Family Matters
Seeker Pentaghast was annoyed with him. Not that this was new—the seeker had been varying degrees of frustrated with Vanya since he fell out of the Fade. He was convinced that her face must have frozen into a scowl after the conclave was destroyed.
The seeker’s most recent ire was caused by Vanya’s performance at Redcliffe. His shoulders slumped as they walked through Haven’s main gates as he braced himself for the lecture that was sure to come from the council. He offered the mages an alliance with the Inquisition—of course he had, he was a mage. He wasn’t very well going to enslave his people just to make the Inquisition happy, and he had only moments to make a decision. The king and queen of Ferelden had marched into the castle to chastise them, and he’d just reappeared after his adventure through time, where he had encountered a world nearly consumed by red lyrium and watched a demon army kill his companions. Varric, Seeker Pentaghast, First Enchanter Vivienne, and finally Leliana, murdered before his very eyes as he was helpless to save him. He’d barely slept since then, and—
“Varric Tethras!”
Vanya stopped short and Dorian bumped into him. He clapped Vanya on the shoulder in apology and Vanya blushed, though the reaction was covered by his raw, wind-chapped face.
A woman in a crimson armored coat blocked their path to the chantry, and a massive mabari war hound stood beside her. She glared daggers at Varric. “You have caused my family great distress.”
“Kingmaker.” Varric slowly approached her. “Fancy meeting you here.”
She scowled and pointed an accusing finger at him. “We had a perfectly good rescue mission planned, and then I arrive here to learn that you’re cooperating with your captors. All that work, wasted. It even had a dragon!”
“Just one dragon?” Varric asked.
She tilted her head and scratched her chin. “Three would be better, wouldn’t it?”
Varric grinned. “I’ll add some werewolves for balance.”
“Maker’s breath, no. No werewolves. If I never see another werewolf it will be too soon.” She smiled as she closed the distance and hugged him. “I’m glad you’re all right. You scared my cousins shitless when we heard about the Breach.”
“Them? What about me?” Varric stepped back. “Giant explosion, demons raining from the sky. I was scared shitless myself.”
Vanya finally found his voice when the tension vanished. “Varric? Who’s your friend?”
Varric looked to the woman who nodded her permission, and he grinned. “Herald of Andraste, meet Lady Brenna Amell, the Hero of Ferelden.”
She smiled. “Well met. You must be my cousin Ivan.”
“Vanya,” he replied automatically. “No one calls me Ivan unless I’m in trouble.” Which, unfortunately, had been near constant since the Conclave. “We’re cousins?”
“All the noble families in the Marches have married at least once, but yes, Bethany found a few connections between the Amells and the Trevelyans.” She turned to Varric. “You should have heard the sound she made when she discovered the connection. It was like someone squeezed a nug.”
“Bethany?” Vanya asked.
“Bethany Hawke,” Varric said. “She’s the Champion’s sister. Which would also make her your cousin.”
“Welcome to the family,” Lady Amell said. She was petite for someone who had slain an Archdemon—the armor added bulk, but she looked nearly a foot shorter than Vanya. Then again, most people seemed short to Vanya, whose lanky height put him head and shoulders above a crowd. He hated it. The extra unwanted attention had been difficult to deal with before Vanya had been named the Herald of Andraste, and now all eyes were on him all the time.
Seeker Pentaghast finally found her voice and she stepped forward. “Lady Amell, I’m—”
“I know who you are, Seeker.” Her expression hardened, and Vanya nearly stepped back to ensure he was out of the line of fire. “We have met before.”
“We have?” She frowned in confusion.
Lady Amell folded her hands. “Yes, you’ve tried to kill me on no less than three occasions. I’m not surprised you don’t remember. I’m sure all apostates must look alike to you.”
Vanya’s eyes widened—he’d never seen anyone other than Varric stand up to the seeker. She terrified Vanya. He had nightmares of being shackled and helpless with the seeker ready to execute him on the spot for his accused crimes.
“That can’t be.” Seeker Pentaghast shook her head, and Lady Amell continued.
