The daylight finally solidified into shapes, but she had trouble making sense of them. No, it wasn’t that she couldn’t make sense of them, it was that they couldn’t be right. This was Val Royeaux, but she had been in Crestwood, hadn’t she?

Far above her, the pulpit of the Divine stretched outward, though it was empty, and the large gathering area that she had stumbled into was empty as well. Where had Varric gone? Pushing herself to her feet, Cassandra turned to find empty space and a hard stone wall, just as a dragon’s roar shattered against her ears, and another, and a third. People were screaming.

“He is important to you, isn’t he?”

Cassandra felt her heart thrumming, dipping, crashing downward. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. She turned back around, one hand still placed on the wall behind her.

“Lord Seeker?”

“This one too,” The creature said, because it wasn’t Lord Seeker Lucius, it couldn’t be. Cassandra nearly wretched as the truth started to unfold inside her, leaning back against the cold stone, trying not to crumple.

“You are not him. Not either of them.”

“Am I not?” The voice was at her shoulder, and Cassandra turned, moving away. It wore Reeve’s face this time, grinning wickedly. She pulled at her sword, surprised and relieved to find it still clipped to her side. Reeve, the creature, it did not move as she pointed the tip at its throat.

“You are a demon that wears their faces. Daniel told me, he said…”

The sky had grown dark, draining of color, turning a sickly green. The wing beats of dragons were still trashing in the air, though the sky was free of any actual sign of them. Reeve leaned forward, letting the blade just nick his skin, blood welling out and running down her sword. “You always knew. And yet you still let me go free?”

“I tried to have Cullen hunt for you, but there was no sign,” Cassandra protested, “nothing I could do, and the Seekers needed me.”

Suddenly Reeve was gone, vanishing in a crack of lightning. Cassandra looked up, seeing stormclouds writhe around the newly opened rift in the sky.

Gathering herself up, Cassandra moved towards the open gate across the square, doing her best to ignore the rising screams. She’d already fought these battles. Her mind was elsewhere, putting together pieces that had long been missing.

There had never been a traitor. Reeve, how long had he been missing, Cassandra wondered. How long had he been tied up in that cave, while a demon paraded around in his place? Why hadn’t she seen it sooner? Who else could so quickly gather the Promisers, so easily track down the Seekers, but Lord Seeker Lucius himself? Or someone with his face, and his secrets.

Across the gate, the world shifted again, though Cassandra was prepared this time. As a Seeker, she had never spent much time studying Envy demons, though she had heard of them before. There was not very much to study in the first place. Still, every demon had a weakness. She wasn’t going to let the creature root around in her mind.

She stepped into a wide hallway, Skyhold’s main floor, alive with voices. It was as it had been during the height of the Inquisition’s growth. Not long before they had taken on Corypheus. There were people here to go with the voices, all chattering amongst themselves. Cassandra caught snippets of conversation, all somehow about her.

“...left the Seekers to found this place, for all the good it’s done her, she still…”

“...rather ungraceful, for royalty, I’d say that she needs…”

“...and still unmarried? it’s hardly…”

“...well, the Seekers have practically fallen apart now, haven’t they? I’m surprised she still…”

She brushed past them all, not giving the words time to settle. Still, she couldn’t help but glance over at Varric’s usual seat as she strode past. He was there, surrounded by people, regaling them with some grand story. Cassandra recognized them from the Winter Palace, but didn’t stop to listen in. Instead, she marched towards the throne at the back of the room, where the Inquisitor was seated. Or rather, where the demon was seated, in the Inquisitor's form.

“Shall I pass down my judgement from on high?” It spoke half in Lavellan’s voice, half in its own. “Would you listen if I did? You’ve always been so faithful to her, haven’t you?” The demon drew it’s hand down the staff laid across it’s knees. “An elf and a mage, challenging your decisions at every step, and yet you still believed?” It paused, looking down at her. “Well, until you left, that is.”

The crowd had grown silent, stopping to listen to the conversation. Cassandra did not need to turn around to feel everyone’s eyes on her, though she imagined in truth, they were all the eyes of the demon.

“I do not need to explain myself to you.”

“No,” it said, leaning back. “I suppose you don’t. I can already see it clear enough. You thought to bring glory back to your Seekers, did you? And where has that gotten you? Have you saved anyone? Have you helped anyone?”

“At least I have not killed them and stolen their lives,” she spat back, turning on her heel. The crowd parted to let her by, silence building into a chuckle, and then a full laugh, spreading from one person to the next.

Cassandra tried to ignore the laughs she recognized in the mix. Lavellan’s. Josephine’s. Leliana’s. Varric’s too, louder than the rest.

The world didn’t change when she made it out the front doors, but it quieted. Skyhold stretched out beneath her, under a wide night sky. She didn’t need to look up to know that the rift would be there, shuddering and hungry.

“Whatever it is you want from me, demon, you shall not have it.”

“What if I already do?” The words came in Leliana’s voice this time, somewhere behind her. “Do you think you are hiding yourself from me? Do you think you are beating me? It only takes time, Cassandra, and that is something I have so very much of.”

“Perhaps not as much as you suspect,” she replied, hurrying down the steps. It was right, whatever pieces it was looking for, it would find them eventually. Envy demons were patient, and persistent, and as far as Cassandra knew, shaking them from your mind was no easy task. How much did this one already know about her? So much of it didn’t matter. Her personal life, those failings that it was so enjoying throwing back into her face, they meant nothing. There were other secrets, however, that she had to hold tight and keep hidden.

Hurrying downward, Cassandra found herself hacking at straw dummies. It wasn’t fully her, but something dark and shadowed in her shape. Music drifted out from the bar nearby, the quick, happy tempo of a dance. The shadow turned to face her, but Cassandra moved away before it could speak.

Inside the bar, loud and bright and shimmering, the music drowned out anything being said. Cassandra pushed through the crowd, heading up the stairs. Josephine and the Inquisitor sprang apart, blushing. Then the Inquisitor smiled, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a playing card.

“Did you like my present?” She flipped it around, revealing the Knight of Dawn.

Cassandra reached for the card, put it was pulled away. “What was the point? To scare me?”

“To say hello,” the demon said with a wide smile. “I thought you might miss it.”

Cassandra moved away quickly, trying to hide her own, small satisfied smile. She could be wrong, but it sounded as if the demon hadn’t intended her to find Reeve’s body at all. If the card had been part of the game, but her finding the hidden room hadn’t, it meant there was something she had that it didn’t know. Reeve had somehow managed to get the message to her in secret, writing it in the glowing ink of deep mushrooms that would fade to invisible under the bright candles of the room.

It was small, but satisfying, and Cassandra bore down on the information, holding it tightly, tucking it away somewhere secret. Perhaps it didn’t know about her sending Charter away, either. That was a chance, at least. She had to find more things like that, Cassandra realized, more small pieces she could lock safely away, pulling them out of her mind. It was like the distance that had come upon her when she was in isolation, training to be a Seeker. Her ability to detach herself from pressing emotions was meant to be useful against mind control, after all. There was no reason it couldn’t help out here.

Cassandra headed up the stairs, then out to the battlements. Varric was waiting for her.

“A little loud in there, isn’t it Seeker?”

“For me, perhaps. I wouldn’t think someone like you would mind it.” She parroted her own words, though she knew that he wasn’t real. That this wasn’t real. She took a step forward, than another, acting it out just as she remembered.

Varric waved a hand at her. “I know I like to be the guy that pleases everyone, but even I need a break sometimes.”

Cassandra let out a quiet snort, moving beside him and looking out across Skyhold. The music from the bar rang out across the courtyard, reaching them as crisply as if they were in the midst of it, though quieter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Simply that, for someone who says he likes to please everyone, you never seem to be very bothered to do anything but make me angry.”

“I hate to break it to you Seeker, but that’s not exactly hard to do. I think it’s in your blood. Besides, would you really like it if I tried to suck up to you?”

She looked over at him, his face dimly lit by the moonlight and the torches below. There were things she wanted to say to him, had wanted to say to him back then. Questions she wanted to ask. But none of it was real.

The music changed, quieter and slower. Cassandra recognized the chords, familiar and stirring, though she hadn’t been able to place them at the time. Varric looked over at her. “Well, I’m not trying to make you angry now, I swear it. How about a dance?”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Varric, if I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you were up here for me.”

He waved a hand at her dismissively, before extending it, palm up, offering his question again. “Nonsense, I assure you. Do you see a conspiracy everywhere you go?”

Cassandra took his hand, hating how real it felt. She closed her eyes as he pulled her from the edge, placing a gentle hand at her side. She settled hers at his shoulder, trying to pull away from the steps of the memory.

“It’s part of my job,” she whispered, opening her eyes.

Varric didn’t respond, swaying awkwardly with her. It wasn’t sweepingly romantic, hardly, it wasn’t the groundbreaking revelation she had waited for. She stepped on his feet, twice, and each time they both laughed, pausing momentarily to readjust. The song melted to an end, and they stood together, looking at each other.

It hadn’t been a revelation, no, it had been an offering. What crackled between them had been there quite a while. It didn’t come to her all at once, didn’t shock her into understanding. She simply let her denial melt away, and without those doubts it was easy to admit that she hadn’t been completely oblivious to her growing feelings for him.

But that was in the past, long ago and far away. Her stomach turned, queasy and then cold, hardness spreading down along her limbs. She had to break herself from the demon, not waste time indulging in sentiment.

She brought her hand from his shoulder, moving it to his cheek and bending down. Eyes half closed, inches apart, she hesitated. Varric didn’t move, didn’t push her, didn’t lean in to complete the gesture, but his eyes searched hers, almost hopeful, almost scared. His thumb moved against the back of her hand.

She kissed him, her lips numb with wishing. Somewhere, distantly, other memories played out: her hurried excuses, their parting, the shadow of him above on the battlements, still unmoved, as she made her way across the field below, pretending like she wasn’t running away. The note, her decision, the realization that this was the last she’d properly seen of him.

The memories faded against the sensation of kissing him, even though she wasn’t kissing him, even though it wasn’t real, even though she needed to get out. She could feel his lips, his hands, the soft sighing of his breath as she pulled away and then fell back into him, his warmth dissolving against her. The whole world melted with him, into nothingness, a whistling light, and the irresistible tug of consciousness.

---

Maryden-

For the party tonight, could you do me a favor? There’s an old Nevarran song I was hoping you could play at some point. It’s cheesy, might not fit the mood of things, but hey, everyone loves a good romantic slow dance, right? Trust me, I’m an expert on that sort of stuff.

Thanks,
Varric

[note from Varric Tethras to Maryden, 10 Verimensis, 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

Cassandra came crashing back into reality with a throbbing headache, much more pointed and painful than the dull throbbing from before, and a stiffness that sank all the way down to her bones. She couldn’t tell offhand how long she’d been asleep, and how much of that time had been spent tied up and shoved into the corner, but it felt like at least a few days. Her wrists, knotted together behind her back just as they had been in the strange dream world of the Envy demon, were chafed and sore, and her mouth was dry from the gag shoved between her teeth.

At least she knew where she was this time, locked up in her own room. The demon must be out somewhere, most likely wearing her face around. She couldn’t be sure, with how suddenly things had ended, but it seemed probable that it had been able to get enough from her to make a decent impression, though Cassandra hoped she’d at least been able to confuse a few things. If she had been unconscious for a day or more though, even just a sparse understanding would be enough for it to set things in motion.

Trying to shake off the pain clipping her thoughts, Cassandra focused on any possible means of escape. This time she was in her own space, and though she was bound more tightly, and her feet were tied as well, it gave her the advantage. She was tucked behind the bed, propped up against the wall and hidden away from most of the room, but she knew well enough where everything was that it didn’t matter. She had to get to her desk, and hope that those details had been one of the things she’d managed to hide.

Standing was the hardest part,. Cassandra remembered that from past Seeker training which had put her in the same position many times. Being able to fight and kill was important, but so was being able to escape. If she could just get her feet under her, even bound together, she could move. But that had been hard enough when they had awoken her in the chilled pre-dawn hours for an exercise in being taken hostage, and far harder when she had been stuck in the position long enough that her arms and legs felt like blocks of wood.

She started by leaning back against the bed, trying to get an angle, to get some leverage. Slowly unfolding herself, Cassandra was able to press her feet against the wall, though her legs burned in protest. She did her best to ignore them, pushing harder until she felt her body start to lift a bit, sliding up the side of the bed. She was lucky it was a solid oak, and too heavy to slip away and send her sprawling back to the ground.

In one sharp movement, Cassandra gave a final push, simultaneously using whatever strength she had left in her shoulders to rock herself upwards. She slid her feet towards her, trying to find some sort of balance, standing for only a few seconds before toppling down on top of the bed.

Well, it was progress. And it was softer than the ground, which was nice. It didn’t take much work to roll herself fully onto it, then across and over to the other side, swinging her legs over and sitting up.

The desk wasn’t far, only a few feet away, and Cassandra didn’t waste time in trying to move towards it, though it would have been easy to lie back and drift to sleep. If she did, there was no was to be sure she’d ever come back into herself.

Halfway across the distance, awkwardly shuffling forward, Cassandra suddenly felt a quiet laughter building inside of her. The force of it broke against the gag, but some still spilled out, bitter and sarcastic. What a sight she must be, the noble Lady Cassandra, swaying side to side with small, waddling steps. It was hardly the glamorous escape attempt that Varric would write it as.

No, he would have written something more like what the Envy demon had played out, with a noble rescue by the hero’s love. Well, that was hardly going to happen. Varric had no way of even knowing she was in danger.

Finally making it over to her desk, Cassandra half-tripped into the chair in front of it, slowly twisting it around so she faced out towards the rest of the room, leaving her hands free to fish around. It took some time and carefully angling to reach far enough underneath, but finally there was a quiet click and the hidden drawer slid open. Since she couldn’t see behind her, Cassandra simply closed her eyes and prayed, tapping along the inside of the drawer, fingers awkwardly searching.

She found the deck first, which was a relief, and the knife a few seconds later. So the demon hadn’t noticed that particular memory then, hadn’t know that she’d hidden away its little gifts for her. Smiling, Cassandra grabbed the knife and carefully twisted it so it was pointing inward, making short work of the ropes around her wrists.

The gag came next, a hacking, spitting relief to have out of her mouth, and then the bindings around her ankles. Then Cassandra sat back, gently rubbing at her wrists, slowly stretching one arm and then the other, trying to work out as many knotted muscles as possible while she tried to figure out what to do next.

It took her a few moments to realize that, in fact, she could just walk out. The window was too small to escape from anyways, and after all, the demon had taken on her shape. Surely no one would stop her from simply exiting her own room, would they? Cassandra had no way of knowing exactly what the state of Caer Bronach was, but bluffing might be able to afford her at least the time it took to escape.

First, however, she had to fashion herself into something relatively presentable. She spun the knife on the desk, letting it stutter to a halt and then picking it up and tucking it into her belt, careful to position it so the blade wouldn’t cut into her when she moved. She had no sheath, no sword or shield or armor, just a light tunic and pants. The pants, at least, were heavy enough, but she would get questions if she went outside without armor.

Cassandra considered, briefly, that questions could be alright. She could try and tell everyone what had happened, but it seemed like too much of a risk. It could resolve things easily, but it could also backfire, could get her caught again, or killed, or get the people around her killed. Better to try and sneak away and get in contact with Charter, and through her, the rest of the Inquisition.

Which meant that she would have to blend in, act like nothing was wrong. As far as anyone else knew, it was the truth, so the job shouldn’t be too hard. But there was still the problem of armor, and weapons as well, neither of which seemed to be in their usual places. The Envy demon might not have known about the knife hidden away in a secret drawer, but clearly it wasn’t foolish enough to keep her equipment lying around.

Eventually she settled on a cloak that was hung up at the back of the room, which fell around her shoulder and at least managed to obscure both her lack of armor and of weapons. She didn’t wear it often, only when she had to make a trip in the heavy rain. Crestwood’s sky, of course, had picked the least useful time to be clear. It was better than nothing though, and people usually didn’t take the time to question her, so unless she caused trouble, or unless things had radically changed outside of her door, there was no reason they would now.

