Chapter Text
9:51 Dragon, Minrathous, Tevinter Imperium
The shift from sleep to being awake was never easy, especially knowing it was such a rare chance that he and Ashur had time to be together. But something pulled Rook to consciousness and he sat up in bed rubbing sleepily at his eyes. Overcome by a yawn, he stretched his arms up and over his head, working out the stiffness. As he recovered himself, he spared the man lying next to him a warm, fond smile. The faintest hints of sunlight streaked in through the window, breathing life into the warm, tanned skin as his chest rose and fell in even measure. Delight twined tightly with affection in Rook until he could not tell where one ended and the other began. Leaning over, he brushed a kiss to a bare shoulder, then then slid from the bed, tugging the bedclothes up over his lover’s body.
“Mmmm?”
A laugh bubbled in Rook’s chest, trying in vain to escape past his lips. Ashur wasn’t anymore fond of early mornings than Rook was, as it usually meant he would soon leave to head back to the Divine manor in Hightown. One day, sometime in the distant future maybe, they might not have to worry as much about such things, but not today.
In the end, temptation got the better of him and Rook brushed a kiss to Ashur’s temple. “Sleep, amatus,” he murmured coaxingly. “All is well.”
Ashur sighed as a feeling of satisfaction filled Rook’s chest. All was indeed well. The night before, the Shadow Dragons had pulled off another successful mission. Twelve more Tevinter slaves now had their freedom and were on their way to new lives across Thedas. Celebrating had been an excuse, but both men knew the real reason Ashur stayed the night was because he wanted to be there. And Rook wasn’t about to argue with that.
A firm rap at the door beyond the bedroom echoed through the small, two-room flat. Sighing, Rook climbed out of bed, reaching for his robe and tugging it over broad shoulders while padding barefoot into the next room to answer the summons. At least now he had the reason for being pulled from deep slumber.
He covered another yawn after securing the robe, then tugged open the door. Pushing strands of burnished copper from his eyes so he could see, his vision settled on an elf of average height and build, but with a shock of long, violet hair. She was dressed in a familiar blood-red sash folded over grey tunic and trousers. Talia, he recalled. “Yes?”
Their eyes met, a flash of recognition brightening her gaze. Crossing her right hand over her chest in greeting – he really needed to talk to Ashur about the formality some of the new Dragons insisted upon using – she handed over a rolled scroll with her left. “Message for you, sir.”
Rook accepted the missive, but as he started to thank her, she darted away without a word, running down the street and slipping back into the early morning shadows.
And thus began another day in Minrathous.
He covered a third yawn as he used his foot to close the door behind him while at the same time deftly breaking the seal on the message with his thumb.
“Back to work already?”
The sleepy voice at the inner doorway pulled Rook’s attention away from the missive, and he tossed it onto the table. Crossing the room, he came to a stop in front of the bare-chested man. Contentment was something Rook would never get used to; as a soldier, it often meant being unprepared for potential threats. But here, now, with this man, he savored it. Most days – especially in the capital city – were a fight, battles both literal and figurative. But for now, though fleeting, they had a moment’s peace to share and enjoy.
Lifting a finger, Rook set it lightly where Ashur’s shoulder and neck joined, then lightly traced it down his chest. “I thought I told you to sleep,” he chided gently, noting with no small delight the slight shiver just beneath the other man’s skin.
Though he was still half asleep, Ashur’s arm immediately slid around Rook’s waist and held him in place. Rook chuckled, a private, knowing smile sliding across his lips. It was a possessive move; one meant to remind him just where they stood with one another.
As if I didn’t know after last night.
But Ashur was in a mood this morning, it seemed. In a moment, he switched their positions around, pushing Rook’s back against the frame of the door, his head descending to capture Rook’s lips with his in a heated kiss. Desire stirred to life in Rook’s belly, quick and fierce, and a groan escaped before he could stop it. Not that he wanted to. Raising both hands, he framed Ashur’s face, holding him there. “I told you to go back to sleep.”
“Some things are more important than sleep,” Ashur’s deep voice rumbled once he broke the contact.