“As I was recently reminded, when one is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. And you were Justinia’s hammer, weren’t you?” Lady Amell turned to Varric. “Drinks? First round is on me.”
“Maker, yes,” Varric replied.
“I could use a drink,” Dorian said. “Particularly if it’s somewhere warm.”
Vanya opened his mouth to protest but couldn’t find the words. He wanted Dorian’s help in the council meeting. Well, to be honest, he wanted to keep Dorian close for the pleasure of listening to his charming bravado and quick wit, and enjoying his dazzling smile. Maker, Dorian Pavus was the most beautiful man Vanya had ever laid eyes on.
“Oh,” was all Vanya managed to say.
“Come on, Sparkler,” Varric said. “You’ll get along just fine with the Kingmaker.”
The trio headed to the tavern without another word, and Vanya tried not to cringe as the seeker scowled.
“Let’s go,” she ordered. He didn’t dare argue.
***
“Why do you want me to do these things if you don’t trust my decisions?”
Vanya should have said that. Of course he hadn’t, and now hours later the unspoken words itched beneath his skin as he pushed the dregs of his dinner around the bottom of the stew bowl. He expected that Commander Cullen would be angry about his decision—Cullen didn’t want Vanya to approach the mages in the first place. Seeker Pentaghast’s mood had not improved after being brushed aside by Lady Amell, and she was snappish and sour throughout the meeting.
Vanya retreated to his quarters the moment the meeting was adjourned. Research , he had mumbled when Josephine asked where he was headed. She was kind to him—the ambassador seemed to recognize Vanya’s discomfort and she attempted to adjust their interaction accordingly.
The small house was his refuge from prying eyes. He felt guilty for having so much room to himself when space was at a premium in Haven, but the guilt was assuaged by his need to escape. At the Circle he had several places where he could disappear with his work, but there was no hiding in Haven.
Cousins. Lady Amell was right—the noble families in the Free Marches were interconnected, some to alarming degrees. Genealogy was a required subject of study for noble children in order to teach them their place in polite society, but it had never interested him. He didn’t know if she was correct that they were related, but the idea of that connection was a lifeline that he couldn’t ignore.
His resolve set, he put the bowl aside and asked Dela, the elven runner who kept an eye on him, to ask Lady Amell to join him.
He rose when she entered and tried not to slouch. “Thank you for joining me, Lady Amell.”
“Brenna, please. Something on your mind, cousin?”
“Yes. Please sit.” He cleared the room’s single chair of the books stacked upon it, and then he sat at the foot of his bed. Varric found it amusing that he would pass over coins and jewels to pick up an old, moldy book. He placed Varric in charge of valuables and stuck to collecting things that interested him—books, scrolls, and other scraps of writing.
She didn’t look like a mage, or at least not any sort of mage he had met before. Her hands were calloused from wielding weapons—his own hands were still adjusting to using a staff in combat, the blisters had been terrible at first. A fine scar bisected her left eyebrow and continued down her cheek.
“Leliana said you were leaving. Please don’t leave,” he blurted. “I need your help.”
“I know it feels overwhelming at first, but—”
“Please don’t say I’ll get used to it,” he interrupted. “This is something I can’t fix.” He stopped and shook his head. “Or change. Fix implies broken. I’m not broken.” Vanya grimaced as he sought the right words to explain, and then he sighed and held his head in his hands.
“Hmm. I’m going to ask a friend to join us. I think he can help. I’ll be right back.”
She left, and her mabari hound crossed to Vanya and laid its head on his knee. He gently stroked the hound’s dark red fur—he had always liked his family’s hunting dogs. Dogs were honest, forthright—there was no mystery in whether or not a dog liked a person.
When she returned a young man in ragged clothing followed Brenna. He wore a hat with a brim so wide it almost didn’t fit through the door.
“This is Cole,” she introduced before returning to her chair. “Cole, this is my cousin Vanya, the Herald of Andraste. He needs our help.”
“Scrunched down in the seat, small, silent. If I find a quiet spot to study, will they leave me alone?” Head bowed, Cole picked at the cuff of his sleeve. Vanya was familiar with the gesture—instead of a hat, he hid behind the spill of his long hair, a mouse-brown curtain that shielded him from making eye contact.