Cassandra made one last quick scan of the room, trying to find anything else useful that she could grab. Most of her usual supplies seemed to have been taken someplace else, leaving the place even sparser than usual. The desk had writing tools on it, paper and ink, but no letters that she could find. Cassandra had hoped there might be some sign of word from Varric, but if the demon had received anything, or sent anything in return, she couldn’t find any trace of it. Well, she’d think about that later. Escape came first.

It wasn’t until she was nearly down to the main floor of the keep that Cassandra was stopped. She had hurried down the steps, not making eye contact with the few people she passed along the way, but at the top the last staircase, one of the guards had called out to her.

“Lady Cassandra?”

She turned in some approximation of what Vivienne might call breezy, clutching her cloak shut. The man who spoke was stationed as a guard, but not familiar to Cassandra. It could just be a coincidence, as she hardly knew everyone stationed there, but it was still unsettling. He was dressed as a soldier, not one of the scouts, and he looked and her quizzically.

“Yes?” Cassandra kept her voice steady, trying to mimic the tone that Varric had once said would scare anyone into confessing immediately. Aside from him, of course.

The soldier didn’t immediately respond, continuing to stare her down. Instead, he suddenly tapped the end of his spear against the stones, three steady times. Cassandra looked down, watching the purposeful movement with a growing confusion and concern, then back up at the man, meeting his expectant gaze. He was frowning now, eyes darting off to his right, out towards the front of the keep.

“Maker’s breath,” Cassandra whispered under her breath, just barely managing to hold off a significantly more pointed curse. She turned immediately on her heel, catching sight of another pair of guards by the gate who were watching her, both unfamiliar faces. They couldn’t know exactly what was going on, or at least Cassandra hoped they didn’t, but she felt a growing dread that they might know enough to try and stop her. She had to get out, fast. Since the front entrance was now blocked to her, she veered off to the left, trying not to run.

A quick glance over her shoulder assured Cassandra that the guard hadn’t moved to follow her, but he did seem to be signaling something to his other two friends. She didn’t wait to see what, though, ducking into the side area the Charter had showed her earlier. The woman stationed there, thankfully, was someone she knew.

Letting out a sigh, Cassandra waved her off. “I need a moment alone, please.” The soldier look confused and slightly concerned, but complied quickly enough. As soon as she was out of sight, Cassandra hurried to the ladder, lifting up the heavy wooden cover. It wasn’t exactly the most stealthy exit, considering that the other soldiers probably knew about the escape route, but hopefully it would spare her some time. The best she could hope was that their confusion would create hesitance, and that hesitance would earn her a chance to get out.

Perched on the ladder, Cassandra reached up to pull the trapdoor shut, wishing that there was some way to lock it. If they could follow her down, she might not stand much of a chance at all.

Pausing for a moment, squinting in the near darkness, she let her fingers trail along it’s surface. It only took her a moment to search out the edge. Reaching into her belt, she pulled out the knife she had tucked away, flipping it in her hand so that the blade stuck out the bottom. It took a bit of positioning until she was comfortable enough delivering enough force behind her blow, and then Cassandra drove the thin knife as deeply into the seam between trapdoor and floor as possible. It wedged nearly up to the hilt, stopping just short with a high-pitched whine. She smiled at her handiwork. If she had done her job correctly, it would be a while before anyone would be able to get the door open without bashing it to pieces, and it was heavy enough wood that even that would take a while.

It was a bit of a comfort, at least. Cassandra dropped from the ladder, satisfied that if she was pursued, she’d have a head-start. She surveyed the cavern, trying to see if there was anything else she needed to be worried about. It was as creepy as she remembered it being when she had first explored it with the Inquisitor, but seemed fairly empty. The only sounds were wind and dripping water.

She took the stairs carefully, quietly, listening to any movement back up at the entrance. She skirted around the edge of the room, stopping halfway across at a sudden noise. It wasn’t from back at the keep, from what she could tell, but her nerves shot alive nonetheless. Was there someone else already hiding out?

The sound came again, this time louder. Prepared, Cassandra easily made sense of it. She didn’t hold the curse back this time.

“Oh, Andraste’s ass, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Near the exit of the room, skittering into focus, a stream of white spiders, each slightly larger than her head, closed in on her. She couldn’t tell how many there were, but it seemed like at least eight or nine.

Which left her, no sword and no dagger, in a rather difficult position.

Moving on instinct, Cassandra turned to the statue next to her, grabbing the dish from its cupped hands. The lit candle flickered as she lobbed it at the two closest spiders, hot wax and fire splattering out. She didn’t stay to see if it connected, sprinting back towards the stairs. In one motion she tore one of the logs from the rickety fence, snapping ancient cords and whirling around just as a blur of white launched itself towards her. Momentum carried her swing, smashing wood against spider with a crack that sent the creature crashing into the wall.

Taking a step back, Cassandra used her few spare seconds to try and assess the situation. There were still five spiders coming at her, one recently crushed and another having been hit cleanly by the candle and writhing in pain. The remaining ones came a bit slower, but only just, still converging very quickly on her.

Instead of waiting on them, Cassandra took the initiative, lunging forward. She delivered a clean kick to the closest one, sending it flipping into the air, and plunged her makeshift wooden sword downward into the abdomen of another. A third rushed her leg, pulling itself onto her boot. Fangs glinted, but never found a home as Cassandra swung her foot into a rock, splattering it and sending pain shooting through her leg. She stumbled off to the side, having difficulty maintaining her balance.

Her back against the cold wall, she saw the fourth off to her left, and blanched as she realized the last one was out of sight. Fear kicked her away from the wall, whirling to find one inches from her face. She batted it aside and then jumped backwards, away from both of the remaining spiders. The one she had slapped away jumped forwards from the right, and Cassandra just managed to twist away from it, swinging the beam downwards and hitting it in the arc of its jump, so that it splashed into the water. Seeming to have had enough punishment, it scuttled off, and Cassandra twisted to face the last one.

It didn’t move quickly like she had been expecting, but seemed to almost be examining her.

“Listen,” she said, brandishing the wooden beam in front of her. “You don’t want trouble. I don’t want trouble. Make the smart choice.”

It couldn’t understand her, of course, but it was still satisfying to watch it turn and disappear into a crack in the wall a few seconds later. Cassandra let her arms drop to her side with a sigh, adrenaline draining from her and taking the energy that came with it.

Taking a moment longer to make sure nothing else was moving around, laying in wait somewhere, Cassandra moved again towards the exit of the cave, relieved to find it unlocked. The metal gate swung open with a creaking sigh, and she stepped into the cold breeze curling in from the lake with a shiver.

It was quite possible that there were people not far behind, though the fact that no one was waiting for her was a good sign. Though everyone who worked at the keep knew about the various escape routes, not everyone knew where all of them let out. If they couldn’t follow, and they hadn’t cut her off, she might stand a chance of making it away from Caer Bronach after all.

As Cassandra walked along the coast, around the towering cliff that the keep perched atop, exhaustion hitting her in waves, she tried to think of it like a story. Sure, she hadn’t been rescued the way she would have been if it was a proper book, but there was still time for everything to go right.

“You’ll never believe it Varric,” she said, to no one in particular. “Demons, spiders, conspiracies… a bit of everything. I don’t think even you could make something like this up.”

Cassandra kicked at a rock, sending it skittering across the shore. “I’ll tell you all about it, I promise, as soon as I fix things. Of course, when you tell it I’m sure you’ll embellish the details. Not eight spiders, but twenty, and each of them as big as the one we found down there the first time. And I fought them all off with my bare hands.”

She let the thought trail out, staring out across the lake, and gulping down the lump in her throat. With the immediate danger gone, she felt suddenly lonely. Adventures were easier when there were people beside her, facing the same fears.

But there wasn’t time to reminisce, or regret. She’d have to keep moving if she wanted to try and get to some sort of safety in time. Hopefully Judith would have information on where Charter was, so Cassandra set her mind on that.

She’d worry about the rest of it later.

---

Varric,

While I appreciate your repeated concern, I must assure you that I am just fine, and it is not needed here. I have found what I hoped to about the Promisers and their ties to Orlais, and it is important that I act on this as quickly as possible. Perhaps you were hoping we could discuss things, but there isn’t time. I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but you have to understand that my duty comes first.

Whatever is between us, what happened that night at Skyhold, the kiss… I cannot let myself get distracted. I hope you understand.

I will not be in contact again.

[letter from Cassandra Pentaghast to Varric Tethras, 12 Umbralis, 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

The walk to Judith’s house was tedious and slow, partly because Cassandra took a long, circuitous route, and partly because her body forced her to make frequent concessions to its limitations.

The more she walked the more she was sure that she’d been unconscious for at least a few days. It hadn’t been as obvious during the rush to get out of the keep, when she’d been focused more on everyone around her than the protests of her limbs, but now that she was on her own, each muscle’s aching complaints throbbed that much louder. Her arms and wrists were in the most pain, but her legs were the least cooperative. The more she walked the more she felt her body shake off its weariness, but even so she stopped to rest regularly. Worst of all was the growing headache she could feel just behind her eyes, which even stretching and time didn’t seem to help much with.

Well, the presence of pain was nothing new to Cassandra. What weighed on her more was how lost she felt. She had been prepared to deal with demons and magic, rogue cults and traitors, but nothing in this particular combination. There didn’t seem to be much she could do, except try and find some sort of safety and get in contact with someone, anyone, outside of Crestwood.

Cassandra thought, briefly, about trying to reach out to Varric. He knew most of what had been going on, as well as she had been able to tell before the unexpected intrusion of an envy demon. It wasn’t practical, not when the Inquisition was the most immediate and significant power in the area, but her desire to write him wasn’t exactly about practicality. She missed him, more acutely now than she had in the past weeks. He was good at lightening the mood, even if that usually came at the cost of her temper. What she missed more than that was the way he had of making her feel, even grudgingly, like someone who knew what she was doing. The feeling had come with its share of jokes, critiques, and long-winded complaints, but it had still been oddly reassuring when everything went sideways. It would be nice to hear from him again, to have that small persistent reminder, like a particularly loud bug buzzing around her head.

But no, the chance to ask for Varric’s help had passed, at least at this particular juncture. Cassandra needed someone big and loud, and hopefully backed by an army. So the Inquisition would be her first step, if Charter hadn’t already gotten ahold of them. After that, maybe she’d see if she could get word up to Kirkwall.

With that settled, Cassandra tackled the last stretch to Judith’s house with a sort of blunt determination, settling into a steady pace. The headache hadn’t yet gone away, but at least her legs felt properly attached to her body again, and her arms weren’t acting like they belonged to someone else.

There was a great deal of open space leading up to the house, so Cassandra took it slowly, keeping a careful eye out for any other signs of movement. Some wolves stalked the far end of the gentle slope, but mostly everything seemed quiet. That was either a relief or a very bad sign, but Cassandra decided to take it as the former. Judith was her best hope for information, and it didn’t do her any good to avoid that hope out of jumpiness. There was a time for obsessive caution, but when she had no idea how long it would be until the demon put its plans into motion, it didn’t seem like that time was now, even if there was a risk that something bad could be waiting for her

So when the door barely opened to Cassandra’s repeated, heavy knocks, creaking inwards to show a sliver of space and Judith’s critical eye, it wasn’t exactly a surprise.

Judith frowned, or at least, the small visible part of her mouth seemed to. She eyed Cassandra warily through her barely opened door, sighing.

“You should probably get out of here. I’m not sure if they might be sending more this way.”

“More?”

“You know,” Judith said, sounding tired, “those cultist types. They know I’m involved with you and the elf, and… oh, well, I guess you should know what happened with her though. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you if this is the first place they look.”

“The elf?” Cassandra, who had tensed as soon as Judith started speaking, glanced around, crossing her arms. “Do you mean Charter?”

“Yes, that one.” Judith’s face retreated from the door briefly, and then reappeared. “Listen, do you want to come in or not? I’ve got… business to attend to.”

It could be a trap of some sort, but Cassandra doubted that Judith would speak so frankly if she had a sword pointed at the back of her neck. And besides, she’d already figured there was a good chance the Promisers might look for her here, especially if the demon had pulled out enough information to know that Judith was someone she often turned to. By her reckoning, still worth the risk.

Stepping forward, Cassandra nodded,and the door swung open. On a chair at the middle of the room, Gauld sat, bound and gagged, looking actuely pitiful. His ankles were tied to the chair legs and his wrists pulled loosely behind his back, a quick but effective job.

Cassandra raised and eyebrow, turning to Judith, who stood off to the side, beckoning her inside.

“The asshole sold me out. Sold us all out.”

“You’re sure about this?” Looking back towards Gauld, Cassandra tried to find any way to understand what was going on. He didn’t look like he’d been hurt, only shamed and probably made a little uncomfortable. Judith wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, but Gauld? He hardly seemed the type to work for the Promisers, if that’s what she was implying.

“Damn sure. Here, you can have it from the horse’s mouth if you’d like.”

“I…” Cassandra trailed off, slowly shutting the door behind her as Judith marched over to the center of the room. “That might be best.”

Gauld sputtered as the gag was ripped from his mouth, still not looking at Cassandra. “I didn’t-”

“Don’t waste our time, you piece of junk. Just tell her the truth.”

Cassandra leaned against the counter, not sure if she ought to be worried or amused. There were serious things going on, but nothing that was happening seemed remotely within the realm of logical. Gauld and Judith were, well… she didn’t quite know what they were, but they didn’t seem like people who could come to this point so easily. It had to be some sort of joke, or misunderstanding.

“They… you have to understand Lady Cassandra, I had no choice. They have my son.”

Immediately, any humor that had been warming in Cassandra stomach turned cold and hard. “The Promisers?”

“I don’t… well, they must be, but I never really knew who they were. It’s been months now since I’ve seen him, I don’t even… “ Gauld stopped, shaking his hand. “They told me to report on everything you did, anyone you were in contact with. Said if I told anyone they’d kill him.”

“Shows what you know,” Judith muttered, tying the gag in her hands into angry knots. “As if Lady Cassandra wouldn’t have been able to help you, as if-”

“I did try and warn her, back at Satinalia I tried to let her know that she was in danger.”

“That was you? In the mask?”

Gauld looked up at Cassandra, briefly. “Yes, I… I thought maybe if I scared you off they would leave, go somewhere else. I thought things would blow over. I wasn’t sure what would happen to me, to my son, if you knew that I’d been lying, if you found out…”

“If I found out,” Cassandra cut in angrily, “your son would be with you now and none of this would be happening. I am not so without mercy that I would punish you for trying to protect your family, but now Caer Bronach is in the hands of a demon.”

Gauld’s eyebrows shot up. “A demon? What in Andraste’s name-”

Cassandra held up a hand, turning to Judith. “You mentioned something about Charter. Is she okay? What happened to her?”

“She hid out here for a couple of days, said you’d sent her and she wanted to lie low for a while. When she finally thought it was safe, she left. But I don’t think she made it to your Inquisition.”

“And why is that?” Looking from Judith to Gauld, Cassandra searched for a concrete answer. Gauld look at the ground, and Judith glared at him, neither one holding her gaze.

“Gauld’s been showing up a lot here lately. He knew about the elf, and the night after she left he came by again, asking questions about you, about if I’d heard anything from the Inquisition. It was weird. He wanted to know if I’d sent any letters. Eventually it was one question to much.”

“So what did you do?”

“What any self-respecting woman would. I pointed a crossbow at his lying face and told him to sit down and fess up.”

It perhaps wasn’t exactly the leap to conclusions that Cassandra would have made herself, but whatever Judith’s reasons, she seemed to have been right. “How long ago was that?”

Judith raised her eyebrows. “Like I said, the elf was here for a couple of days. Gauld came back by yesterday, and I’ve had him tied up since then. And where have you been?”

