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Ah, shit.
It wasn’t the first time Varric had been held prisoner. Nor would it probably be the last. Trouble followed him as much as he followed trouble. Sometimes it had consequences. And now was one of those times.
The Antaam were his jailers. Grabbed him before he could even charm his way out of the situation, and was thrown into a cage only fit for a dog. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one stuck in his predicament.
“I don’t want to hear it, Harding.”
Harding pursed her lips at him, her arms folded across her chest.
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” She lied.
“Hmm.” Varric sat against the bars, chin propped on his knuckles as he thought. He’d already tried his lockpicks, but each one bent and snapped before he could pop the lock. Harding had tried with her own kit, even using an arrow head for some story macguffin magic. Their arsenal of mini bombs had only attracted their Antaam guards, who banged against the bars with their weapons.
None of the other prisoners were of any help. Most were sad looking fellows who probably couldn’t lift a bag of potatoes. The others were travelling merchants with well groomed mustaches and clothes that spoke of good incomes.
It was safe to say that they were stuck, and truly in trouble.
“Get the prisoners ready for transport!” An Antaam ordered, grinning when the poor souls in the cages flinched, eyes going wide in terror. No doubt the bastard spoke in trade to fuel the fire.
“It’ll be okay. We’ll think of something.” He heard Harding say, trying to calm down a child who had begun crying. They couldn’t have been older than eight.
Varric really fucking hated slavery.
And despite how he vowed to stop Solas, he was really starting to hate him too. Dragging him half way across Thedas just to save his skinny ass. Why did he agree to this?
But when he complained, grumbled and moaned, he imagined the Inquisitor's brown puppy eyes and he realised he never stood a chance. And there was no way he could go back without even reaching Solas.
“Varric.”
“I know.”
The Antaam were fixing their horses to the carts. In a matter of minutes they’d be dragged out of the cages, kicking and screaming, and chained together, shackled ankle to ankle, unable to run. The last thing they needed was to be charted away to the opposite direction of Solas’s trail.
They needed some divine miracle, and the last divine intervention they had blasted a hole in the sky. Their odds were slimming by the second.
Except…out of the corner of his eye, Varric saw a shadow move. It was quick like a fish in a current. He couldn’t quite make out what or who it was, it was there and gone in a flash.
Treviso was made of shadows. Things that hunted in the dark. Blades that slit without ever being seen. Assassins stalked every corner. Even dingy cobbled streets at the edge of the poorest part of the city.
It moved again, and then paused, eyes locking with Varric’s. Varric had dealt with Crows before and they were all the same - Performing smartasses with a swagger in their step. This one was no different.
They smiled, their grin sharp, cutting through the night, and brought a finger to their lips before vanishing in a blink of an eye.
“We’re about to be in a whole shitload of trouble, Harding,” Varric warned.
“I can see that,” she hissed.
Varric couldn’t help but chuckle. He wished he had Bianca on him.
“It’s gonna get worse,” Varric replied.
Something exploded. The ground shook and alarm followed suit. Fire rushed into the sky at the outskirts of the Antaam camp. Orders were shouted out, Antaam rushing to find the source of the disturbance and to put out the fire.
The prisoners watched with wide eyes, some crying out, reciting prayer. Varric held his breath. Harding stood by his side with a suspicious look on her face.
“That for us?” She asked
A figure clad in navy dropped down in front of the cage.
“Yep,” they said, grinning ear to ear. “And it’s about to get worse,”
It was instant. The prisoners relaxed and all billowed to the front of the cage. The Crows were both assassin and saviour, and to the normal folk in Treviso, they were often heroes in their time of need. The whole thing was romanticised, of course. Murderers and heroes weren’t words that really went together, but were often the same thing.
Their hero in question was young, barely in their twenties by the roundness in their eyes and the youthful apple of their cheeks. Honey coloured curls framed their freckled face and blue tattoos crossed their cheeks and under their eyes like the markings of a map. They were tall for an elf, but lithe in shape.