Vanya’s jaw dropped. “How…?”
“Cole is a spirit of Compassion. A spirit, not a demon,” Brenna said sternly. “There is a difference and it is important.”
“Solas says that, too.” Vanya peered at Cole, curious. “I would like to learn more, but there aren’t books to study. His experience is gained through his time spent in the Fade.”
“You like to study,” Cole said. “To resolve riddles. Why one spell works but another spell doesn’t.”
“Yes.” Vanya nodded as the tension in his chest eased. “I’m good at research. At developing new spells, or rediscovering old ones. I love magical theory. There’s an order to it. A certainty. The right words in the proper order yield the same results. But people…” He trailed off and chewed his bottom lip. “You can say ‘good morning’ to ten people and get ten different responses, and I don’t understand why. I never have.”
“They watch you now,” Cole said. “The Herald of Andraste. They want words to ease the fear, but it’s hard to know the right ones.”
“Do you play chess?” Brenna asked Vanya.
“No. It needs two people.”
“I’ll teach you. It helped me navigate life outside of the Circle.”
“So you’re staying?” Vanya asked.
“It’s more accurate to say that I’m leaving but returning. I need to report to Denerim, but it’s almost certain that their majesties will order me to work with the Inquisition.” She smiled at him. “It will be all right. Cole will be here if you need someone to talk to.”
“I help the hurt. She wants to stay with you.” Cole pointed to the war hound. “Her person was killed by a red monster. She thinks you need her.”
Vanya continued to stroke the hound’s fur. “What’s her name?”
“Good Girl,” Cole said.
Brenna chuckled. “That’s not a name, dear. I don’t know what her name was before so I chose a temporary one. You’ll have to choose one for her. It’s a great honor to have a mabari bond with you.”
“I’ll think of something appropriate. We’ll keep Good Girl for now.”
“Do you have anything else you’d like to discuss?”
“Yes,” Vanya said.
“Yes,” Cole echoed.
“Several things,” Vanya amended. “But first, can you help Felix?”
***
Felix and Dorian arrived just before noon the next day, anxious to attempt Brenna’s cure. Felix looked much the same as he had when Vanya had met him in the inn in Redcliffe—perhaps he was a bit paler, and the circles under his eyes a shade darker.
“Dorian, stop fussing.” Felix tried to wave the mage away, and Dorian huffed as he folded his arms.
“I am not fussing. I am simply expressing my concern for your wellbeing.”
“That sounds like fussing to me,” Brenna said as she entered. Blackwall followed and shut the door.
They had chosen Vanya’s quarters, as he had the most room and privacy. He suspected that there hadn’t been this many people in his bedroom since he had fallen out of the Fade and the mark was trying to kill him while he was unconscious. Felix occupied the room’s only chair while the others tried not to hover around him.
Dorian’s eyes narrowed as he frowned at Blackwall. “Felix doesn’t wish to join the Grey Wardens.”
“Good, because we’re not here to recruit him.” Brenna set the wooden bucket she carried on the floor next to Felix’s chair. “The Joining is not a cure. It’s just as likely to kill you.”
“That’s cheerful. Felix Alexius.” He held his hand out to Brenna, who shook it.
“Brenna Amell, and this is Warden-Constable Blackwall.” She turned to Blackwall. “You can sense him?”
“Yes.”
“Good, that’s useful.”
“Sense him?” Dorian asked.
“The Blight allows wardens to sense darkspawn,” Brenna said. “And for the spawn to sense the wardens. Blackwall will be able to sense if I’ve successfully removed the Blight from your blood.”
“You’ve done this before?” Felix asked.
“I’ve tried it before, unsuccessfully. I wasn’t able to remove all of the Blight. I wasn’t strong enough then, but I think this will work now.”
“Why? You’re stronger now?” Vanya asked.
“After a fashion, yes.” She turned to Dorian. “As I understand it, you couldn’t get the time magic to work before. It was simply theoretical. And then when it did work, it would only allow travel as far back as the formation of the Breach, correct?”
“Yes,” Dorian said.