“Incapacitated,” Cassandra replied, distracted. Four days. That was certainly more that she’d been hoping, though less than her worst-case imaginings. Four days explained why there had been new people skulking around her keep, even if it didn’t explain where those people had come from. It helped explain how things had escalated here, though not the details of why, and it still didn’t give a clear answer about where Charter was.

“I’m sorry,” Gauld spoke up, his voice little more than a pitiful whine, “I had to tell them. They knew she was missing and they knew-”

Shaking her head, tired of the twisted stories and apologies, Cassandra slammed her hand down on the counter behind her, pushing away from it and moving in on Gauld. She bent until they were face to face, close enough to make him uncomfortable. “I don’t care if you are sorry, I don’t care if you had good reasons, I just need to know what happened.”

Judith answered before he did. “I think they have your Charter. He sold her out.”

Cassandra straightened, glaring down at Gauld. “Is this true?” He only nodded.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, turning away to pace. “Damn it, I thought at least she could…”

Tapping her finger against her forearm, Cassandra turned back. “Do you know where the Promisers are? Where they’ve been hiding out?”

Gauld had none of the charm, none of the skill with words and deception that Varric had. It didn’t even take a knife or harsh words to make him talk, just a firm look and his face said everything.

“I need you to take me to them.”

“Now?” The question came from Judith, who was eyeing her up appraisingly, probably noting all the weariness that Cassandra could feel at her core. There was a difference, after all, between efficiency and pure foolishness.

“No. I need time to rest, and to get ready. Are they expecting to hear from you soon?”

“I was supposed to report back whenever I had news. They wanted me to keep an eye on Judith and let them know if she heard anything else from you.”

It was bad, of course, that the Promisers were keeping such close tabs on Judith, but also somewhat satisfying to note how concerned they seemed to be that Cassandra was going to try something. A day ago she had been passed out and tied up, and they had still been making contingency plans in case she was somehow able to escape, or put something else into motion. Well, she’d just have to prove them right.

“They go report. Tell them that I showed up here briefly and then left for Skyhold, looping around from the south. Tell them you don’t know more than that. If I’m right, they should send you right back here to spy.”

“And then?”

“Then you’ll lead me to them.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Judith cut in, clearly not bothered at all by inserting herself in the conversation, “but what exactly do you hope to accomplish with this?”

“I’m going to save Charter, and find out anything I can about what the demon has planned. They’ll have roads to Skyhold monitored even without Gauld’s warning, and if I try to make a break for it now I doubt I will get far. Sometimes the only place to go is deeper in.”

“You still haven’t explained this demon, you know.” Judith crossed her arms. “Or half of what’s happening. I know a bit from your elf, and a bit from this lunkhead, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little confused.”

Half-way through trying to plan the best way to attempt a raid on the Promisers, Cassandra was forced to take a mental step back. It was easy to forget that the events of the past few weeks, confusing enough for her, were even more opaque to anyone outside of them.

“It’s a bit… complicated.” She paused for a moment, trying to think where to start. “The short story, though… well, the short story is this: a rather unpleasant cult has been set up in Crestwood for several months now, at the beck and call of a demon who looks like the former Lord Seeker Lucius. I’m not sure if they know it is a demon, but in any case, they follow it loyally. The demon now wears my face and is stationed at Caer Bronach, a place I no longer consider safe. I am not sure what it is planning. I am not sure how much it knows of me, and how much it has already set in motion. And I am not sure what I am going to do about it. What I do know is that my trusted agent and friend has been captured by this group, and currently she is the only ally I know I can rely on.”

“Well,” Judith finally said into the silence, patting the crossbow strapped to her side. “Not your only ally.”

---

Daisy,

Something has come up. I’m going to be out of town for a while, not sure how long. Tell Aveline I’ve got to take care of a few things. Tell my editor that I’ll get a new draft to her as soon as possible. And tell Bran…

Well, tell Bran to go fuck himself.

-Varric

[note from Varric Tethras to Merrill, 15 Verimensis]

Chapter Text

The day passed in slow, staggering steps, limping from afternoon to evening as Cassandra waited at Judith’s. Being unable to go outside didn’t help her impatience, though the stern looks she eventually got leveled at her when she spent too long pacing at least kept her from wearing a hole into the floor. Instead, she tried to rest, and work out her sore muscles, and devise strategy after strategy for how to handle the Promisers once Gauld returned.

Occasionally, Judith would interrupt her with questions, prodding little things that shook Cassandra out of her own head. About the Promisers, the envy demon that had taken her form, and, eventually, in a roundabout sort of way, about Varric.

“He’s not a bad person, despite being a complete sellout and a coward.”

Cassandra looked up from her contemplation of the bruising on her wrists to find Judith, seated at the kitchen table, staring steadily at her. “I have seen worse in my time. At least Gauld had a reason for what he did. Many hurt others simply to see them suffer, or because it might earn them more power.”

Judith stared a moment longer, thoughtfully, then looked over at the steaming cup of tea on the table, testing its temperature with a finger. The part of Cassandra that had been raised as some distant sort of proper noted it, and it made her smile. Being around people, real people, who didn’t live their lives as an elaborate game of chess, reminded her of what drove her in the first place. The Chantry, the Seekers, they were never supposed to be about giving those in power more of it, in Cassandra’s mind. They were about protecting and uniting people like Judith, and even Gauld, all of Crestwood. That was why she had to do something about the demon, above all else. It was her duty.

“You know,” Judith finally said, “I don’t think you’re much like any of us expected you to be. Of course, after your Inquisition came barreling through here I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised.”

“What do you mean?”

“About you, or the Inquisition? I should think the first at least would be obvious.”

Cassandra smiled slightly, a hint of agreement. “It would certainly not be the first time that someone has told me I do not quite match up to the image of what they expected me to be. Though usually they mean it as an insult, and I am not sure you do. But in any case, no, that is not what I was asking about. Did the Inquisition truly seem so… odd, when we were here?”

“Well for one, you are all lead by an elf with a glowing hand and a penchant for questions. And you have to admit it was an odd bunch. A Tevinter mage, a Seeker, a Dwarf, and a Dalish, wandering the countryside righting wrongs? It sounds like the setup of a joke.”

“Perhaps, but…” Cassandra bowed her head again, running a thumb along the chaffed underside of her wrist. “They are all good people. I could not imagine a better group.”

Judith waited another long, pressing moment before continuing. “Do you miss them?”

It was surprising to Cassandra how quickly the answer came to her lips. “Yes. Very much.”

Which would have been an end to things, she imagined, if her thoughts hadn’t tipped once again in the way of Varric, and a blush hadn’t warmed her face with something a little stronger than nostalgia.

It didn’t take long to find out if Judith had noticed.

“Perhaps a little more than miss, then?”

Cassandra cleared her throat, trying to calm her nerves and scattered heartbeat. It was silly, to get nervous, to be unsettled about this. But she had never spoken of Varric, of her possible feelings for him, to anyone else. It had been a private affair, a possibility shared only with her and her thoughts, and it had felt safer that way.

“Perhaps.” Cassandra’s eyes flicked up to Judith, and that was probably what gave her away completely, the sheepish little glance, like a child caught out by a parent. Judith smiled, and Cassandra felt her blush deepen.

“Well,” she replied, graciously rescuing Cassandra from the smirking silence, “I’m hardly one to judge. I don’t imagine you have properly talked with this person though, have you?”

“He… tried to talk with me, once, I think. Tried to reach out to me about it. About us. Or perhaps I was simply reading too much into things. In any case, it did not work out very well.”

“Oh? What happened?”

Cassandra shrugged. “I ended up here.”

Judith took a sip of her tea, reaching over to pick up the mending she had been working on throughout the day. “I am hardly going to play the role of the kindly old lady who gives you advice on such things, but trust me when I say that we’ve rarely ever ruined quite so much as we imagine.”

“That’s… Thank you. I think.” Judith didn’t reply, and the two of them soon fell back to their own tasks, though Cassandra had yet another idea to turn over in her head.

By the time Gauld came to the door a few hours later, sheepish and secretive, the subject had been quite thoroughly dropped. There were other things to do, after all, than share personal stories and gossip. Cassandra wasted little time getting ready to head for the Promiser’s base, though her headache still hadn’t quite left her. Judith had lent her some light leather armor she was supposed to be mending. It was far from the heavy plate Cassandra was accustomed to, but it felt nice to have something sturdy and stiff strapped across her chest.

Weapons were a more difficult prospect. Judith had her crossbow, and a few sharp knives, but nothing like the swords or axes that Cassandra preferred, and certainly no shields. With very little else to choose from, she decided to simply tuck a couple of knives into her belt and hope that she’d be able to disarm someone and take a sword for herself once she got there.

They set out together in the final bleeding moments of sunset, an odd bunch, moving in scattered, jittering progressions. Cassandra half-led, falling back on Gauld for guidance but looking to be at the front point of their group at all times. Judith kept a little further back, attentive to the quiet landscape, occasionally taking time to pick off the glowering wolves that trailed along after them.

“There’s going to be a trail of their bodies by the time we get there,” she remarked to Cassandra as they reached the bottom of a slowly rising rocky outcropping, and Gauld raised a hand to slow them. “I don’t know why they are trailing us but I don’t like it.”

“Do they not always act this way?” Cassandra, hand at the daggers in her belt, looked back the way they’d come, searching for any sign of more. “I remember them being as persistent when the Inquisition was here.”

Judith shrugged. “Wolves are wolves, these are just a little… more so. I don’t mean anything by it, I just don’t like it.” Gauld looked uneasy as well, though that wasn’t as surprising, considering the circumstances.

“I can continue on from here alone,” Cassandra said, finally, hunching her shoulders into the statement as if to reassure them, or perhaps herself, that something as trivial as the Promisers provided little threat to a single, somewhat unarmed warrior. “Gauld, if you would tell me where to go?”

Judith laughed, short and sharp, clapping a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder as she leveled a slightly less friendly glare in Gauld’s direction. “No, no, Lady Cassandra, I don’t think so. You’re here to defend us as much as you are to help out your own people, aren’t you? What kind of Crestwood citizens would we be if we ran away every time the wolves started baying?”

“Wise ones,” Cassandra added tritely, dropping the subject and nodding for Gauld to continue. She knew better than to ask again, or try and push the issue. It didn’t do her any good to insist that her only allies leave, not if they seemed determined to help.

They climbed the rise in silence, keeping low to the ground and hidden whenever possible. The rocks were slippery with rain and long slimy trails of moss, and everyone was either focused on their footing or on the possibility of being spotted by an unfriendly scout. It was an uneventful walk, however, one that was brought to a suddenly halt only when Cassandra spotted two men leaning conspicuously outside of a subtle upward jut of stone. It was hard to notice, and Cassandra was sure she had sent patrols out in this direction in vain before, but being now properly guided to it, suddenly the picture melted into place. Dark moss became a low, deep hole, an entrance, and the people around it surely guards.

Looking to Gauld, then Judith, Cassandra nodded once, waving at them to fan out as far as they could while staying behind cover. They didn’t exactly have a plan, and had very little in the way of weapons, and even if there were only two guards outside, there was no way of knowing how many more waiting past the dropping, dipping mouth of the cave. Still, it was not time for hesitation. Foot braced firmly on a heavy rock behind her, hand placed gently on the larger boulder that hid her from the guards, Cassandra drew one knife and looked to Judith, crouched low a stone’s throw away, crossbow bolt already loaded, and nodded.

The first guard went down with a gurgle, the bolt Cassandra had just seen Judith quickly readying finding a new home just as quickly in his exposed neck. The second turned, his body registering the threat before his mind could, and Cassandra launched herself into the space between awareness and understanding, sprinting across the short distance before he could cry for help.

She didn’t quite close the gap before he noticed her, however, and Cassandra was forced to pull up short and duck away to the right as he drew his sword and sliced downward at her. The movement felt wrong, awkward, not at all was she was used to, but as the blade hissed past her, training fell away to survival. In the back of her mind she pieced together the fact that her sidestep had probably put her somewhere between the man and Judith, meaning it was unlikely he could be taken down quite so cleanly. This one was Cassandra’s.

He swung again, wide and panicky, and this time Cassandra still had her feet well under her while she sidestepped, enough to lunge forward, throwing her weight into the front point of her body, hitting with her shoulder instead of the usual shield. It connected solidly with the man’s sternum, and he shuffled backward with a huff, trying to gain enough space to take another swing at her.

Cassandra didn’t let him have it. She moved forward, kept close with the momentum of her charge, bringing the dagger in her right hand up and in, stabbing at his side as best she could. It wasn’t a good angle, and she was used to something heavier, that could do damage no matter where it landed, but she still felt the blade sink in past the leather of his armor. He hesitated, drawing a quick, fearful breath, and Cassandra grabbed his right shoulder, twisting him around her and then shoving him out. When he stumbled back this time, she didn’t follow, but took a steady step back, waiting for the thunk of another crossbow bolt finding its target. The noise came in seconds, the man dropping, limp, lifeless, and the glaze of battle fell from Cassandra’s eyes, though her caution didn’t.

It was strange, that no one had come out during the fighting. They hadn’t made much noise during the brief scuffle, but that was stranger still. Why hadn’t he called out? Was the cave truly so deep that the others wouldn’t have heard him? Cassandra bent down over the man’s body, setting aside his sword and patting down his chest and sides to see if he had anything hidden on him that might give her some clue as to what to expect inside the caves. She found nothing.

Next to her, Judith yanked a crossbow bolt from the next of the other guard, wiping the blood off on her pants and slipping it back into the quiver. Gauld had partially emerged from his hiding spot, checking to see if things had quieted down. Cassandra nodded at him.

“You may go now, if you’d like. There will undoubtedly be more trouble inside, and you seem to have upheld your word well enough.”

He came forward hesitantly, casting several glances behind him as if a hidden third guard might spring up at any moment. “I’d rather stay, if you would allow me to. My son might be in there.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Neither of the guards had a shield, so Cassandra had to content herself with the sword she had taken, holding it steadily ahead of her as the three of them peered into the darkness beyond the lip of the cave. Gauld was clearly nervous, though he remained silent, and if Judith was uneasy, she didn’t show it. Cassandra hesitated for a moment when Judith passed her a torch, unsure if the light might work against them more than it would help, but decided that she’d rather face a prepared enemy head on, than risk a knife in her side in the dark.

They descended cautiously, and it was quite a descent, the interior of the cave being much steeper than it had appeared from outside. It was several carefully focused minutes before Cassandra realized that the growing sense of dread that had been turning her stomach since she stepped inside was because she recognized the caves - this was where she had been tied up, during the strange dream the envy demon had used to get inside her head.

Unsettling as it was, once she realized the connection, Cassandra’s fear eased into something else, curiosity, with a dash of hope. Very little was known about envy demons, but it was believed, as far as she had heard, that they built their illusions solely from the minds of those they sought to possess. Perhaps this was not the case after all, or perhaps it was simply a peculiarity of this creature in particular, which had held Lord Seeker Lucius’ shape for so long, but the presence of the cave meant that the sharing of secrets might have gone both ways. Storing the thought for later, when she had time to revisit the things she had seen during her confrontation with the demon, Cassandra refocused on navigating the gloomy, enclosed path.

A moment later the sound of footsteps came echoing from somewhere ahead. They were steady but purposeful, and Cassandra put out a hand to keep Gauld and Judith behind her. She passed the torch back and steadied her stance, sword at the ready. Whatever was coming towards them, there was no real way to avoid it, or to try and hide. She’d face it head on. At very least, this time she was properly armed, and the narrow tunnel would make it hard for a group to surround her. Of course, it also meant she wouldn’t be able to rely on Judith for back up.

Even as she prepared herself, however, she was caught but a surprising certainty that it wasn’t danger headed her way. The footsteps slowed, stopped, then started again, quicker this time. But still there was the same shuffling that had made her hesitate, and it sounded like one of the people, for there were undoubtedly multiple people coming, was barefoot. These weren’t trained guards coming to meet a threat. She kept her sword steady, and waited, but stood as if with an unseen hand on her shoulder, holding her from charging too quickly.