Something was obvious in the way they smiled, in the way they stood. They were more fledgling than Crow. And this was more of a rebellious act than a contract made to save them.
A rookie had come to their rescue.
Great.
“You got the keys, kid?” Varric asked.
The Crow flipped a ring of keys on their finger, their smile growing bigger, peacocking like all Crows did.
“Be ready to run,” they said, sliding the key into the lock. The gate to their cage popped open with a clang. “Anyone injured?”
The prisoners clambered out one by one, rushing to their saviour. A softness took over the Crow’s features as he helped them out, lending his hand and guiding those less abled to their feet.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” an older woman said, pulling the Crow down to her height and kissing him on the cheek. “Oh, Taran.”
The Crow kissed her back, cupping her cheeks in their hands.
“I’ll always come for you, Allegra.” He turned his head, eyes searching the Crowd. “Nevio, can you look after Allegra. Make sure she gets home.”
A young elf parted through the Crowd, eyes wet with shed tears.
“Of course,” they whimpered, wiping a hand across their dribbling nose. “Thought we were goners there.”
“Not while I’m alive,” Taran said, squeezing the kid’s arm. “Someone has to teach those Antaam they can’t mess with the Crows.” Taran gathered his flock close. “I need you guys to follow Nevio back into the city. When the next explosion goes off, run.”
“Will you be following?” Nevio asked, eyes growing shiny again.
“I’ll be holding off the Antaam, but I’ll see you at The Murder Roost tonight, ‘kay?”
“‘Kay.”
Taran flashed the young elf another disarming smile. Nevio blushed hard before taking hold of Allegra’s hand and began leading the rest of the prisoners through the Antaam camp.
Harding found their packs and weapons stashed with the merchant’s stolen goods. Thankfully, Bianca was in one piece.
“Hello, beautiful,” Varric said, feeling the familiar weight in his hands. Harding slung her quiver onto her back, but kept hold of the bow. They weren’t out of trouble yet.
“You two tourists?” Taran asked, hands coming up to their hips, their winged cape draping from their elbows. He eyed the weapons with a curious expression.
“Passing through,” Harding said.
“Might want to pass through quicker.”
“Because things are going to get worse,” Varric drawled.
“Exactly.” Taran flashed a smug look.
“We’re actually trying to meet up with an old friend,” Varric said, not really willing to share that their old friend was, in fact, the Dread Wolf. “He’s giving us the slip.”
“I’m guessing he wasn’t in the cage with you,” Taran asked with farce innocence.
Varric huffed through a laugh.
“If only it’d be that easy.”
“Thought if there was anyone who could help track someone that didn’t want to be found, it’d be a Crow.”
“You know how Crow contracts end, right?” Taran asked.
“It might be what we need.” Harding jumped in.
Varric kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t a secret that he wanted to give Solas the chance to redeem himself. It was slim, but he’d lost too many people to their demons, and if he could at least save one, then he’d try.
Harding thought it was a fool’s errand. But it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been called a fool.
“We met a pair of Crows a few months back. Talons,” Harding explained. “We were supposed to rendezvous with one of them last night.”
“But we got caught up in the Antaam’s little side business,” Varric said, his displeasure loud in his tone.
“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem anymore.” Taran flashed another smile before an explosion ruptured behind them. The blast swept through the camp. It whipped at Taran’s cape that billowed out like he was somehow going to fly. Varric put his weight into the soles of his boots, and Harding’s hair fell from her braids, tangling around her face.
“That’s our signal to go,” Taran piped up, squinting at the debris and dust. “I don’t want to be caught by whoever survived that.”
“What sort of contract is this?” Harding asked, and by Taran’s bright expression, Varric was right about one thing. This was just a wild ride for the kid. No coin would be passed for the kills tonight. This was one Crow acting without its flock.
Taran led the way, slowing to allow Varric and Harding to keep up with their long legs.
“I can take you to The Cantori Diamond. The Seventh Talon might just be the person you need.”
“Appreciate it.”
