Chapter Text
John stared at the letter in his hand, eyes fixed on a certain phrase in a certain passage. He could read the words, he could grasp their meaning, he just couldn't seem to process them.
That other mage you told me about, Surana? She didn't die at Ostagar!
He swallowed hard. He knew Lestrade like a brother, knew his friend wouldn't make such a claim unless he were absolutely sure. This...this changed everything. Arya Surana was not only alive and well, but was traveling around Ferelden, doing what she'd always been good at: helping people and keeping out of trouble.
His eyes drifted further down to a different sentence in the same passage:
I think she's going to be paying the Tower a visit in the near future...
And what was more, she might be coming back.
John shook his head, trying to clear the fog of gobsmacked disbelief. Snap out of it! You barely even knew her name; you could hardly call yourself her acquaintance, let alone her friend –
Wait a minute. Her friend. Her best and nearly only friend.
He wracked his brain for a minute. What was his name again?
Florian – no, Finn – Aldebrant.
John folded the letter, tucked it into his belt, and strode out of the templar quarters. He was off-duty, but no one thought much of a templar patrolling as they liked, provided they didn't try to pad the roster or anything. There was someone he needed to find immediately.
o~O~o
Locating Finn didn't prove difficult. There was practically only one place he could always be found when not eating or sleeping: the library. After a few minutes of searching, he found the mage seated alone at a secluded table, surrounded by books stacked well above his head. John noticed the depleted shelves and heard the enthusiastic scribbling of a quill well before he even came near the table.
“Hello, Finn.”
The young mage jumped, sending the tip of his pen across his parchment and leaving a rather startling black line through part of his notes. He didn't seem to notice as he looked up to see his visitor, a cheerful grin curving his small mouth. “Oh, hello Ser Watson! How are you today?”
John had to smile as well; Finn was one of perhaps three or four mages, senior or apprentice, who actually knew all the templars by name, and for the right reasons. “Fine, thanks. I'd like to talk to you for a minute. Am I interrupting anything?”
“No, not at all – nothing that can't wait for a bit.” Finn shut his book and turned to John, bright and eager. “What can I help you with, ser? Would you like to know about the lineage of the magister lord of your choosing? Do you need a runestone translated? Or is the prophetess Eleni being cryptic again?”
John chuckled at his enthusiasm. “Maybe some other time. Right now I want to talk to you about your friend Arya.”
“Oh?” Finn's manner was still friendly, but more guarded now. “What do you want to know about her?”
Plenty, John wanted to say, but didn't. “Actually, it's regarding what you don't know about her.”
“Oh? And what would that be?” Finn's tone had an edge of uncharacteristic defensiveness; John could only imagine the slander he'd had to deflect in the wake of her exile and supposed death.
“She's not dead, Finn.”
Finn stared at him for several long moments. “What do you mean by that?”
John was sure Finn had heard many “She lives inside you” and “She's not dead as long as she's remembered” platitudes before now. He'd heard much the same after some of his own losses. “I mean, she survived Ostagar, and she's traveling around Ferelden right now.”
Finn was silent again; John almost wished there were others around to witness the rare occurrence. “Ser Watson, if this is your idea of a joke –”
“Finn, I wouldn't joke about something like this. I swear in the name of Andraste, Arya is alive.”
Finn's incredulity only grew. “How – how do you know?”
“A friend.” John pulled the letter from his belt and laid it on the table. Unfolding it, he pointed to the relevant paragraph. “Greg Lestrade is a member of the Blackstone Irregulars. I'd told him about Arya not long after she...left the Tower. He just told me she and her friends have been helping out his organization.”
Finn was quiet as he read the indicated passage, any remaining vestiges of color slowly draining from his already pale features. “He's positive that it's her?”
“Finn, I served with him in the city guard for three years, and we've been friends for much longer. He wouldn't tell me something like this unless he were absolutely certain. He looked up her name and everything.”
Finn only nodded a little as he read and reread the letter. He stared at the parchment as if willing the words to come to life. John was about to say something else when he heard Finn muttering under his breath.
He leaned a little closer, but there was soon no need as Finn's voice slowly rose, his words gradually becoming clearer and louder, until he let out an exalted cry John was sure the whole library could hear.
“She's alive, she's alive!”
Then he leaped from his chair and threw his arms around John.
Finn was the lighter of the two, but he was also a good half a head taller than John, and John, caught off-guard, had to struggle momentarily to keep his balance. Finn pulled away then, quickly making sure the templar was stable on both feet. “Oh, I'm sorry, Ser Watson, it's just –”
John waved a hand dismissively, his grin returning; Finn's joy was infectious. “Don't worry about it, Finn, I understand.”
Finn quickly lowered his voice. “Of course you do! That's why you told me, isn't it? Oh, thank you, thank you, Ser Watson! Thank you a thousand times over! You don't know what this means to me, to know she's alive. And what's more, she's making a difference. She's helping people.” His dark eyes misted over. “That's what she always said she'd do, if she ever got out of here. Maybe it wasn't ideal...but still. I don't know how I can ever repay you for what you've done.”
John shrugged. “I was just doing the right thing.”
“Yes, well, some people in this tower have very different ideas about what that means. That was one reason she tried to help – Jowan.” The name seemed to leave a bitter taste in Finn's mouth. He looked serious for a moment before perking up again. “You didn't even really know her, or me, but you still went out of your way to tell me. That's the kind of behavior she always admired. She would have – no, she would like you, Ser Watson.”
“Thank you, Finn,” John said, touched. “And believe me, I wish I had known her.”
“Well, maybe you'll get the chance. After all, the letter does say she might be coming back.” Finn looked thoughtful. “Though I don't imagine it will be for long. She's a Grey Warden now, so she can go anywhere she wants...” He trailed off, seeming to have realized something. Without warning, he sank back into his chair. “Wait, something's wrong here.”
“What is it?”
“It's been...” Finn consulted the letter, then quickly counted on his fingers, “...four months since she left, in mid-Eluviesta, and just a little less than that since the Battle of Ostagar.” He stared off into space, his expression sinking. “Why didn't she try to contact me, to let me know she was all right?”
“I don't know, Finn,” John said gently. “Only she can answer that. Though there's no telling how long she was in recovery following Ostagar. Not to mention all the terrible rumors about the Wardens – she may have felt it was best to lie low for a while.”
Finn considered for a few moments, then looked up and nodded. “You make good points, ser. Well, it doesn't really matter. What's important is that she's alive, and she might return here! But even if I never see her again, even if she never writes, I know she'll be fine. It'll take more than a battle to take her down.”
“What makes you say that?”
Finn's smile was softer now, more affectionate and reminiscent. “She's my best friend, Ser Watson. No one knows her like I do.”
o~O~o
Excerpt from the letter John wrote to Lestrade the following day:
Thank you, thank you so much for telling me about Surana. I told Finn, her best friend, and I haven't seen him so overjoyed since we received our last book shipment. He knows he still might never see or even hear from her again, but at least he knows she's alive. I can't imagine anything worse than believing someone you love is dead when they aren't.