Charter’s face broke into a wide grin as she rounded the corner, and Cassandra was too relieved not to return the gesture in kind, lowering her sword and moving to help her.

There was a man leaning heavily on Charter’s shoulder as he limped along, the source of the shuffling footsteps, and Cassandra gently shifted his weight onto herself, letting Charter stand and stretch. That accounted for two of the footsteps. As to the rest of the puzzle, it was easily solved as Gauld rushed forward, embracing the young, bedraggled boy who ran to him with a delighted cry. Judith smiled as well, quietly lowering her crossbow and walking to child as well, and Cassandra turned away from the three of them, assessing the other two.

Charter, at least, looked well enough. She had all the symptoms of someone who had been bound and held for a day or more, but it didn’t looked like she had been tortured. There was a thin cut that ran up from her jaw across her cheek, old and partially healed, and a few fresher bruises on her face and arms.

“Are you alright then?”

Charter shrugged. “Well enough. Better for finding you. These tunnels are hard to navigate, even with the help of the deep mushrooms everywhere.”

Cassandra was more than a little curious as to how, exactly, Charter had been able to find them during what was supposedly a rescue mission, but reasoned that questions about that could wait, if Charter wasn’t immediately supplying answers. She hitched the strange man more fully across her shoulders, taking as much of his weight as she could easily support. “Who is he?”

“One of yours, I think. A Seeker.  He hasn’t said much to me.” Charter threw a glance behind her, and then to the group hugging on the floor. “I hate to interrupt, but…”

“We need to go. Are you being pursued?” Cassandra had more questions, of course, but safety came before curiosity.

Charter shook her head. “I don’t think so, but I’d rather not take any chances.”

Gauld and Judith had gotten to their feet, and Judith had hoisted the boy onto her back. The six of them turned and quickly moved towards the exit of the cave without further questions. As they walked, Cassandra tried to quietly conduct a more careful survey of the man shuffling along with her. He was conscious, but only partially so, and his eyes seemed fogged over and distant. Clothes hung from him in a way that made it clear he had lost a great deal of weight recently, and his chapped lips and skin spoke to general neglect. There may have been other scars or injuries under his clothing, but more importantly, he showed no traces of red lyrium. She knew it was callous, but the most important thing to her immediate concerns was that the Promisers hadn’t gotten to the point of injecting him. It gave her some hope that he wasn’t so far gone as the Seekers she had encountered at Caer Oswin. Of course, that could always be because they had thought up something worse to do, but Cassandra had to hope that wasn’t the case.

Only once they were all outside did the tense silence break properly. Cassandra carefully lay the injured man on the ground, giving herself a moment to enjoy the cool air before turning to Charter.

“What’s happening here? Is this not the Promiser’s base? I was expecting it to be better guarded that this.”

Charter, who had been focusing her attention on leveling a very pointed stare at Gauld, turned to Cassandra with little more than a shrug as an answer. “It is, as far as I know, their base. There were more when they first took me here, but it’s been emptying out. There were only four left, two out here and two guarding us in the caves. I killed the ones guarding me a while ago, and we’ve been wandering since then, trying to find the way out.”

“You killed them?” Cassandra wasn’t particularly bothered by the fact, though it might have been useful to have someone to interrogate.

“They underestimated me. And they had the nerve to threaten these two to try and make me cooperate.” She shrugged. “They ambushed me with six people. That’s a lot. Two is no problem.”

There was certainly more to be said than that, but Cassandra felt no pressing urge to pry. She trusted Charter’s assessment of the situation, and that was enough.

A short ways away, Gauld was kneeling next to his son again, this time talking softly, doing a more careful inventory of his health. Judith, seeing fit to leave them for a time, walked over.

“That went better than expected.”

“Which either means it is a trap, or something bigger is going on.”

Judith raised an eyebrow and glanced to Charter. “She doesn’t spend a lot of time celebrating victories, does she?”

“No. But in this case I can’t blame her.”

Staring out across the greying horizon, Cassandra cursed under her breath. “They are doing something. Maker’s breath, they are… they are in Bronach. That’s why I didn’t recognize the guard.”

“What?” Charter seemed too confused to be shocked. “How would that even be possible? And for that matter, what even happened to you?”

Still lost in her thoughts, Cassandra waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll explain about the demon later. Right now we need somewhere safe to go. The Promisers are well acquainted with Judith’s house, and we can’t hole up there.”

“So I’ve deduced.” There was a short pause, and then Charter frowned. “Also, uh, demon? No, no, you said you’d explain later. I might have an idea where we can go though. My…” she glanced over at Judith briefly, blushing slightly, “friend, from Satinalia, has a house on the edge of town.”

Cassandra sighed, hands on her hips, thoughts trailing off in a hundred directions. If she was right, and the Promisers had been infiltrating the ranks of her soldiers, then plans were clearly clicking into place. But it was pointless to stand around in the open speculating. The injured Seeker might have more answers, and in any case, a bit of safety and food and sleep could only help. Still, she hesitated.

“Are you sure you want to involve her? Whatever is going on, she won’t be safe if we bring it to her doorstep.”

“She can make the choice for herself. We don’t have time to worry about it.”

It was true enough. There wasn’t time left any more for considerations like that. They needed help, and they needed it in whatever shape they could get it. Instinct, and a creeping fear, told Cassandra that if they didn’t act quickly, it would be too late to help anyone, the fair citizens of Crestwood included.

---

Inquisitor -

Something bad is going on here, and I fear it could involve not only myself, but the whole of the Inquisition, and nations beyond. I cannot share all the details with you now, I’m not even sure if this message will get through. Please send aid as soon as possible.

[letter from Cassandra Pentaghast to Inquisitor Lavellan, 16 Umbralis, 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

It was possible, Cassandra thought, her fingers tapping against her leg, that the waiting would kill her before any diabolical schemes could. The waiting, and the feeling of helplessness.

She looked down at the papers scattered on the desk in front of her, notes and unfinished theories, mostly, everything that she and Charter had been able to scrape together. None of it enough to paint the picture clearly.

What they needed was Cedric.

They had gotten confirmation of his identity, at least, after the group had arrived at Charter’s suggested hideaway. It took a bit of sweet talking, but Jana, the mysterious Queen Asha from Satinalia, had been remarkably open to taking in a collection of dangerous, hotly pursued strangers. Cassandra had immediately made the injured Seeker her priority, giving up the bed offered to her so that he could have a place to rest.

He came into proper consciousness only briefly, a few hours later. To Cassandra’s particular frustration, she had been out walking in sweeping circles at the time, trying to insure that they hadn’t been followed. By the time Judith found her and dragged her back, he had already slipped back asleep.

Charter had gotten a few things from him, at least: his name, though Cassandra had already suspected that much, a great deal of nervous babbling about the sweetheart he had left behind in Kirkwall. Most importantly, she had discovered the fact that Cedric, too, had been under the thrall of the envy demon.

The stream of curses Cassandra had muttered under her breath at that would have put even the Iron Bull to shame. The worst part wasn’t even the confirmation that their enemy was ahead of them in yet another way. She had given up on assuming there was anything that hadn’t been part of the demon’s schemes, anything untouched by its reach. It didn’t really change what they had to do, in any case. What made the waiting hard was the thought that he might have seen something of the demon, in turn, and she couldn’t ask him about it until he woke up.

If Cassandra was right in her pet theory, Cedric might have some sort of clue as to what the creature was planning. That was quite a significant conditional, of course, but the fact was, as much as she searched her thoughts, Cassandra knew that nothing in her own mind would be useful even if it was true. Her expediency in ejecting the demon had seemed vital at the time, but now all she could do was go over a few vague scenes and come up empty handed time and time again. Some of the envy demon’s own thoughts may have bled into the experience, but they weren’t clear enough for her to do anything with.

If Cedric would only wake up, she could ask him about his dreams, ask him for something to work with, ask him for someplace to start. All she knew now was that things were bad, and steadily heading into worse.

Of course, none of it was helped by the fact that the seven of them were all crammed into a space that could comfortably have held maybe four. Charter, at least, had rather quickly taken up Jana on her offer to share a bed, and Gauld had taken the couch with his boy. With Cedric on the other bed, Cassandra and Judith had been left to sleep on the floor for three nights, and spent the days cramped and tired of holing up and doing nothing. Whether Judith was beginning to feel the strain, Cassandra didn’t know, but she felt as though she was only a breath away from throwing up her hands and attempting to take back Caer Bronach single-handedly.

Shoving her chair out, Cassandra grabbed the sword she had stolen from the Promiser’s, the only bit of proper protection she had, and headed for the door.

“I’m going to go check for trouble.”

“Again?” Charter, who had been sitting nearby attempting to sketch out the cave system she had been held in, sighed as she watched Cassandra shrugged on her coat. “The amount that you prowl these hills, they will find us for sure.”

“Well then,” Cassandra muttered through gritted teeth, “that will give me something to stab.”

It wasn’t fair to be so short, she knew, but no one had much energy for politeness. Charter just shrugged and turned back to her map, frowning and sketching in some blue patches. What it good it would do, Cassandra wasn’t sure, but at least it was something to work on. The same could be said of her own patrols. They all wanted to feel useful, somehow. Strapping the sword against her side, Cassandra pushed outside, only just managing to stop herself from slamming the door.

The weather had taken a sharp dive from chilly to frigid, and frost clung to the ground, making the dead grass crunch and crackle at her steps. The fog that hung constantly over the lake had moved out across the village and beyond, as if it had burst under its own weight and was spilling outward, rolling down across the slope of the hills. It didn’t do anything to help the temperature, adding a clinging damp to the already cold air.

Cassandra sighed, huffing out a cloud of white breath and flexing her fingers to keep the blood flowing. The gloves she had were not anywhere near heavy enough to keep numbness from nibbling at their tips.

Still, it was better than sitting around. Hunching into the cold, she headed out along her usual circuit, walking in ever widening circles that swept up to the hills and down along the coast. As she walked, she once again ran through the sparse information that they had.

The demon had her face. That wasn’t the end of things, it couldn’t be, especially not with what Charter had said about the Promisers having left their base. Cassandra was almost certain they had been brought into Bronach, that the man she had met there who had seemed so immediately suspicious of her had been one of their group. His strange actions must have been some sort of code, then, some sort of attempt by the demon to make sure they would know the fake from the real, though in this case they favored the fake.

What they were planning beyond that, and what Cassandra could possibly do about it, she wasn’t sure. They’d thought about sending word to the Inquisition, to anyone, but according to Charter, most easy paths out of Crestwood were well guarded. Trying to get out of town to send a letter was risky at best, and likely would be deadly, unless they took one of the significantly more difficult routes. Charter usually would have used the ravens of the scouts to get in contact quickly, but those were in enemy hands as well.

The one thing that Cassandra did suspect, with a niggling fear that jangled around her head at night, was that the demon’s plan involved the Inquisitor. Of all the things in her dream, Lavellan’s presence felt the most significant. Cassandra had tried again and again to go through the words that the demon had said to her while posing as the Inquisitor, but if any part of it held the secret to understanding its plan, it was lost on her.

Even as caught up as she was in her wonderings, Cassandra noticed the person moving through the fog as soon as they came into view. She stood on the crest of a gentle hill, and dropped into a low crouch, near to the ground, as soon as she noticed the movement. The figure seemed to be walking parallel to the ridge she was perched on, staying within the path of the valley. They moved slowly, pausing every now and then. Possibly looking around, looking for some sign of her and the others. Heart racing, she reached cautiously to unsheathe her sword, inching forward on the balls of her feet to keep pace with the person.

It could just be someone talking a walk outside town. This was a fair ways outside from town, true, but it wasn’t that unreasonable, even on a day like today. But they path they walked would lead straight to Jana’s house, and if it was a Promiser scout, that could mean discovery. It wasn’t as if killing them was an option, either, of course. A scout that didn’t turn up was almost as condemning as one that reported their presence.

Which left, she supposed, watching to see what happened. If she needed to, she could be down the hill in no time. She would attack if they got too close, perhaps try and capture them to get information. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

Just as Cassandra steadied herself and her plan, however, something else clicked into place. The person she’d been watching wasn’t human. No, unless she was quite misled, they were a dwarf. Her breath hitched in her throat as she snuck closer, squinting at the fog to try and make out more details. They had stopped again, and she froze, suddenly aware of the fact that she had crept away from the easy cover that the hill provided. If she was wrong, which she had to be, because how on earth could she be right about this, then she might have just moved away from her best chance of taking the Promisers by surprise.

She let out a tense sigh, half out of nerves and half out of hesitant excitement, and stood slightly, preparing to move. Friend or not, she had to go down now. She couldn’t risk them calling for help.

Even as she moved, prepared to fight, she knew. Maybe the fog had shifted slightly, bringing the outline of the signature crossbow into view, maybe she had realized that no scout would move with such a lazy, directionless wander. Or maybe she just wanted something to go her way, for once in a very long time.

“Varric?”

The figure turned, and there was no doubt, as impossible as it seemed. It couldn’t be real, and yet.

“Seeker?”

In a different time, when things weren’t so desperate and she wasn’t so thinly stretched, she might have hit herself for how his voice shot straight through her, for how almost offensively poetic it all was, reuniting in the fog right as things were at their worst. He still hadn’t moved, but as she walked towards him, taking the slick slope in careful measures, he came more properly into view, looking a little weary, maybe, but certainly real, certainly-

She stopped, tensing, just above where the hill dropped away into a short ridge. She stood at the edge of it, looking down at him. It was all a little too easy, wasn’t it? She kept her grip steady on her sword, waiting as he properly registered who she was. The smile that cracked his face didn’t reach up to his eyes, perhaps because he’d noticed how she’d paused, sword raised just enough to make it clear she was on edge. Or perhaps for some other reason.

“You know, if you’d just told me you’d be wandering around in the fog, it would have saved a lot of time, Seeker. Do you know how long I sat watch over at that blasted Keep of yours? They’ve got the whole place practically locked down.”

“I didn’t intend to be wandering around fog, Varric,” she said, annoyed, “and it’s hardly my fault that you’re…” Cassandra trailed off, looking him over once again. “You are here, aren’t you?”

“Last time I checked, yes. I feel like I might have missed something though.”

They were just close enough that she could see she a frown creep into his face, close enough that she knew he could see how tired she looked, could take in the fact that she was outfitted in none of her usual Seeker equipment. She must make quite the picture, standing there somewhere between a menace and an exhausted mess, three steps away from embracing him and two from pointing a sword at his throat and asking him if he was a demon. If Varric had seen her in worse states, Cassandra wasn’t sure she could think of them then.

After a moment, she sheathed her sword, relaxing a bit and straightening. It was with a certain satisfied wryness that she finally spoke. “Nothing much, really. Just a few conspiracies and a demon taking over my life.” She wasn’t the type to joke about it, but what else was she supposed to say. And she smiled while she said it too, because to tell the truth, the shock on his face might have been one of the most satisfying things she’d ever seen. Besides, her suspicions were gone now. The demon hadn’t felt like this, hadn’t been rough and odd and awkward and unprepared.

Of course, Varric wasn’t at a loss for words for long. “And here I thought our Inquisitor was the only magnet for weird fade shit around here.” He shook his hand, finally stepping forward and offering up a hand to help her down the last large step off the ridge. “Come on, Seeker, you had better fill me in.”

She took the hand, stepping down next to him. It wasn’t a grand act, and her heart didn’t race at his touch - it was more a gesture of companionship than of romance, after all - but it felt good to shift her weight against his support as she jumped down. They’d worked together like that quite a bit, more than she’d realized, back when they were with the Inquisition. She’d taken it for granted, fighting alongside him, or just assumed it was a matter of professionalism and little else. But this wasn’t professionalism. It was trust.

Of course, there was also some part of her heart that was skittering in her throat at the fact of him being here for her. To help her. She mostly tried to ignore it.

“What of you?” They walked together towards Jana’s, Varric falling in alongside and a little behind her. “What are you even doing here, Varric? I can’t say that I’m not happy for the help, but I don’t see how you could have known how bad things were.”