“We’ll take another route. Don’t want the Antaam following us straight to Novia-.” Taran skidded to a halt. Several Antaam stood in their way. “And the others.”
“Didn’t take out as many as you hoped?” Varric asked.
Taran pulled a face before drawing his spell blade.
The Antaam yelled something in qunlat and charged.
Taran pressed their back to them, summoning an orb that bobbed around their hand, buzzing with static. Harding released a series of quick arrows, each filling their target.
An Antaam swung, their axe cutting through the air. Taran ducked, rolling behind the Antaam, and sliced across their achilles heel. They fell and Taran was on them, driving their knife into the space between their neck and shoulder. Blood splattered across the Crow’s face, and the Antaam was down, withering as they fought death.
Another Antaam with arms and thighs thicker than the width of Taran charged, a hammer slamming down right where they were standing a millisecond ago. But the Crow fade-stepped, hopping across the space in flashes. They appeared next to the startled Antaam, and slid their knife across their throat in one quick motion.
Harding shared a look with Varric, and he wished he could shoot himself with Bianca. He knew that look. Knew what she was silently asking, and hiring a Crow was a bad idea. Possibly the worst idea.
But Solas wouldn’t see it coming.
With a roar, several more Antaams joined the fray, circling their new ragtag group. Varric lined his shot, his arrow embedding into the meat of an Antaam’s shoulder. Harding let loose her own arrow, and another in quick succession, hobbling the enemy.
No one saw the shadow that loomed over them until it was too late.
“On your left, kid!” Varric called out.
Taran’s attention snapped at Varric’s order, and found the source of the shadow. The Qunari that frightened the prisoners.
Varric turned, ready to assist, but Taran twisted his wrists with elongated fingers and a staff zapped into existence. They gave it a theatrical spin before using it like a club against the Qunari’s head. The Qunari paused, bafflement contorting across their face.
Taran only grinned in response and lightning sparked across their body, travelling up their staff, building and pulsing at its focus point.
“The Crows send their regards,” they said, and lightning spasmed across the camp. It zipped between Varric and Harding, cutting straight past them and into the enemies around them. The Antaam buckled, electricity racing through their bodies, yelling in pain.
And then they dropped simultaneously.
“You couldn’t have done that to start with?” Harding asked, huffing, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Taran leaned against their staff, panting but otherwise unharmed, and their hair immaculate. “And there were too many of them before. It would have only hurt, not knocked them out.”
“Hopefully, that’s the last of them.” Varric rubbed at his aching knees. He was getting too old for this sort of action. “Thanks for the save, kid.”
“It was nice saving your life.” Taran offered a hand. “I’m Taran De Riva, just so you know who to foot the bill to.”
“Oh! We’ve met a De Riva before.” Harding said, taking their hand. “Lace Harding.”
“Hopefully not due to a contract.”
“Thankfully it wasn’t on us. Their target was the same person we were hunting down.” Varric offered his own hand. “Varric Tethras.”
Taran’s eyes narrowed in thought, his expression going through a hundred emotions before it settled back into an aloof playness.
“I’ve heard that name before.”
“Probably.”
Taran ran a scrutinising eye up and down.
“You’re going to make me guess.”
“It’s more fun to find out what you know me for.”
“What if it’s because your name is on a contract?” Harding hissed.
Taran wiggled their small eyebrows.
“Then I’m a dead man walking around in Treviso,” Varric said in an exasperated tone. “Come on, lead the way-.”
They heard the whistle first. Something cutting through the air. Taran barely had time to summon his staff before an arrow cut straight into his throat.
“ Shit .”
Taran fell, dropping to their back with a sickening gurgling noise.
“Harding!”
“On it!”
Varric went to Taran’s side. They withered on the ground, spitting blood between pained wheezes.
“Hang on, kid.” Varric placed his hands against theirs and pressed down. Taran whined, bloodied teeth gritted together.
The arrow cut straight through, leaving a gaping hole in Taran’s neck. It was hard to see the exact damage with blood pumping between Taran’s fingers, soaking into his doublet.