“I think the time travel spell worked because the Breach and the rifts aren’t just spitting out demons, they’re increasing magic. Or mages’ access to magic. You’re welcome to research that, cousin.”
Vanya nodded slowly as his thoughts began to buzz with possibilities.
“Hence, this should work if you’re willing to try,” Brenna said.
“I’m game if you are.” Felix grinned, though the expression seemed weary. “You’re no longer a warden. How did it work on you before the Breach?”
“The person who cast the spell was strong enough to do it. She’s...unique.” Brenna turned to Vanya. “Cousin, if you’ll lend us the use of your bed?”
“Of course.”
Felix chuckled as he moved. “I usually require at least drinks before a lady gets me into bed.”
“That’s all right, I usually prefer blondes.” Brenna shucked her coat and draped it over the back of the empty chair, and then she slid the empty bucket across the floor. “Gentlemen, if you’ll give us some room, please?”
Vanya, Dorian, and Blackwall stepped back as ordered.
“This will hurt,” she warned. “The Blight doesn't give up easily.”
“Neither do I,” Felix said.
“That’s the spirit.”
Brenna held her hands above Felix, her fingers splayed wide, and a white glow formed. Dispelling magic, Vanya thought—a variation on the spell meant to remove damaging magical effects.
She centered her hands over his chest, and Felix jerked as a thin line of smoky black energy spiraled up into her right hand. It collected there in a swirling sphere, and then she stretched her left hand and positioned it over the empty bucket. The energy followed and flowed into the bucket, where it fell with a liquid splat.
Her right hand began a slow circuit over his body, and Felix grimaced as more Blight was removed. He twitched and made a strangled sound of pain, and Dorian stepped forward.
“Stay back,” Brenna warned.
Dorian grasped Vanya’s hand and held it tight. Vanya understood this reaction—Dorian was afraid for his friend, and he needed support. Vanya squeezed his hand and prayed for Felix’s health.
Vanya wasn’t certain how long the process took—it felt like hours as they watched, helpless to ease Felix’s agony. Finally the flow of sickly energy slowed to a trickle, and then only a few drops remained.
“Blackwall, is he clear?” Brenna asked.
The warden approached. “Yes.”
“Oh, good.” The spell’s glow vanished, and Brenna stepped back. Her knees buckled and she started to fall, but Blackwall caught her and helped her to the chair. Blood streamed from her nose, and Vanya grabbed a handkerchief and pressed it to her face.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
“I need a drink,” she said. “Don’t kick that over, please. No one wants to scrub concentrated Blight from the floorboards.”
“Felix? Say something,” Dorian ordered.
“Let’s not do that again.” Felix’s voice was raw and ragged, but Dorian grinned.
“Well, as long as we can keep you away from more darkspawn, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
***
“Come with me, please,” Brenna said to Leliana.
Leliana frowned at the bucket Brenna carried. “What is that?”
“Leverage.”
Brenna turned and headed toward the chantry, and Leliana followed. The contents of the bucket sloshed as she strode through the chantry and down the stairs to the dungeon.
Magister Alexius was being held in the cell Brother Genetivi had once occupied. The comfortable accommodations hardly deserved to be called a cell—the desk was nicer than the one Brenna had at home. The magister was seated at said desk when Brenna stopped at the barred cell door.
“Should I unlock it?” Leliana asked.
“No. Not for this.” Brenna set the bucket down. “Magister Alexius? I’m Brenna Amell.”
“The Hero of Ferelden. Your reputation proceeds you.” Alexius rose and approached the bars. “To what do I owe this visit?”
Brenna tapped the bucket with the side of her boot. “This is the Blight I just removed from your son.”
“Felix?” His eyes widened. “You cured him?”
“I did. He’s resting now, but I imagine he’ll be by to tell you all about it tomorrow.”
“Thank you, I…”
“Oh, I expect more than a thank you, Magister. I assume you’ve met Sister Nightingale?” She nodded toward Leliana.
“I have.”
“You’re going to tell her everything you know. Every name, location, date, even the smallest detail. Because if you don’t.” Brenna leaned in and lowered her voice. “I’ll put this Blight back where I found it.”