“Bad? I swear, you live in a different version of reality, where having your room trashed while trying to track down your mortal enemies is somehow not cause for worry.”

“Worry, perhaps, but that still doesn’t explain why-”

“You wrote me, or, this demon did I guess, and things seemed off.”

They walked in silence for a moment longer, and though it was clear he didn’t want to talk more about it, Cassandra’s curiosity couldn’t let things rest. “Off?”

“Trust me, Seeker, you don’t want to pry about it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He sighed, stopping, and Cassandra pulled up short as well, turning to face him. “This is important. What did it say to you? Did it threaten you? Say that I was done searching? There could be some sort of clue to its plans.”

Varric didn’t meet her eyes. He coughed awkwardly, hand finding the back of his neck to rub at it in exasperation. “I don’t think it was anything like that. It was really just a short note, and I guess I jumped to conclusions… clearly they were correct conclusions, mind you, but I still don’t think you need to worry about it.”

“Varric.”

His gaze flicked up to her, almost apologetically. “The note talked about kissing.”

“Kissing? Us kissing? But that doesn’t make sense, we never-”

The realization hit her in the gut, coloring her face in an instant. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“It’s… it’s really not important.” Cassandra wheeled around, remembering all too vividly the shape that her dreams had taken under the envy demon’s sway, the way she had kissed Varric, the fake Varric, how she had used that simple lie, that fanciful wish, to break herself free.

She could hear him hurrying to catch up. “‘Oh?’ Seeker, what does that mean? ‘Oh’ what?”

Was that really what had brought him here? The demon must have written him, must have tried to scare him off… Maker’s breath, it must have tried to play it off as some sort of doomed romance, to convince him his affections were unrequited. If she hadn’t already wanted to run the creature through with her sword, she certainly did now.

Luckily for Cassandra, and luck seemed to finally be taking her side, Charter interrupted them before she was forced to explain, running up the path. She paused only briefly as she noticed Varric, tensing for a moment until she realized who he was. A quick glance at Cassandra and the briefest of smirks was the only acknowledgment she gave. It was clear enough why, once she started talking, keeping her voice low but impatient.

“It’s Cedric. He’s starting to wake up again.”

She didn’t have to say more, but as Varric fell in beside the two women, he seemed a bit at a loss. “Cedric? Isn’t that the missing Seeker? He’s alright?”

“Alright is a relative term. He is alive. The envy demon seems to have had a severe effect on him.”

“Envy demon?”

“That’s the one currently posing as me. It also was behind the Promiser activity.”

Charter reached the door to the house first, pulling it open for the two of them. She snickered a bit as she caught their conversation, and Cassandra heard her whisper to Varric as he slipped in behind her. “Yeah, it’s simple enough. Try and keep up, would you?”

He might have said something in response, but Cassandra didn’t hear it. She’d moved over to where Judith sat over Cedric, helping him sip from a glass of water. As she elbowed her way past Jana to stand over him, he looked up at her. His eyes were still distant and watery, but they registered her, and he tried to sit fully up. Judith helped him, while Cassandra pulled up a stool and sat next to her. The rest of the group crowded in behind them, aside from Gauld and his boy, who had been making themselves scarce during the more serious talks.

“Cedric? How are you feeling?” Cassandra tried to keep her tone steady and calm, though she was dying to ask him a barrage of questions.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Lady Cassandra, I-”

“You know me?”

The whole room waited. “I… no. I’m not sure.” Cedric shook his head, opening his eyes again. “I recognize you though. I think…”

“It was the demon.” Cassandra didn’t bother with masking her bluntness. She half turned to the group behind her, explaining her conclusion. “I’ve suspected, ever since my own experience. I think the dream state the demon induces is something that pulls from its own thoughts as well as from its victim’s. All I know from mine is that the Inquisitor might be involved. He may know more.”

Somewhere to her left, Varric muttered something she could have sworn was about kissing. Cassandra did her best to ignore him, turning back to Cedric. “I need you to try and remember what you saw during the time you were possessed. I need you to think if there was anything the demon let slip.”

He shook his head, slowly, and then more agitated. “There was so much of it, I don’t even know how long I was…” Cedric’s eyes snapped open, focusing back onto her face. “Rowan, he, did he…”

“Relax, kid.” Varric inserted himself into the conversation, peering around Cassandra. “Your boyfriend is fine. I talked to him only a week ago in Kirkwall. He was the one who helped-”

The head shaking, again. “No, no, that’s what it wanted! I tried to keep it hidden, but I think it knew anyway. It wanted to use him.”

Cassandra’s stomach turned cold. “To use Rowan?”

“That’s why it wanted me, that’s why it kept me alive, so it could…” Cedric trailed off, looking down at his lap.

“It was a setup.” Varric had set a hand on the bed, and Cassandra saw it tense into a fist as he spoke. “The whole time, that kid was playing us.”

“I’m not following,” Charter cut in, shifting in between Judith and Cassandra. Judith sighed slightly at the intrusion, but scooted over to give the other woman room. “Who is Rowan?”

“He’s the one who led me to Bencour,” Cassandra said, noticing that her own hands had tensed as well, and taking care to unclench them. She needed to stay calm. She could tell they were so close to understanding, and she needed to stay calm. “The one who led me to Orlais. But why? Just to play with me?” Looking back over to Cedric, who had seemed to retreat into himself while they talked, Cassandra tried once again to talk with him.

“Cedric, please, don’t worry about that. You knew who I was. You saw things, in those dreams, didn’t you? Plans, maybe?”

“There were Seekers, the Lord Seeker… he was the one who talked to me, at first.”

Cassandra tried not to prod him along. She knew, of course. None of that was surprising.

“Rowan was there, he kept asking me questions about us. That’s how I know, it wrote to him I think, told him to…”

Charter straightened briefly, stretching and rocking on her heels before bending back down. “Listen, buddy, whatever happened with Rowan, it’s not important. There must be something you saw, something important, maybe repeated, something like-”

“Fire.” Cedric’s head snapped up, and the room fell silent. “Crestwood will burn.”

Cassandra could almost hear the sound of no one breathing.

“That’s what he kept saying.” Cedric continued, focusing back on her, face opening up and unfolding into something purely, unmistakably terrified, eyes wide and desperate. It was like a wall had fallen down, something that he had been trying to push away had settled into an unwelcome home. “There was fire, every time, and it told me. Crestwood will burn.”

Then he closed his eyes, folding into himself and reaching again for the glass of water in Judith’s hands.

“That still doesn’t explain what it wanted with Rowan in the first place,” Cassandra murmured eventually into the stillness. “Why send me out to Orlais, why put me on the trail in the first place? It had already taken up Reeve’s mind by then, it could have attacked me whenever it wanted. There was no reason to go to such lengths.”

“Shit.” It was barely more than a whisper, but Varric repeated it a moment later. “Shit. I think I might know what’s going on.”

Everyone turned to him as one.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you thought the Inquisitor might be involved, right? And I’m assuming the Inquisition already knows about your trip to Orlais, and about Bencour’s ties to the Promisers as well as Florianne.”

“Perhaps not all the details, but they do have reports on the matter, yes.”

“So what happens when you add up Orlesian intrigue, suspected conspiracies, and a direct attack on the Inquisitor?”

“But no one has attacked the Inquisitor, have they?” Charter frowned as she turned over the ideas. “Even a demon wouldn’t be so foolish as to try and take Skyhold.”

“No one has attacked the Inquisitor,” Varric said, shaking his head. “Yet.”

“It’s bringing her here.” Cassandra stood, as if to act, as if to go charging off right that second. “It’s bring her here, and it’s going to stage an attack on Bronach and the town.”

“To kill the Inquisitor?” Charter was only a half-step behind, and even as she asked the question, Cassandra could tell she was putting pieces together.

“No,” Varric explained. “To take the Inquisitor’s place.”

“And declare war on Orlais.”

Charter let out a thin breath. “Shit.”

Shit.

---

Update on the Sournois case -

While we can’t rule out suicide just yet, it’s looking more and more like Lord Bencour might have been the target of someone’s attempt to hush something up. We’ve found notes, including some very significant names implied to be working with with remnants of Florianne’s people. Not sure how accurate any of it is - there are mentions of some sort of cult, and vague allusions to plans related to the Inquisitor - but from the looks of things he was planning to go public.

This is either the rantings of a recluse, some sort of set-up, or a very, very big problem.

[from the investigation of Bencour Sournois’ assasination, 16 Umbralis, 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

Jana’s house was small and rather cramped, but most of the group had managed to find space elsewhere to work, leaving Cassandra space in the backroom to finish her preparations. Most of them, but not Varric.

Cassandra sat at her desk, very pointedly not looking at him, and made the last notes on her report, putting down every last piece of information she could think of about the last months, her trip to Orlais, and the presumed plans of the envy demon. It had taken the better part of the afternoon to write it, but if their own plans didn’t work, it was the best chance they had of diverting the path of the Inquisition. Jana would wait for her moment to leave town with the report, and hopefully find some way to deliver it before the false Inquisitor reached Skyhold, if that’s what it came to.

There was a time that Cassandra might not have felt so strongly the need to gather every last shred of possible help, to put into place even the most farfetched of backup plans. But it felt hard to have faith that things would work, not perfectly, not without some sort of catch. More than her own life, she wanted to protect the safety of everyone who might be at risk when she fell.

If she fell, she reminded herself. There was no reason to dig her own grave just yet.

Seated next to her, Varric carefully pulled out one part of his crossbow at a time, checking for wear, polishing and sharpening before slotting them back into place. His back was half turned to Cassandra as he worked, and as she closed the report, she turned to watch him, the steady movements expressed through the rolling and ducking of his shoulders.

“I still haven’t told you most of what happened, have I?”

Varric stopped working, turning to face her. “I figured you’ll have time after we take care of things. It sounds like quite the story.”

“You don’t know the half of it. There were even spiders.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Big ones?”

Cassandra laughed quietly, at her own private joke. “Huge. Must have been at least fifty of them.”

“Let me guess, you fought them off bare-handed.” He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the desk and leaning his head on his hand, smirking slightly.

“Are you saying you don’t think I could?”

“Far be it from me to doubt our most noble Seeker, slayer of dragons and enemy to demons.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that, so Cassandra just turned back to the desk, gathering up papers and glancing yet again through the map she had of Bronach and the surrounding coast. As she did, Varric reached over towards her. For a moment she thought he was reaching for her, and choked back the urge to pull away, but his hand went instead to the Knight of Dawn, which had been unearthed from the mess.

“You kept the card?”

“Sort of. I mean, I did keep it, but that’s not why it’s here,” Cassandra admitted. “It was one of the lovely little touches the demon decided to add to this whole affair. Luckily for me the gloating worked out in my favor, but I’m afraid it’s a bit ruined now.”

Turning the card over in his hands and studying under the light of the lantern on the desk, Varric frowned. “It looks fine to me.”

“The message was written with deep mushroom spores. You can’t see it in the light.”

“Huh. Clever.” He paused a moment. “You know, I could probably find some way to cheat with that.”

Cassandra snorted. “Leave it to you to find a way to turn a man’s dying message into a way to win at cards.”

“You were at the games!” Varric protested in exaggerated tones. “You saw how good Ruffles was. I have to use anything I can get.”

The reminder of what had been normal once, of the loud games of Wicked Grace and the days back at Skyhold, brought down an uncomfortable silence between them. They were far removed from that life now.

“Listen, Seeker, speaking of that, I just wanted to say…”

Ducking her head, Cassandra tried to hide the blush that burned her cheeks. “If this is about the kissing, I…”

Varric cleared his throat suddenly, and Cassandra wondered if he might be as red faced as her. She still couldn’t bring herself to look at him and check, though. “It’s not about the kissing. I just meant, it seems like all of this has been very… personal. And hard.” He paused a moment, then added in a mutter, “or perhaps ‘slightly inconvenient,’ by your scale.”

Despite herself, Cassandra smiled down at the desk, knowing Varric could probably see it twitch the corner of her mouth. “And?”

“And I wanted to ask if you were okay. Really okay. No bullshitting.”

She looked up to meet Varric’s eyes. He was facing her more earnestly now, without any trace of the familiar grin.

“No bullshit?” Her eyes flickered around his face, seeing the worry, the stiffness in his shoulders, the slight frown in the edges of his eyes. “Of course I’m not okay, Varric. This creature has tortured and killed my fellow Seekers, in numbers beyond measure. It’s torn up my life, used me in its schemes, and now it is about to plunge all of Thedas into chaos because I marched so willingly to its tune. Anything that I have accomplished in my life, anything I have sought to build or restore, may be wiped out in a matter of days. If it isn’t already.” She took a slow breath, calming herself as best she could, drawing on her training to keep steady. “I have never wavered in my faith to the Seekers, to the Maker, to my cause. But if I am being truthful, it’s sometimes hard to believe in myself, after all that’s happened.”

“For what it’s worth,” Varric said, holding her gaze, “I still believe in you.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She wanted to say something in return, to thank him, or to at least tell him how much it meant. Her mouth was dry, however, and any chance at forming a response, anything close to a reasonable response, seemed almost comically out of reach. So she just smiled, crookedly.

“Come on, Seeker, let’s go find the others. We should go over our plans and head out, now that it’s properly dark.”

“Right,” Cassandra said, shaking her head to clear it, though what she was clearing out she couldn’t say. “Right, I’ll be there in a second.”

Placing the Knight of Dawn back on the desk beside her, Varric got to his feet, slinging Bianca over one shoulder and heading into the other room. She watched him go, feeling a little lightheaded, and then turned back to her report, and the other scattered pages. She allowed herself a small, shaky sigh, before making a few last notes on a clean paper, tucking it carefully inside the report. Then she stood, picking up the Wicked Grace card and slipping it into an inside pocket of her coat.

The living room was crowded and tense when she entered, past even the point of small talk. Charter grinned hesitantly at her, brushing off her legs and standing up. “Are we ready?”

“As much as we can be, I imagine. Have you decided the best way to try and watch the roads?”

“I think so,” Charter said with a nod, squeezing past Judith and Gauld to kneel at the map of Crestwood they had spread on the floor. “Assuming the Inquisitor has indeed been sent word, I would imagine they would come in from the north, using the route we originally took, along the Imperial Highway. There’s a chance they might come another way in an attempt to avoid trouble, but I would imagine the demon framed a summons in a way that would encourage speed over caution.”

“So how do you plan to cut them off?”

“Ideally, we will be able to reach them before they even come in range of Crestwood. The sooner we can get to them, the less risk we have of crossing paths with the Promisers. Which is why I’m going to try and cut across Lake Calenhad.”

“Will that be fast enough to try and reach them?”

Charter shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea. It depends on when they were contacted, and how they travel, how hard they push to get here. The farther out we go, the easier it will be to miss them. But my reason for heading that way myself is two-fold. Aside from wanting the catch the Inquisitor early, if I can get far enough away from here, I might be able to get in contact with some of the Inquisition’s scouts. At least then, even if I miss the Inquisitor, I can inform Skyhold of the issue.”

“And the rest?”

“Judith is going to stay closer in, and try and find a spot to camp out near the northern entrance, to intercept the Inquisitor if she gets this close. It’s dangerous, and she might be found out, but leaving the place completely unwatched in hopes that I trip over something is foolish at best. Gauld has,” Charter coughed once, staring at him pointedly, “offered to take up a post at the southern road, just in case they come that way.”

Gauld didn’t return the look. His son had been sent into the bedroom, and Cassandra knew that he would be kept as far away from danger as possible, staying with Jana until they felt safe to run, if everything else failed. She would have preferred to keep Gauld out of things as well, but Charter insisted that his guilt be put to good use. Besides, they did need to keep someone as a lookout in the south, and Cedric was in no shape to go running around the countryside.

It was a rough plan, and a rather frantic one, but it all made sense. Cassandra nodded, curtly. “The roads will be watched by the Promisers, I am sure. It’s going to be dangerous to try and intercept them at any point.”

“Our jobs are no more dangerous than yours. Let us do what we can.” Charter bent to roll up the map, leaning it against the wall. They all had smaller ones tucked away already, which would help guide them to their positions.