Varric reached into his pack, unspooling a stretch of bandages and folded them against Taran’s neck.
“Hold,” he instructed, moving their hands over the bandages. Taran nodded, eyes hardening, his hands tightening. The pressure dragged a wet sound from the back of their throat before they were gagging, spluttering blood as they choked on it. “Easy. Slow breaths.”
Taran tried. Their back arched as they sucked in a broken breath, their face screwed up in pain.
“Nice and easy.” Varric coached, wincing at the way Taran retched, swallowing blood only for it to come back up, bursting between his lips. Varric reached into his pack, fishing for a potion he was saving for an emergency. He drew it out, disappointment filling him as it came out cracked - the Antaam were too rough with their things. Half of it had spilled, drenching his bag and belongings. With the remaining liquid, he poured it over the wound, watching as the muscle stretched and began to stitch together.
“You’ll be good as new in no time,” Varric said, patting Taran’s chest.
Taran’s eyes fluttered as his breathing evened. The wound hadn’t closed entirely, and blood was still soaking through the bandages, but they were no longer choking on their own blood.
“Do I get to charge you for saving your life, kid?” Varric asked, earning a pitiful chuckle from them.
“Varric!”
He turned. Harding was down on one knee, bow drawn. An Antaam was fast approaching. Her arrow bounced off their armour as though it was nothing more than a simple stick and not a deadly projectile.
Varric leapt for Bianca, firing a shot straight into the Antaam’s chest. It did nothing to slow them down.
Taran raised a shaking hand, magic bursting on the tips of their bloodied fingers. But it fizzled, the spell breaking before it could take form.
“ Shit .”
Varric braced, firing another bolt, but it went wild, missing the Antaam. Static sparked around them, weak pops of electricity that only made the hairs on his arms stand up.
The Antaam swung.
A blade spun through the air, flying overhead and lodged itself straight into the Qunari’s forehead. They blinked, blood dribbled down the curve of their nose before their eyes rolled back, and they collapsed, landing face first in the dirt.
Harding snapped her bow in the direction of the blade, only to find another Crow standing in its wake with a furious scowl on their face.
“Uh oh,” Taran croaked, their face turning pale.
“You are late,” Viago called out, stepping around the piles of bodies around them.
“We got a little caught up,” Varric said, deflating in relief.
“Harding. Varric.” Viago nodded in greeting before turning their attention to their fallen bird.
“Hi Viago.” Taran smiled, though it was more of a wince. Blood spilled out of the corner of their mouth.
A look of displeasure deepened the furrow on Viago’s brow.
“What. Happened?” He asked, his voice clipped.
“Antaam-.” Taran coughed, painful hacks jerking through his chest.
“They need treatment,” Varric said. “Arrow went straight through their neck.”
It was a miracle they hadn’t died on the spot. But Varric didn’t know a single Crow that was easy to kill.
Vaigo bent down and gathered Taran into their arms.
“Sorry, Viago,” Taran whined, their voice barely a whisper. Viago didn’t look at them and instead drew his attention to Varric and Harding.
“I do not like to ask for favours.”
“We have your back,” Harding said, drawing an arrow, letting it rest in her fingers, ready. “It’s partially our fault they got hurt.”
“It’s their own fault.” Viago’s frown deepened. “But thank you.”
Varric felt his age when they finally managed to escape the Antaam. He felt it in his knees. In his back. In truth, he felt it everywhere.
Viago led them through one of his hideouts, guiding them into a room decorated floor to ceiling with paintings. Varric felt several pairs of eyes watching him as he passed portraits of people from long time passed. Or maybe they were watching the blood trail following behind Viago.
How Taran how survived an arrow to the throat was some miracle. Or maybe the kid was just lucky.
The sort of luck they could use right now.
Viago set Taran down on a soft cot, quickly stripping him of his doublet and cape. Taran tried to help with shaky fingers, only for Viago to slap their hand away.