There was one last piece that needed to fit into place. “What of you, Jana? Do you think you will be able to come up with a suitable issue to draw the demon out?”

“I was thinking a dragon. I’ll claim it’s something big and spiky and it breathes, oh, lightning or something.”

“That should get Sister Vaughn’s attention.”

“And you are sure that she will be able to get the demon to pay attention to her?” Jana asked, crossing her arms.

“She was certainly persistent enough with me,” Cassandra muttered. It was perhaps a bit of a long shot, but as closed off as the demon might be to outside distractions, she doubted it would be willing to risk its plans by letting an entire town in uproar go unnoticed. If Jana could convince the Sister, then surely she could rally the town well enough, at least to afford Cassandra a sliver of time while the demon left to figure out what has happening. She looked to Varric. “And what about you? Ready to help me break into Caer Bronach?”

He grinned. “Seeker, I was born to break into heavily fortified buildings occupied by mysterious cults. I’ve been doing it for years.”

The rest of the goodbyes with the group were quick and restrained. Judith clasped Cassandra’s shoulder briefly, and Charter actually hugged her, not letting go until Cassandra returned the gesture. The rest of them gave her a brief handshake or a nod, and then there was nothing to do but to leave. As Varric said, waving a goodbye to them, the castle wouldn’t storm itself.

They walked in silence most of the way, hugging the coast. It was a deeply dark night, with only a thin sliver of moon, and few stars visible through the cloud cover. It made for a good excuse to concentrate on footing, an excuse to ignore the various things she both wanted to tell him, and was desperately afraid of saying. But they found their way to the Keep soon enough, skirting around the entrance to the route Cassandra had taken to escape. Varric moved in briefly to check it, and came back shaking his head. “It’s collapsed at this end.”

Well, that was fine. She hadn’t wanted to take that path up anyway, not with the chance more spiders might come crawling out of the crevices. Without it available as a place to shelter in, however, they were forced to duck into a much smaller overhang, which sheltered them from any lookouts from the castle. They were to wait there until, hopefully, Sister Vaughn came to fetch away the demon, at which point Cassandra would sneak in, hoping to find a way to disable the Promisers from the inside.

It was a fine enough plan. The only unaccounted for variable was just how arduous the waiting itself would be. She and Varric sat on the rocks, nearly shoulder to shoulder, very pointedly not talking about all the things they had to discuss.

Eventually, Cassandra broke the silence, staring out at the waters of the lake. “Varric?”

“Yeah, Seeker?”

“Would you tell me a story?”

She glanced over at him briefly, and saw that he was watching her. “What, all this isn’t enough excitement for you?”

When she laughed, it came out more forced than she’d been expecting. “Too much, maybe.”

He was quiet a moment. “Well, what would you like to hear? Something about the Knight-Captain and her many misadventures?”

“No, tell me something real. One of Hawke’s adventures, or your own.”

Even as he started talking, Cassandra knew that she wouldn’t make it through the end of the tale. Tiredness came upon her all at once, and she let her head droop, balancing it in her hands, elbows braced on her knees. She let the words wash over her, and for a moment let herself feel safe. Whatever else, she had to admit, he had a wonderful voice. A little rough, but not unfriendly, not gruff. A storyteller’s voice.

Cassandra wasn’t sure how long she dozed, but when she rose back into consciousness, she’d slipped to the side, half leaning on Varric. He must have shifted her a bit, so her head was against his shoulder, one hand lying on his forearm. There were noises coming from the cliff above, shouts and hurried exchanges. Sitting up quickly, without speaking, Cassandra looked over at Varric. He nodded once.

It was still as dark out, and it couldn’t have been more than a few hours since they had arrived, though the lit torches in Bronach created a few flickering shadows, even all the way down at the coast. They stayed close to the cliff’s edge, just in case anyone looked over. It would be time to go soon, time for her to sneak up and plunge right into the heart of things. Cassandra took a deep breath, and checked that Varric had his crossbow and grappling hook ready. It would be a long climb, all the way up the walls of the keep, but nothing compared to actually navigating once she was inside.

From above, there was more shouting, and the sounds of the gate being lowered. If she wanted to talk with him, certainly this was her last chance. The question of where to start, however, loomed dauntingly over her. There was no easy way, to have a conversation like this, especially not when she knew she might not live out the night. But that, especially, was why she felt so sure that they needed to have it.

“Have you…” She trailed off, licking her lips and then trying again, grateful for his silence. “Have you ever looked into the face of everything you’ve been wanting, and not known how to say yes?”

This time, the lack of immediate response sent her stomach churning. When she turned to him, Cassandra could see he was looking at her again, but it was too dark to read his face. “Every day.” He paused, and it was her turn to grant him the favor of quiet. “Every day for, oh, it must have been months, at least. If you were somehow under the impression that the reason this, the reason that we… that us never happened, was because of you, I have to inform you that you couldn’t be more wrong. I’m far too talented at being a coward for my own good.”

“And what about now?” Her heart thudded now for reasons completely apart from her own imminent ascent into probably death.

“Well, if I weren’t a coward and a liar, I might want to tell you that this past year has been quite excellent at proving how profoundly bad I am at getting over you. I mean, shit, Cassandra, I’ve been pestering my editor this whole time just to make sure that those shitty books were still sold somewhere you could buy them!”

She held back a laugh, noticing distantly that she was swallowing down a lump in her throat.

“Well,” she said, after she was sure she could keep her voice steady, “for what it’s worth, if I weren’t a book-stabbing, stubborn fool, I would tell you that I bought them all.”

They looked at each other, still swathed in darkness.

“This is a horrible place for a romantic confession,” Varric finally said, breaking the moment and turning slightly away. “I’m going to have to do something much better once we are done. With flowers or something.”

“And what if I just run away again?”

Cassandra thought she could see him shrug. “I’m a patient man.”

She bent, quickly, before she could doubt herself, meaning only to leave a kiss on his cheek. But even as she started to pull away, he was shifting towards her, pulling her back down. His hand found her waist, guiding her forward, and for the briefest of moment, Cassandra let herself melt.

It was much, much better than kissing a dream.

When she pulled away, only slightly, Varric was smiling. “I take it back,” he said, grinning even wider. “I’m not patient at all.” He rose to meet her, half-stepping forward, lifting his other hand to rest against her chin, not insistent, just gentle, just there.

The second kiss was slower, softer, her hand resting on his neck and then trailing down against his chest, lingering even as she broke off, and let her arms drop. It was time for her to go.

As she stepped out, Varric caught at her hand, pulling her up short. “Seeker.”

“Varric, there’s not time.”

“Then promise me we'll have more.”

Cassandra almost nodded, but she caught herself. “I can’t, Varric, you know I can’t.”

“No room in there for selfishness? Not even once?”

She slipped her hand out of his. “I can’t put myself over the safety of this town, and certainly not over the safety of all Thedas. But I…”

There was nothing she could say, truly, no promise she could make to him, so she settled on something smaller, on a sliver of possibility that hadn’t been there before, on the trust she had in him to be waiting for her if she did manage to come out safely from this mess. “I’m not going to be patient either.”

---

Varric,

I suppose it’s pointless to say that I have no talent for this, because I have made that much evident plenty of times. There are many things that we ought to discuss, and very little time we have to discuss them. Indeed, I don’t know if I will work up the nerve to say any of this to your face even if I should find the time to do so.

But if it turns out that you are in a position to read this note, then certainly I am no longer able to tell you any of it in person.

I want you to know that you are a good person. I imagine you already do know that, and I am sure your friends do a far better job of reminding you than I ever have, so I suppose what I should really say is that I want you to know that I believe you are a good person. Perhaps one of the better ones I’ve met. There are things we have both said and done to each other that are not easily forgiven, and I still think you are all kinds of insufferable, but I also know you are far more noble than you give yourself credit for being. And coming to find me here in Crestwood, to help me in the midst of all this, only confirms that fact.

I want you to know that, however strange it may be, writing to you these past months has brought me joy. Having you here now has brought me strength beyond measure.

I wish you all the best, Varric. May the world be kinder to you in the future than it has in the past.

Be well,

Cassandra

[letter found tucked into the official report of Cassandra Pentaghast on the current state of Crestwood, 19 Umbralis 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

Some manner of peace had returned to Bronach by the time Cassandra made it inside, pulling herself up unto the wall after checking to be sure that no one else was around. She let herself have a few spare moments to catch her breath, clenching and unclenching her sore hands. It had been a long, vertical ascent, one not helped by the sharp winds that rattled her against the stones and turned her fingers numb. Still, as tired as she was, she couldn’t afford to sit around trying to recover. Jana’s distraction would only work for so long, and if Cassandra hoped to find any trace of the envy demon’s plans for Crestwood, she would need to act quickly.

Heaving herself to her feet, Cassandra unclipped the grappling hook from the wall, letting it fall down into the dark depths of the shore below. Varric was down there, somewhere, and he would notice the line go slack, would gather it up and slip away. He’d refused to leave immediately, when they’d laid out their plans, so instead he would be keeping watch from somewhere, at least until sunrise. If he didn’t hear from her at that point, he was supposed to go find Judith and guard the road with her.

Cassandra wondered if he would, or if he would keep waiting, or if he would try something more foolish still. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to, of course, hopefully she’d be able to find what she was looking for and slip out without anyone noticing. She was not so hopeless that she didn’t believe it was possible. But it wouldn’t be easy, and they both knew that.

Either way, it was pointless to think about such things. Cassandra doubted that Varric truly knew himself, what he would do if things started to look bad for her. That was for him to decide, if the moment came. In the meantime, she would do her best to assure that it didn’t.

The place that Cassandra had climbed to was at the highest outer wall of Bronach. It was one of the few places left mostly unguarded, as it jutted out awkwardly away from the usual patrols along the perimeter. Besides, no intruder would know the routes of those patrols, and be so easily able to slip down the stairs and away into a thin hallway only checked at dusk and dawn, and no intruder would be so easily able to act as if she was meant to be there.

Of course, she really was meant to be there, which made everything a bit odd. Ideally, Cassandra would be able to make her way through the keep without having to bluff at all. There was no need to lie to anyone from the Inquisition. The problem wasn’t pretending to be herself with them, it was pretending to be the demon, should she encounter any of the Promisers.

Taking the stairs quickly, she ran through the little she knew about how to try and fool them. There was no way of knowing if the information was outdated, or if it had even been complete in the first place, but Charter’s time in the cave had at least given Cassandra something to work with, a response in case she was confronted again the way she had been when she had first escaped from the demon. According to Charter, it was a gesture they performed regularly, one person tapping a weapon three times against something solid, another responding in turn by tapping theirs once, pausing, and tapping it again twice. A simple thing, easy to remember but effective quickly distinguishing friend from foe.

Cassandra had accomplished the gesture herself by pulling her sword out just enough that she could tap the hilt back down against the sheath, practicing it until it Charter believed it matched the rhythm was well as she could remember. There was no way of knowing how precise the timing might be, or if their were other nuances they didn’t realize, but it was better than nothing.

Finally reaching the upper landing of the keep, Cassandra tried to look casual as she stepped more properly into the open. In the dead of night, there were few people still awake, and they were busy guarding or reporting in, not eager to meddle in someone else’s work. That wasn’t enough to dispel the odd looks, however, presumably because they all thought she had just left to deal with the supposed dragon threat. She wasn’t surprised that her path to her room was cut off by a scout stepping in, but she was at least relieved to see it was someone she knew.

“Lady Cassandra, I thought you left with Sister Vaughn. Is something wrong?”

Cassandra smiled weakly, pulling her jacket tighter and hoping they wouldn’t notice how light her armor was compared to what she usually wore, or the fact that she still wasn’t carrying a shield. “For once, I decided it might be best to let someone else handle the Sister’s requests. Was there something else you needed?”

“No, though I believe one of the Inquisition guards was looking for you. He said he had information about your orders on extending a perimeter around the town.” The guard gestured over to a man who was waiting near the door that lead up to her room, watching them closely.

For a moment, Cassandra feared that they might be too late, that the Inquisition already had already arrived, and the demon’s plans were already in motion. Then understanding caught up to her, and she realized that must have been the guise that the Promisers had used to take up positions with the rest of the Bronach guard. Well, in that case, it didn’t seem like she had any choice but to meet them directly. It would look to suspicious if she tried to duck away now. At least, if she could convince the man that she was not herself, she’d be able to get answers directly, rather than running around searching at random for them.

Cassandra nodded at the guard, dismissing them, and walked smartly over to the man who had been watching. She waited for the signal, unsure if her starting the gesture might be seen as overly forward and unusual. The man stared at her for a moment, looking her over, presumably noting every stray detail she had been hoping to keep hidden. When he raised his spear to tap it, she practically breathed a sigh of relief just at having made it far enough to be worth testing further.

The three taps were steady, and Cassandra counted the beats before returning her own in kind, finishing the last one and taking her hand from the grip of her sword. As hard as it was to let go of her only weapon, especially when he still had such a sure hold on his, she knew that she had to remain casual if she was to succeed in her bluff.

He stared at her a moment longer, and Cassandra narrowed her focus in on him, ignoring everything else, watching for a sign of movement or aggression as she did her best to keep herself steady. Finally, he relaxed his grip on the spear slightly, straightening from his hunch into a more formal attention.

“Everything is in place,” he said, gesturing off to the side, though she wasn’t quite sure to what. “We can disperse the supplies in the morning, leaving guards around the city perimeter to act at your order.”

Nodding, Cassandra looked over at where the man had directed her. There were a cluster of doors tucked into the wall, one which lead down to the lower level, two leading into bigger rooms, and one attached to a small armory. “Wait until this business with that woman is dealt with,” she said, trying to seem casual. What did an envy demon sound like? Would it act like her, even when dealing with its own allies? She had no idea. “the group I sent out should be reporting back well before dawn, and if there is an actual issue we will have to move more carefully.”

He muttered an affirmative and she strode off, taking a wild guess and ducking through the armory door. At very least, if there wasn’t anything suspicious there, she could get a shield.

Cassandra pulled up short as soon as she stepped inside, closing the door carefully behind her. The guess had most certainly been a good one.

Spread out along the back wall were enough lyrium charges to, well, to blow an entire town to bits. She sucked in a slow breath, reality hitting against her chest like a hammer. Crestwood would burn, that’s what Cedric had said. But hearing the words was different, far different, from seeing the method, so clinically stacked and ready.

Where had they even gotten it? She remembered, distantly, Charter’s comment about the reach and scope of the tunnel system she had been held in. Could it be they had found a vein somewhere down there? It was said that deep mushrooms grew especially vivid near lyrium, and the caves had certainly been lit brightly enough, by Charter’s accounting of it.

In any case, it didn’t really matter where it came from. It was more than enough to do what Cedric had warned, and if she understood things correctly, these charges would be spread around Crestwood within a matter of hours if she didn’t do something. Cassandra considered, briefly, simply stepping outside and alerting one of her scouts to the matter. Surely if they saw evidence that damning, they would have to listen to her.

But no, the explosives wouldn’t have been kept in the open in the first place if there was a chance they might have been discovered by someone who would ruin the plan. The envy demon must have had some excuse for them being their, perhaps claiming they were brought in by the Inquisition troops for some purpose. Besides, even if she could convince someone, that didn’t mean she’d be able to convince enough people, quickly enough to have a fighting force.

What she needed was to find a way to dispose of it. Then she could leave, assured that Crestwood would be safer, at least for the moment. There was no real way to diffuse lyrium charges, but if she could get them outside, maybe she could try and toss them all over into the lake. Then, at least, they would be harder to get to, and harder still to light.

Moving over to the pile, Cassandra tried to do a quick inventory of how many there were. Enough, certainly, that she couldn’t carry them all in one trip without being noticed. And she couldn’t try to sneak them out, not when her only known escape route had been caved in.

The thought that struck her, a second later, was so completely absurd that she was almost mad at herself for having it. It lodged itself in her brain, however, and she knew after only a short second of deliberation that it was the best chance she might get.

“Maker’s breath, I am going to regret this, aren’t I.”

Decided in her path, she did her best to brush away her doubts, which were less doubts and more like huge, fiery letters in the sky telling her that she was asking for trouble. There was probably a better way, but she simply didn’t have time to try and work out what that might be.

Tucking her hand in her shirt sleeve to make sure she didn’t accidently let it touch her skin, Cassandra picked up one of the smaller charges, the kind usually used to spark off a larger explosion, wrapping it up and tucking it into her pocket. She grabbed a lantern from a nearby shelf, lighting it off the torch flickering near the entrance. Then she stepped outside, shutting the door behind her and making a careful point not to make eye contact with the man she had talked to before. If anyone tried to stop her now to chat, she was afraid she might jump out of her skin. Lyrium was notoriously temperamental in such a state, and the lump of it in her pocket made her nerves jangle every time it knocked against her leg.

Making her way quickly to the lower level, she ducked into the sheltered area where she had once escaped from the fort. The trapdoor was no longer guarded, presumably because the tunnel had been closed off at the other end, and she had no problem ducking inside, noting with slight amusement how beaten the door was from where they had busted it open trying to follow her.

It was dark inside, and Cassandra held the lantern out shakily in front of her as she crept down the ladder. There were no lit candles now, no trickles of light from outside. It was a place completely enclosed, the only entrance directly above her. Good.

Taking a deep breath, she reached into her pocket, pulling out the charge and giving herself only a moment to hesitate. She thought briefly about trying to use it to blow a way out, but there was no way that wouldn’t attract attention, and ruin any chance of sneaking the rest of the lyrium out. She didn’t need a way out, anyway. She needed a distraction.

Cassandra lit the fuse and hurled the charge as deep into the cavern as she could, turning to run even as it was still in the air. She was halfway up the ladder when it blew, loud and sharp at her back, driving her faster upwards.

When she threw open the hatch, there were several scouts frozen in place, looking at her in confusion as she scrambled out, leaving the door wide open.

Cassandra coughed, awkwardly. “There was a bit of a problem, down in the cave.”

Then the spiders came.

She ran as soon as she heard the skittering legs echoing up the shaft, already well away by the time she heard the first shouts of alarm. Only once she reached the stairs did she pause to look back.

The landing had been sent into chaos in a matter of seconds, as the spiders streamed up out of the gap, a mass of legs and anger. She had been right that there were far more living down in the cave than the few she had encountered, and it seemed like the sparse guard of the late night shift was not at all prepared for the sudden invasion.

She felt a brief twinge of guilt as she watched them surge out, knowing that the mass could pose a very real threat if the keep’s forces couldn’t rally fast enough. Then she turned back to her task, taking the steps two at a time. She would just have to trust them to do their jobs. The creatures were still small at least, more than enough to cause a problem, but hopefully not enough to seriously injure anyone with proper armor.

Amidst the rush of people trying to figure out what was happening, it was easy enough to slip into the small armory, squeezing in and clicking the door closed. The rest of the lyrium still sat where she had left it, untouched and menacing. She took a few steps forward, wondering at the best way to transport the charges quickly up to the top level, where she could dump it off the side. She had just reached the closest stack when she heard the door open again.

It was strange, to look at a copy of yourself. Strange enough in a dream, but stranger still in real life, where everything else made sense, and there was just that one odd thing for the brain to catch itself on.

Cassandra, or rather, the envy demon, smiled, it’s lips thin and pursed together. “And how did I know you would be behind all this? You were never the kind to run away, were you?”

Taking a steady breath, Cassandra drew her sword, holding it ready between them.

“Or, I suppose that isn’t completely true, is it?” The creature’s voice was her own, but wrong, colder and too pleased with itself. “You’ve run before, haven’t you?” It took a step forward, and another, closing the gap between them as it reached for its own sword, drawing it in one slow motion, and holding its shield, her shield, in front of it.

Belatedly, Cassandra cursed herself for not grabbing a shield of her own while she had the chance. Now the creature stood between her and the few meager options leaning against the opposite wall.

“I won’t run from you now, demon,” Cassandra spit, staring angrily into its face. Her own scars twitched back at her as its smirk widened.

“Maybe not. But you will die. As will the rest of them, eventually. The Inquisitor first, and these people you’ve been playing at protecting. And then, who knows? Maybe I will make a special trip to see some of your forgotten friends. Leliana, who you’ve left all alone in her duties, and Varric, who-”

“Oh, enough of this.” Cassandra sighed. “Can we just get to the part where I stab you?”

It shrugged, and opened its mouth as if to spout another quip, but then just as quickly shifted forward, lunging at her. Its shield thrust out at her right side, forcing her to the left even as it sliced down at her from that side.

Cassandra sidestepped as best she could, barely raising her own sword in time to parry the strike. As she moved out towards the middle of the room, she felt her leg scrape against one of the piles of lyrium, ripping through the fabric of her pants. It only left a shallow cut, but the lyrium, even modified as it was, burned her exposed skin where it touched, sending a shooting pain up her leg.

Gritting her teeth against the ache, Cassandra quickly found her footing again, acting first this time, feinting towards the demon’s right side before ducking around to the left. It didn’t fall for the trick, she realized even as she tried to bring her sword cutting down at what should have been the unprotected upper flesh of the arm gripping the shield. Instead, her strike hit the outward thrust of its shield, bouncing away and throwing her off balance yet again.

She was forced back further as it bore down on her, abandoning the dual attacks of sword and shield to instead focus on coming at her with its sword. Taking a step back, and another, Cassandra tried to look for any way out. Even if she could somehow get away from the demon’s attacks long enough to strike back, she didn’t think she could defeat it like this, not so poorly outfitted, not one on one. Running away wasn’t an option either though, not this time, not with the lyrium still there, not with everyone still in danger.

Besides, she had nowhere she could run to.

Cassandra ducked one attack and was caught by surprise as the shield rose up once again to meet her, hitting her solidly in the right shoulder and sending her stumbling backward, her back practically against the wall, at the edge of the room. The blow nearly jarred the sword from her hand, but she clung to it as tightly as she could as a last, desperate idea pounded in her head.

Backing up further, Cassandra put a last bit of distance between herself and the demon, eyes flickering to the lyrium behind it. She just needed a way to light it, and that would take care of everything. But she’d left her lantern down in the caves when she had gone racing up the ladder, and though there was a torch flickering a few feet away by the door, it was too solidly mounted on the wall for her to have any chance of grabbing it quickly enough, if she could even get to it.

The envy demon took a slow step towards her, no longer concerned with speed or power, clearly assuming the fight had left her.

“So what now? Are you going to try and run again? You have to know you won’t make it. Dawn is coming, Seeker. My time is coming with it.”

The words hit her like a stray spark, and they caught, and they grew. For the first time since stepping into the room, Cassandra smiled.

She acted in one motion, ducking down and stepping forward, twisting around the demon. It tried to block the expected attack, but missed her completely as she stabbed downward, not aiming for the creature at all, but the loose bottom of the coat hanging down around its legs. Her sword pierced the cloth and anchored down into the wood of the table behind it, hampering the creature’s movement, if only for a few seconds.

Then she took one, two steps backwards, reaching into her own coat pocket as she did. The torch crackled to her left, and Cassandra didn’t take her eyes from the demon as she pulled out the Knight of Dawn card from where she had tucked it away, and dipped it into the flames.

There was just enough time for it to realize what she was doing, but even as it dove forward, stumbling when her sword held it back, trying to yank free, ripping at the fabric of the coat, it was too late. Cassandra held the burning card, already licking black and curling at the edges, and threw it like a dagger, straight at the nearest charges.

Only then did she run, not waiting to see if the fire spread, looking only to put as much distance between herself and the room.

She made it several steps out the door before the explosion hit, throwing her forward against the stones, knocking out her breath. Everything was spinning, but Cassandra did her best to get to her feet anyways, still trying to move forward. The ground wouldn’t stay still, and she realized distantly that it wasn’t just because she was disoriented, but because the floor itself was giving way, crumbling out beneath her.

Cassandra tried, in vain, to outrun the collapse, but there was no footing left to her, nothing to grab, and she was falling, sliding back and away and crashing downward.

She held on to consciousness just long enough to feel the ground come rushing up to meet her, and then the pain cracked against her body, and she slipped away into blackness.

---

Varric,

I am telling you this because I know you won’t ask: Kirkwall is doing fine without you. I’m sure it will hurt your pride a little bit to hear this, but I promise it can last a little longer without you, too. So if you have to stay for a bit, then stay. I can tell from your letter that you want to. You deserve the time, and from the sound of it, Cassandra does too.

Write me when she wakes up, and please, Varric, do try to be honest with her!

Ma vhenan’vir him nehn’ghilani.

Love,

Merrill

[letter from Merrill to Varric Tethras, 22 Umbralis, 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

It was not the first time Cassandra had awoke to the strange realization she was alive, after having plunged into an unconsciousness that she knew very well might have been death. This time, she eased into it gently, concentrating on the sound of her own breath. Pain spread down her side with each inhalation, which wasn’t all that surprising. She had, at very least, broken a couple of ribs with her fall, and a dull ache crept over every part of her body that wasn’t sharply hurting. It wasn’t unbearable pain, however, and so she tucked it away, pushing it to the side of her thoughts.

It was raining, the sound familiar against the roof. It felt as if it had only been a handful of days, in the months she had spent at Crestwood, that she had woken up without the sound. Which wasn’t quite accurate, of course, but it felt like an old friend nonetheless. Demons come and demons go, but Crestwood’s weather remained ever the same.

Still holding herself back from facing the rest of the worries that clamored just out of reach, Cassandra took another deep breath, noting the sound of someone else next to her, the feeling of a second person in the room, easy to sense but hard to put into words. She knew, with that same sense, that it had to be Varric. Or maybe she just hoped. Either way, she didn’t open her eyes to find out.

Was it done? Truly, she didn’t know. The envy demon, at least, could not have survived. There were still the rest of the Promisers though, and the safety of Crestwood, as well as that of the other soldiers in Caer Bronach. Not to mention questions as to whether the Inquisitor had been contacted, if Charter had been found, if Judith and Gauld and everyone else had been able to avoid running into any trouble. The flashy parts were very rarely the end of the story, in Cassandra’s experience. For the moment, however, she was having trouble finding the energy to work on seeing any of it through.

The person next to her sighed, shifting slightly. If it was Varric, that was an entire pile of unresolved issues in itself. Not that his presence didn’t make her happy, but things would undeniably be more difficult to resolve now that they were through to the other side of the near-death experience. Last minute kisses were one thing - and not a thing she regretted, to be honest - but real life meant conversations about logistics and possibilities, and Cassandra still wasn’t completely sure, if she was being honest with herself, about the sincerity of his words. Or her own, for that matter.

How was she supposed to untangle nerves and adrenaline with genuine emotion? Was it possible? She may have been nursing feelings for Varric for quite a while, but that didn’t mean they were ready for… well, for whatever it was that might be waiting for them once she woke up to the rest of the world.

Pain had spread slowly outwards from the place Cassandra had tucked it away, creeping up the side of her neck and curling up like a drumbeat pounding against her skull. Nothing worrisome, but tiring, and despite herself and her desires to remain still, she smiled a bit at the thought of what Varric might say to her own self-assessment. Maybe a bit worrisome then, but nothing she hadn’t felt before. She’d been through worse, and done it with a sword in her hand.

Still, sleep didn’t seem like such a bad idea. She hoped that Varric would get some as well, if that was him sitting next to her. Maker knew how long he had been up.

When Cassandra woke next, the rain had stopped, and she could feel sunlight in the room, warm and red on her eyelids. The pain was sharper in a few places, but less widely spread, and a yawn caught her up before she could even think about feigning sleep.

“Well, it took you long enough.”

Cassandra opened her eyes, turning to face Charter, who sat in a rather uncomfortable looking chair, a report of some sort spread open on her lap, quill pinched in one hand. She was smiling slightly, a crooked grin in an otherwise impassive face.

“I have to admit, I was expecting a bit more of a welcome.” Talking felt strange, and her voice sounded a bit distant, rough around the edges, but Cassandra was simply happy to note that she could do it without an abundance of pain. “I see you made it back alright?”

“I was only about a day and a half out before I got a message from one of the scouts saying that most lovely Lady Cassandra sunk the keep into the lake. I think Varric berated them half to death trying to explain things and get word out to everyone.” She paused for a moment. “I take it the demon is dead?”

“If it survived that,” Cassandra muttered, “it might deserve to rule Thedas after all.”

The two women sat for a while longer, Charter turning back to her report and finishing a few notes, before snapping it shut and setting her quill aside.

“You know, we technically can’t be sure that you aren’t actually the demon yourself.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t a mage know?”

“Actually, no. The Inquisitor examined you when she got here, but she said that there really aren’t any easy ways to tell if someone is possessed by a demon, or is a demon themself, aside, perhaps, from entering the Fade. Even then, she’s never dealt with an envy demon before, and knows none of the signs to look for. Besides, that’s hardly an easy way to begin with.”

“So what then, are you going to lock me away?”

Rolling her eyes, Charter finally smiled properly, pushing herself out of the chair. “Yes, we have a nice cell prepared for the woman who saved all of us. I even picked you some flowers.”

“It is a very real concern.”

“I know. I wanted to tell you so that you didn’t have to think of it yourself and try to convince everyone not to trust you. We’ve already considered the problem, and the Inquisitor said Cole would be able to check you over once you get back to Skyhold. Now would you stop frowning?”

Cassandra hesitated a moment. “No, that’s not enough, there’s still-”

“Creators bless you Cassandra, please, for the sake of all of us, just take a moment and be happy to be alive. I’m going to go get the Inquisitor. Yell at her about it, if you’d like.”

With that, Charter bent down, leaving a quick kiss on her cheek, and then she was sweeping out the room, fast enough that Cassandra didn’t have much of a chance to say anything in reply.

She managed to push herself into a sitting position while she waited, considering. There were still things to fuss about, but maybe she could let some of it go. Or at very least, trust other people to do the worrying for her.

The Inquisitor poked her head through the door a few minutes later, decidedly more hesitant than Charter had seemed. Cassandra gave a somewhat shaky smile, gesturing at her to come in.

“How are you feeling?”

“I suppose I ought to say something about how I feel as if I just got caught in an explosion and fell with a collapsing castle, but honestly,” Cassandra said, shrugging, “I’m feeling rather well. The parts that hurt are parts that ought to be hurting, and I am well-rested.”

“You ought to be,” Lavellan said, then looked a touch guilty.

“Do I want to know how long I was asleep?”

“That depends,” she replied, “how big of a number would make you upset?”

“Just tell me it’s still the same year.”

Lavellan settled into the chair that Charter had recently vacated, setting her staff against the wall and leaning forward. She laughed, lightly, a breathy laugh. “Nothing so bad as that. Almost a week. I don’t have much experience with healing, but the local doctor told me that it was to be expected, after what you’ve been through. I fear we’ve put the poor woman through quite a lot, with all the fussing.”

Cassandra frowned unconsciously, sighing automatically at the idea of people fussing over her. Then she caught Lavellan’s eye, and stopped. “Was it that bad?”

“I don’t know if your injuries themselves were. But the scene at Bronach certainly made an impression. And from what I’ve heard, after everything that’s happened, you certainly can’t blame us for fretting a bit.”

She said ‘us,’ but Cassandra had a feeling the truth of it was slightly less plural, and slightly more Varric. Of course, she’d never known Varric to be all that much of a fusser, but she still felt fairly sure, particularly considering what Charter had said earlier, that he was the primary cause of the trouble.

Shaking her head slightly, Cassandra set aside those thoughts for dealing with later. “Have you been caught up on everything, then?”

Lavellan nodded. “Jana brought me your report as soon as I got into town, and Charter filled me in on the rest once she was back. It sounds like things got… rather complicated. And dangerous.”

“But you are safe now.”

There was a pause, and then Lavellan sighed. “You know, Cassandra, you don’t always have to put everyone else before yourself.”