“Here.” Harding moved into Viago’s space, a kit set on the bed. “The potion has done half the job, but we need to make sure the wound stays closed.” She unspooled thread and slid it through the eye of a needle.
“That’s a big pin,” Taran croaked, eyes squinting open.
“The arrow was bigger and you took that,” Harding said with a sly smile.
“Not the biggest thing-.”
Viago slapped them on the forehead.
“No one wants to hear.”
Taran laughed, a cheeky thing that made their cheeks bunch.
Harding sat next to them on the bed, and began stitching their skin together. Taran didn’t make a noise, their only reaction was the twitch of their brow when Harding pulled or tugged a little forcefully.
“I’ll leave it in your hands,” Viago said, stepping back from the bed and leaving the room, closing the door behind him. The front of their doublet was covered in blood. He scrubbed at the leather with a cloth, but the clothing was ruined, the blood seeping into the grooves. He binned the gloves before producing another pair from his pocket, sliding them over his long fingers.
Finally, he slumped next to where Varric had found a low sofa, hands coming to massage his temples.
“You have a knack for finding trouble and dragging me into the center of it, my friend.” Viago levelled them with a scrutinising stare.
“Trust me, I try to avoid it, but it comes with the territory.” Varric shrugged.
“The territory being you tracking down your fugitive friend?”
“Exactly. The trail is cold. We’ve heard nothing for months.” Varric sighed, running a rough hand down his face, scratching at the scruff that was slowly getting more and more haggard with each passing week.
“Your target, are they dangerous?”
“Extremely. He won’t hesitate to kill to get what he wants.” And that was a fact. Solas was prepared to drown the world in darkspawn to right his mistake. Varric didn’t even want to think about how many souls would die if they failed to stop him. It was a thought that kept him going, one that kept him awake at nights. And with Solas giving them the slip, his last known location weeks old, hopeless was weighing him down.
“And our meeting?” Viago asked.
“You Crows thrive on secrets. Thought if there was someone who would know our target's whereabouts, it’d be you.”
“Your adventure in Aralthan came up empty?”
“Solas was there. Then he wasn’t. Dragged us all the way to Minrathous, before we lost him completely. He sent us on a wild goose chase.” Varric sighed. “He knows us too well. Played us like he plays everyone.”
“And you’ve come to hire a Crow to do your dirty work?” Viago said, beating him to the punchline.
“You Crows are sneaky. I’ve seen people go through hoops trying to hide from your assassins only to end up dead before they even know what’s hit them,” Varric explained. “Might be the sort of help we need. The Inquisitor agrees.”
Viago frowned, his jaw tensing.
“It may not be a good time to spare someone. Four Talons are dead. Caterina is mourning. The Antaam are sniffing around. They’ve already invaded three of Antiva’s cities. Treviso is next.” Varric watched as his eyes hardened with realisation. “And with Taran’s excellent display of rebellion, we’ve lost our hand.”
“It might not matter if Solas finishes his mission.”
“You have skirted around the details of your target before. If I am to spare one of my Crows, then I need the details of our contract.”
“You won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“Solas is the Dread Wolf. An elven god, or not god. His tune changes.” Varric waved a hand. “Point is, he’s going to tear down the veil and flood Thedas with darkspawn. And me and Harding are trying to stop him.”
“You’re right. I don’t believe you.” Viago sat up and pushed his hair out of his face.
Varric huffed, having sung that particular song for the last ten years. If he hadn’t fought demons and fake gods, he wouldn’t have believed him either. But now, after everything he’d seen, he was ready to believe anything.
“Well, he’s not dead,” Harding said, coming into the room.
The sigh Viago let out was close to one of relief.
“Will he live?”
“Most likely. He’s just lost a lot of blood. Got quiet once I was finished.”
Viago let out a breath through his nose.
“Feeling sorry for themselves.”
Harding glanced over to Varric, who shrugged.
“He needs rest, but I don’t think he’ll die on us.”
“Good.” Viago stood up and ripped open the door to the room Taran was residing in. Varric followed, Harding by his side.The kid flinched awake, their exhausted expression turning sheepish under Viago’s steel glare. There were bandages wrapped around their neck, the material darkening where the wound was. They were paler, the blood loss turning their skin an almost white blue colour, their freckles black in contrast.
Viago didn’t seem to see anything of this. A vein on their forehead bulged.
“What were you thinking?” Viago asked. “No. Actually. I know my answer. You weren’t.”
“They were selling people, Viago.” Taran pushed themselves up on the bed, their voice rough and brittle sounding. Their hand went to their throat, fingers tugging at the bandages.
“I told you to leave the Antaam alone.”
Taran’s eyebrows twitched, battling with their temper.
“They.were.selling.people.”
Viago’s furrow deepened, their jaw set tight.
“So, you thought it was a good idea to go in alone to take down an entire Antaam camp?” Viago asked, his tone incredulous.
“I did take down an entire Antaam camp,” Taran argued.
“Viago, be easy on the kid. He did save us and all those people.” Varric stepped in.
Viago swung his glare down at Varric, his nostrils flaring over his mustache.
“He almost got himself killed. If I wasn’t meeting with you and Harding, then he would’ve.”
“I’d rather be killed than let innocent people be sold into slavery,” Taran snapped. “What’s the point of being a Crow, of being House De Riva, of trying to be this big change, if you won’t let me help people?”
“It’s not that simple. You ruined an operation already in motion.”
“What operation?”
“We were watching them. Do you really think I would allow slavers in my city? Think about your answer.”
“You don’t trust me to know all your secret operations, and then berate me for not knowing.”
“There is a reason for that. Look at the mess you’ve created.”
“I saved those people.”
“And doomed everyone else with your mistake.”
Taran’s mouth opened before snapping shut. Shame filled his eyes, but he didn’t look away from Viago’s iron glare.
“Three days, and then get your things.”
Taran’s expression fell, hurt flashing across their features.
“Viago?”
“Do you not understand me? Three days and then I want you out of Treviso.” He turned to leave, his cape billowing behind him.
“Viago, wait, you can’t just-.” Taran called out, stumbling from the bed, his voice breaking.
“Yes, I can, Taran.” Viago snapped around and stood tall, and despite almost being the same height, towered over Taran. “You disobeyed me. You can’t be a Crow if you don’t listen to your elders. I am your Talon. I make the rules.”
“I understand. I do.”
“You haven’t shown that you do.”
“I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked of me!” Taran pleaded, grabbing Viago’s cape.
Viago snatched Taran’s wrist.
“Let go.”
“Fifth Talon, please.”
“No.” Viago stepped back, ripping Taran and his cape apart. Taran followed into his space, his eyes wide, expression lost.
“I need the Crows.” Taran’s voice broke, strangling on itself, twisting until he was left bent over himself, coughing. Blood spat out against his hand as he tried to cover his mouth, spittle flying over his cheeks and chin.
“Okay, that’s enough.” Harding stepped between them. “You can lecture him tomorrow. And you need rest.”
“Viago.” Taran looked up between his fringe with wet eyes, ignoring Hading. “I can’t.”
Viago sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I know, but you do not deserve it.”
And with the finality of it, he turned around, leaving Taran standing in his wake.
The kid stared, gasping through pitiful little wheezes. He stepped forward, intending to chase Viago, but Harding stood in their path.
“Nuh uh, you need to rest.”
Taran blinked down at her before trying to step around.
“Nope.” Harding pointed at the cot. “Bed.”
Taran turned to Varric, a puzzled look on his face.
“I wouldn’t bother fighting with her. She always wins.” Varric held up his hands.
“Viago-.” Taran croaked, his eyes screwed tight in pain as he devolved into coughing.
“Rest. I’ll talk to him.” Not that Varric really knew the ins and outs of being a Crow. He was sure it was the same with any employment, though probably with less stabbing. “Go.” Varric waved him off, letting Harding herd them back to bed.
He found Viago perched on the edge of the sofa, head balanced on his hands almost like he was paying. Varric plopped down next to him with his knees cracking.