“Perhaps not.” Cassandra looked down at her hands, then back up. “It is not an easy habit to break, however.”

Lavellan was about to reply, but a shuffling at the door silenced her. Varric took a step in, then noticed that the two of them were talking and immediately started to back out. He looked, much to Cassandra’s surprise and perhaps the slightest bit to her joy, rather winded, as if he had been running to get there.

Popping up from her chair and picking her staff back up, Lavellan hurried over to the door, shaking her head. Varric froze, and she pulled the door further open. “Cassandra, we can talk later, okay? Charter has been keeping notes on how things have developed with the rest of the Promisers, would you like me to have them sent here for you to read through?”

Cassandra nodded stiffly, and then Lavellan was practically shoving Varric through the door, easing it closed behind her as she left.

Varric cleared his throat. “I think,” he began, taking a half step forward, “that some people here might be under the impression that I wanted to talk with you.”

“Is it a correct impression?”

“Probably.” He closed the distance between them, not sitting but standing awkwardly by her bed. “Maybe? I’m not really sure, to tell you the truth. I guess it depends on whether or not you want to talk to me.”

“What happened after the explosion?”

He glanced at her. “Well that wasn’t exactly what I was expecting you to want to discuss, but-”

“I’m sorry, perhaps that seemed cold. I know we have things to discuss. I simply thought that…” Cassandra closed her eyes briefly, breathing in. “You are the third person I have talked to in a very short span of time, and out of all of them, you are the only one actually there. I just need to know, about the demon, about the castle. Was everyone inside alright?”

“Mostly, from what I know. They were all busy towards the front of it. Fighting giant spiders, apparently. Only the upper back area collapsed.”

“Did you see any signs of the demon?”

“No. You know they only leave ashes, and there was too much of that to say one way or the other.”

Cassandra sighed. “Were you… the one who found me?”

Once again, Varric looked properly up at her, this time holding her gaze. “Of course I was. Do you want to know about that too? I can tell you, in painful detail, if you’d like, about every single piece of rubble I searched before I got to you.” His tone was bitter, and clipped.

“I’m sorry.”

Whatever irritation had been building up, it quickly snapped off. “Huh?”

“I was there, when my brother died. I know that it is not a pleasant task, to search for the dead, or even the injured, especially not if they… not when they are someone you know. I was afraid you may have been the one to do it. So I am sorry, that it was left to you to find out whether or not I lived. It cannot have been easy.”

He laughed, a genuine laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Andraste’s ass Seeker, I… I don’t even know how to respond to that. I’ve spent the past week expecting, well, I don’t know, expecting you to ignore me maybe, or…” he coughed once, eyes trailing away. “Or to react more enthusiastically, I don’t know. But I certainly didn’t imagine that the first thing you’d do would be to apologize to me for something like that.”

“If I offended you, I am sorry, I simply thought-”

Varric held up a hand. “No, don’t, it’s nothing like that. It’s just. Maker’s breath, we are two people who are horrendously backwards in how they handle their feelings.”

After a moment, Cassandra smiled, hesitantly. “I suppose that is true.”

Finally sitting down, Varric stared at the floor for a long while. “I’m glad you aren’t dead, Seeker.”

“I’m rather pleased about it myself,” she replied, dryly.

“I’ve got about a million things to say, but I really just… I want you to know, that I very, very much want to kiss you right now.”

Cassandra could feel herself blush, warmth curling in her stomach. “That probably wouldn’t be the best idea, considering the fact that I am still injured, and we still haven’t talked about what happened, let alone what’s going to happen next with us.” Varric looked at her, face hard to read. “But I would very much like it if you kissed me anyways.”

It was a strange endeavor, with him awkwardly shifting his weight to one hand, propped against the bed, the other gently resting against her cheek, moving in slowly, his gaze darting from her lips to her eyes, making sure she wasn’t in pain. Cassandra gently raised one hand, placing it against his forearm as if to assure him that it was alright, and she leaned forward to close the distance, warmth rushing all the way up from her stomach to burst against the closing of her half-lidded eyes.

It was warm, and slow, and Varric kept pulling back and looking at her, maybe checking, maybe just looking to look, then dipping back down. Eventually Cassandra tucked her head away ever so slightly, taking a shallow breath. He read the movement instantly, standing back as she leaned into her pillow, closing her eyes.

Varric broke the silence. “See, after a kiss like that, you absolutely have nothing to apologize for.”

Cassandra, laughed, chuckling enough that it sent a shiver of pain down her side. She did her best not to let it show. “And what about the rest of it? The million things you have to say?” Opening her eyes, she tried once again to make sense of his expression. It was a hopeless effort, when she couldn’t even untangle her own twisting emotions.

“We don’t have to talk about them now. Or at all, if you don’t want to. I don’t want to… presume.”

“Was the kissing not a good enough sign?”

Something dark passed across his face, then faded, and Varric didn’t meet her eye when he next spoke. “You’d be surprised how incomprehensible a sign it can be, at times. But in truth, I know that things have been strange, and hard, and I don’t want you to feel, I don’t know, obligated or anything.”

“Varric.” Cassandra paused. “Varric, look at me.” He did, and her heart jumped. “Maybe we aren’t ready to talk about all of it yet, and maybe I tried to rush things a bit. I think I wanted only to, to resolve all of it at once, because this is all very new and confusing and overwhelming, on top of all the other things that have happened. But we’ve taken our time on things before. Can we not be patient once again?”

“I thought we were done being patient.”

“Maybe. Still, I think patience can mean waiting to something to happen, but it can also mean making something happen.”

“Is something going to happen, then?”

Cassandra’s voice was soft. “Would you like it to?”

Standing back, Varric pulled a tightly folded piece of paper out of his pocket, tucking it into her hand and moving her hand carefully to her lap. Then he took a step away. “I’ve had a week, and I’m sorry to say this is the best I could come up with. If you are really still, somehow, asking me that, maybe I should just let you read it.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Just a letter. Read it for me, okay? Read it for me, and then we will talk.”

He turned to leave, then paused, looking back. “Do you think we will ever just be able to talk like normal people?”

The letter still sat on her lap, unopened, and Cassandra watched him, looking almost wistful. “I imagine we will not.”

---

To tell you the truth, I’m not sure why I’m writing this.

You are either going to be okay, or you aren’t, but I’ve been sitting here stewing with my words and I don’t know that I can go any longer without putting them down on paper.

The Inquisitor gave me your letter. I’ve read it more times than I am willing to share, even here, even if no one will probably ever read this. All I can think, every time, is what a blighted, misguided fool I was to have never told you the way I feel.

You know what it was that made me realize? It was after a game of Wicked Grace, you were off in the corner of the bar talking with Ruffles, and she said something funny, and you started laughing. I looked over at you, cackling at whatever comment she had made, and it clicked. Maker, you’re beautiful, Cassandra, and all I could think was how much I wanted you to be happy, and if possible, be someone who could make you happy. It seemed so obvious. I mean, it was ridiculous too, and I spent at least a week trying to talk myself out of it, but that’s not the point.

The point is, I love you.

Okay. Easier to write than I was expecting, but I have to admit I am suddenly very, very tempted to stick this into the fire next to me.

But I had to put it down somewhere, right? Maybe that sounds like poetic bullshit but it’s true, and I don’t think Charter can stand a second more of my lovesick moping (don’t ask). I just want some record of it, because you are offensively noble and just blew up a castle while you were still inside of it and nothing about this feels quite real yet, but I think about the way you looked, laughing and smiling and so utterly yourself, and that might be one of the realist things I have right now.

So, in conclusion, please wake up and yell at me some more so that I will stop thinking all this sappy crap.

Love,
Varric

[letter written by Varric Tethras, 23 Umbralis, 9:42 Dragon]

Chapter Text

It was still strange to wake up without anything instantly needing to be done. So, mostly, Cassandra found things to do anyways, checking on the training of the remaining troops stationed at Skyhold, while working through her own training regime. She was still recovering, and under strict orders not to get into any actual duels, no matter how restrained, but she could at least keep an eye on them.

Maybe it was because the air was particularly cold, or maybe she was still tired from the First Day celebration the day before, but for once Cassandra entertained the thought of not jumping instantly into action. Just as she’d had the inclination, however, there was a knock on the door. Of course. The world had other plans.

“A moment please,” she said at the door, sighing as she threw back the sheets and reached for a pair of pants. “I am just getting up.”

“It’s just me, Seeker,” Varric said on the other side, his tone so immediately recognizable that Cassandra was rolling her eyes before he even finished the sentence. “And I certainly wouldn’t mind you answering the door in just your-”

“Even if there was the slightest chance of that happening at any point, it is far too cold this morning to be standing around talking in my underclothes.” Pulling on the pants and straightening up, Cassandra grabbed the nearest shirt she could find. It was the tunic she’d worn at the celebration the night before, nicer than she usually wore, if a bit rumpled. She didn’t much care about that in either direction, though it hung strangely loose without the jacket and belt.

“Well, I wasn’t necessarily thinking we would be-”

Cassandra crossed over to the door, opening it and glaring down at Varric, who looked profoundly smug. “What do you want?”

“Can I come in?”

“Only if you promise to be serious.” He stared at her for a moment, and she amended, “relatively serious.” Standing aside, she let him inside, shutting the door. When she turned, he was looking her over.

“Messy hair, clothes from yesterday… goodness, Seeker, is everything alright? You are really losing your style.”

Cassandra crossed her arms. “I am, occasionally, allowed to take a morning off. Now why are you here? Or did you just come to gloat about waking up earlier than me?”

“Technically, that’s not true. I just didn’t sleep. And I came to deliver this.” He held up a simple package, wrapped in brown paper. It wasn’t hard to guess what it was.

“A book?”

“The book, you mean. The long awaited final chapter of Swords & Shields. Or at least, long awaited by you. I think you might be the only one in all Thedas who still cares about it.”

She snatched the package from him, turning it over in her hands to find the seam of the wrapping paper. “Is this why you stayed up all night? To finish it?”

“A good writer never reveals his secrets,” He said, sidling over to stand next to her as she pulled the paper away and ran her fingers down the cover. “But yeah, pretty much.”

Cassandra smiled, genuinely touched. “You shouldn’t have, Varric. I could have waited a little longer.”

“Well, technically I did promise you would have it before the end of the year. I’ve already failed that much. Though to be fair, I also said that you’d have it barring unforeseen disasters, rebellions, apocalypses, or weird Fade shit, and I think you ticked practically every one of those boxes. So I call it a draw.”

“I call it a wonderful gift,” Cassandra replied, leaning down to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. She paused a breath after straightening, frowning down briefly at the book in her hands. “I hate to ruin the moment, but I do have something I need to talk with you about.”

Cassandra walked slowly out to the small balcony attached to her room, using it as an excuse to gather her thoughts a moment longer. She’d had no such luxuries during her original time with the Inquisition, but the Inquisitor had practically demanded that she take a proper room on her return. It was a blessing now, though it was even cooler outside. Still, she didn’t mind the chill quite as much now that was was more awake, and the view of the courtyard below was empty and peaceful, calming.

Trailing a few steps behind, Varric stepped onto the balcony, and Cassandra turned to face him. “I may be leaving Skyhold soon. When we finished clearing out the Promiser base, we found records of the other Seekers. More complete than anything we had before. I’m thinking about trying to track the rest of them down again.”

Moving to stand beside her, Varric shrugged. “Okay.”

“That’s all? After what happened last time, I wasn’t sure if you would… What will happen with us.”

“Last time?” There was a pause, a short one, and then Varric laughed. It broke through the silence of the crisp air and empty grounds, and despite her concern, Cassandra smiled slightly at the suddenness of it.

“Seeker, last time was a mess, but it wasn’t… it was never about the distance. Maker knows I’ve seen worse in my time. I just… I don’t know. I think I’d built up this big picture of what it would be like to confess to you, to, well, to be with you. I thought I had one shot, one perfect storybook shot, dancing under the stars and all the nonsense. When it didn’t work, it felt like that was that. That chapter was done and gone.”

“You cannot hold yourself solely to blame for my leaving so suddenly. I was the one who cut myself off.”

“Maybe so, but still. I’ve… well, I don’t know if I can count the number of times I’ve royally screwed something up just because I was so convinced that it had to go a certain way. I mean, we got together because of a blighted demon. That’s about the least romantic thing I can think of.”

“It does have a sort of storybook quality to it though, you have to admit.”

Varric leaned in, grabbing her free hand and squeezing it briefly. “That’s not the point, and you know it. The point is, weirdly narratively compelling adventures aside, the past month together has been messy. And awkward. And full of profoundly terrible attempts at discussing our feelings.”

“Truly you hold our relationship in the highest regard,” Cassandra replied dryly, though she made no attempt to pull away.

“Now you are just being stubborn about it.”

“Said the dragon to the flame.”

“All I’m trying to say is, messy isn’t bad. And you leaving certainly isn’t the end of the things, unless you want it to be.”

“I don’t.”

“Then don’t worry about it. I’ll miss you, sure, but I’ll be fine. Besides, there is at least a fifty percent chance that you will stumble into some kind of overly complicated conspiracy that I can base my next serial on.”

They stood like that for long enough that Cassandra felt the tips of her ears start to go numb. It had been a good month, almost blissfully separate from the rest of the world. But it couldn’t last forever. She wasn’t about to put her life on hold, and Varric had his own responsibilities in Kirkwall. Besides, she was getting cold.

Squeezing his hand one last time, Cassandra let Varric’s fingers slip out of her own, reaching back up to turn her new book over, admiring the cover. She traced a finger down the spine, looking out across the courtyard. “She does survive, doesn’t she?”

“Hmm?”

“The Knight-Captain. I know you like to joke about killing her off, but she will be fine in the end, right?”

“Seeker,” Varric replied in his most offended tones, “are you asking me to spoil the ending of my book?”

She turned to him, narrowing her eyes. “No, of course not, I just… well, yes, I am. After all she’s been through, she deserves a happy ending!”

“Well I suppose you will just have to-”

“Varric.”

He grinned wickedly. “Just have to read it and see.”

With that, he turned on his heel. He was halfway across the room before Cassandra reacted, angrily grabbing the book and storming after him.

“Varric! How can you tease me about this? Where are you going?”

She caught up to him, and he stopped, spinning to face her again. “I’m teasing you because it’s fun, because you are very attractive when you are annoyed-but-not-actually-angry with me, and because I know you’d be cross with me if I ruined the story, even if you won’t admit it. And I’m leaving so that you can read it for yourself.”

“Oh.” Cassandra pulled up short.

Then Varric took her free hand in his, lightly kissing the back of her hand. “I’ll be in my usual place, if you need me. Possibly asleep on the table, though.”

When he reached the door, Cassandra coughed from where she still stood, in the center of the room. Varric looked over his shoulder at her. “Yes?”

“I just want you to know, Varric, that if this book does not have a happy ending, I will never forgive you.”

“And if it does?”

Cassandra was not very practiced at being anything like seductive, and certainly she wouldn’t know how to be coy if her life depended on it, but she did her best to give him as dirty of a smile as she could manage. Judging by the color that crept over his face, she had to guess that he received the message well enough. “Well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“You’re a mean, mean person, Seeker. I don’t know what anyone sees in you.”

“And you are a scoundrel who refuses to let his characters have even a trace of happiness. Yet here we are.” They stared at each other for a moment longer, and then she made a shooing motion with her hand. “Now get out of here so I can read.”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath about her only wanting him for his talents, and then he was gone. Cassandra stood in place a moment longer, shaking her head as well. Then she walked over to her bed, pulling up the covers around her, savoring the sweet feeling of having a new book and no pressing matters to distract her from it. The air was still cold on her cheeks and nose, but she didn’t mind it all that much. She was warm, and happy, and the rest of her worries could wait until tomorrow.

Today, at least, she would give herself the chance to rest.
---

Those who inspire us, no matter how distantly; to those whom we love, no matter how foolishly.

[Dedication in the final volume of Swords & Shields, published 15 Verimensis, 9:43 Dragon]