“That was pretty harsh,” he said, watching the way Viago’s jaw clicked.
“They do not listen.” Viago sneered. “They do not do as they are told. If I wasn’t there, then I would be burying them.”
“Look, I can’t tell another how to raise their kid, but-.”
“Taran isn’t mine.” Viago’s moustache scrunched up under his nose.
“What? The resemblance is uncanny.”
Viago sighed.
“I know how Crows recruit,” Varric said. “They’re your charge, though, right?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Then go a little easy on them. He did save a bunch of people tonight, including us. It was quite impressive.” Varric nodded towards the room. “And injuries like that leave their mark. He’ll be more vigilant because of it.”
“The Antaam are planning their attack. It has been months of them circling Treviso. We have been waiting, trying to hold them back. Taran has undone all our hard work. The Antaam already in the city have reacted. I do not have enough Crows to hold them back.
And when the other Houses find out who was responsible, they will come for him. I cannot protect them from knives I cannot see.” Viago’s gloves squeaked as he clenched them together. “He will be safer if we can give them time to calm down.”
“Including you?”
Viago barked a laugh, though it titled at the end, warping into something sorrowful.
“If that were the case, I would have killed them years ago.”
Varric laughed along with him.
“And you say they aren’t your kid.”
Viago’s smile softened.
“I do not want him killed for this mistake. If I let him stay, he will be.”
“Won’t really be safe out there for a wayward Crow, either,” Varric said. “Not alone anyway…” He thought of the chase ahead, the wild goose chase Solas had made them take. And now he was long gone, leaving them behind with not even bread crumbs to follow.
Even if they did catch up, it would be the same song and dance. Solas knew them too well. They needed something Solas wouldn’t see coming. Someone he couldn’t predict.
“Harding and I could use a wild card.”
Viago’s furrow deepened before his face transformed into one of perplexion.
“You saw the mess they just made.”
“Exactly.”
Viago shook his head like Varric was crazy. And maybe he wasn’t wrong. Running after the Dread Wolf really was a terrible idea. One that would probably get them all killed in the end.
But someone had to do it.
“I did come here wanting to hire a Crow. And you just so happen to be trying to get rid of one. I think that’s a bargain.”
“He won’t play by your rules, Varric. He acts first, thinks four years later.”
“That’s the sort of person we need. Solas is playing with us. Whenever we think we’re five steps ahead of him, he’s actually turned us around in another direction. He knows us too well. Knows how we think, how we’ll act, what we’ll do.” Varric huffed, thinking of all the time they had wasted by falling for Solas’ tricks. “We need someone Solas doesn’t know. Someone who can give us that one chance to stop him.”
“I have better Crows.”
“I don’t need better. I need unpredictable.”
Viago pursed their lips together, a wrinkle creasing on their forehead, eyes dark in thought.
“I will draft a contract. You’ll get it in the morning.” Viago stood and offered his hand. Varric took it and grinned.
“A pleasure doing business as always.”
“Hmm.”
Varric whistled as they parted.
“A contract by the Crows of Antiva to take down the Dread Wolf. Solas won’t know what’s hit him.”
“It will at least ease some of the embarrassment Taran has made of House De Riva tonight. And potentially give us back some honour.”
“Is it really that bad?” Varric asked. News from Antiva was slow, normally only rumours and whispers. And he was on the road too often, lost in some woods or back alleyways to really know what was happening to the world around him. All he truly knew was it was once again on fire and everyone had gone to shit.
“We lost quite a lot.” Viago turned to the room where Taran rested. “I do not wish to lose more.”
Varric wished he could soften that worry, but the truth was that he didn’t know the outcome of their little adventure. Solas left a trail of bodies wherever he went. His bleeding heart was the only reason he and Harding weren’t dead. He didn’t know if that heart would extend to Taran.
“I will go. If he sees me, he will only beg to stay.” He turned back to Varric. “Take care of them, Varric.”
But Varric was a storyteller, someone able to spin stories, a liar by both pen and tongue.
“You have my word.”
Morning came, and Varric woke with a crick in his neck. Antivian sofas were made to look nice, not be sat or slept on, it seemed.
“I think it would’ve been better to sleep on the floor,” Harding said from her own sofa, her pigtails crooked.
“We should have stayed at a nice plush brothel.” Varric grinned.
“I’d rather the Antivian sofa,” Harding drawled.
“Can’t be too picky about these sorts of things, Harding.” He tumbled out of his makeshift bed, his knees clicking and popping as he stretched. “Should hit the road by midday. We’ve lost too much time.”
“Does Taran know he’s coming with us? Will he even leave Treviso? He seemed set to stay.”
“Viago has given them a little incentive.” A letter sat on top one of small tables. Varric plucked it up, finding Taran’s name scrawled on the front of it in big loopy handwriting.
“The contract?” Harding asked. He had filled her in while Taran slept, and while they tried and failed to do with the stiff furniture.
“Paid for by Inquisitor Lavellan.”
“Lucky Solas.”
The door to the bedroom opened, cutting through their conversation.
Taran stood in the doorway, their hair bunched around their head like a bird’s nest. They were still pale with dark circles around their eyes - Varric wondered if they were tossing and turning, their future weighing too heavy on them to truly sleep.
“Sleeping Beauty has risen,” Varric said. “Did you have a nice nap?”
“Viago’s gone,” Taran said, not really asking. A statement. He didn’t even look around to see if the other Crow was there.
“Yep. Left while you were sleeping - but he didn’t leave you empty handed.” Varric plucked up the letter and handed it to Taran, whose eyes widened before narrowing down at the envelope. They tore it open, skimming through the letter before reading it again. They paused, focused on one part, their brow furrowed, before their head snapped up.
“The Dread Wolf!” Taran exclaimed. “He wants me to hunt down The Dread Wolf!”
“It’s what we’re doing, kid.”
Taran stared before bringing up a hand and pointing to himself.
“And me?”
Varric laughed, slapping them on the back.
“We needed a Crow. Viago needed you out of the picture for a while. We came to a compromise.”
Taran stumbled back before plopping down on a sofa.
“The Dread Wolf…he’s real and you’re hunting him down?”
“We know him as Solas,” Harding supplied. “He helped with the Inquisition years ago.”
“But now he’s trying to bring down the veil, killing millions in the process.”
Taran stared down at the letter again as if it magically would change.
“And you want me to join your party to kill him? The Dread Wolf. The Dread Wolf.” Taran blinked before dropping their head into their hands. “If he wanted me dead, Viago could have just poisoned me.” They grumbled under their breath.
“No one wants you dead.” Varric tutted. “Not saying that you won’t die. Solas will probably kill all three of us if we keep poking our noses where he doesn’t want them, but someone has to try and stop him.”
“You two are crazy,” Taran said. “You know who the Dread Wolf is, right?”
“More than anyone else.”
Taran shook their head, their curls bouncing.
“You can’t kill a god.”
“No ones saying you have to kill him-.”
“Varric, you know it might come to that,” Harding argued. “He’s not going to play nice just because you ask.”
“Bah,” Varric huffed. “We’ll circle back to that when we find him again.”
Harding crossed her arms across her chest.
“You two don’t seem to be on the same page?” Taran interjected.
“Nothing you need to worry about. Not yet anyway.” Varric patted Taran’s knee. “We just need someone to track him down and keep him on his toes.”
“And you picked me?”
“You have the right sort of messy energy we’re missing.”
Taran pouted, their nose wrinkling and their chin jutting out.
“ Thanks .”
“So, are you coming?” Harding asked. “I’m not entirely sure how your contracts work other than the killing part, but-.” She gestured her hand around the room.
“I don’t want to leave,” Taran said, poking at the bandages around his neck. “But if Viago wants me to accept this contract, then I’ll do it.” They looked down at the letter with a cautious and wary expression. “I’ll track down the Dread Wolf.”