Rook chuckled and ran his tongue over his gently bruised lower lip. Ashur’s gaze locked onto the move, following it. “I’ll be sure to remind you of that the next time I catch you falling asleep at your desk,” Rook promised, lips sliding into a knowing smirk.
It was nice, these moments they shared together. Sometimes soft and gentle. Other times more desperate and needy. But by far, the best were those where Rook could catch the man in a moment of impulsiveness. Like now, swooping back in for another kiss, this one lengthy and heated and exciting in ways that left his belly curling in satisfying knots.
Outside, the Chantry bell rang out the hour, its loud bong reverberating across the city. Rook slid one hand up Ashur’s chest and the other around his neck as the other man broke the kiss, reluctant to be separated just yet. Ashur shifted back just enough to rest their foreheads together, his twisting with regret without voicing the words. Life, like always, found a way to intrude. Rook kept silent; complaining served no purpose but to sour the short time they had left.
Such was life when the man you loved was Imperial Divine. Their lives were not their own but they did the best they could to share. Being Ashur’s bodyguard gave them a few more opportunities and then there was their joint work with the Shadow Dragons. Still, there were times they had to go their separate ways for a while and Rook had a sneaking suspicion the missive he’d just received would lead in that direction.
Swallowing his own regret, Rook sighed softly as he brushed the tip of his nose along Ashur’s one last time before pulling away. Moving back into the kitchen, he headed over to start coffee while Ashur took a seat at the table.
While the coffee heated, Rook gathered their mugs and brought them to the table. As he set them out, he noticed that Ashur was wearing his shirt from the day before. The unease at their imminent separation momentarily faded. A man who spent so much of his time visible to the world as the head of the Imperial Chantry could not risk open affection, especially in public, so he found other, more subtle ways of doing so. Chuckling and shaking his head, Rook went to collect their breakfast.
“What’s so funny?”
Rook shot a grin over at him. “My shirt looks better on you than me.”
Blinking, Ashur glanced down, a slight flush finding his cheeks, but he just shrugged. “Blue has always been my color.”
Rook set out a loaf of bread and some sliced meats and cheese on the table. It was simple, standard fare, his go-to after a decade spent serving in the Tevinter military. And despite his upper-class upbringing, Ashur never seemed to mind. In fact, he now reached for the knife and went about slicing the bread while Rook retrieved the missive he’d tossed aside earlier and opened it. Recognition came the moment his eyes settled on the page.
Cousin –
If you could spare a few minutes of your valuable time, a situation has come to light that requires your unique attention. Your earliest convenience would be most appreciated. I’ll have Cook make those plum tarts you like so much by way of apology for interrupting your day.
– Dorian
Rook accepted the sandwich Ashur handed him and took a bite, chewing on it as he reread the note. Like most of Dorian’s messages, it was short, sweet, to the point...yet very vague. It wasn’t so much what was said in it than what wasn’t where the magister was concerned. Handing it over to Ashur and setting his sandwich aside, Rook went to retrieve the coffee. “Fancy a trip to Hightown?”
Ashur set the message aside when Rook returned. “I wonder what this is about.”
Rook shrugged. “Knowing Dorian, it could be any number of things. If I had to guess, ‘unique attention’ either refers to my military experience or to the Shadow Dragons as a whole.”
“And the ‘plum tarts you like so much’?” A knowing smirk tugged at Ashur’s lips as Rook handed him a mug.
Rook grinned as he sat. “No one but my mother ever made them for me, as you well know.”
The gentle affection in his tone had little to do with Dione Mercar’s skill as a cook – which had been excellent – and more to do with her memory. She’d been gone from his life for nearly seven years now, the innocent victim of a freak accident. Neither Rook nor his father – both who had been serving with the Legion up at Ventus at the time – had ever been given any of the details, just vague hints that it had been horrific and those who investigated had wished to keep the worst of it from the grieving family.
Seven long years... “That reminds me,” he continued a moment later in a slightly more sober tone, “I need to stop by the Wall of Light soon.”
Ashur set aside his sandwich and reached across the table, tangling his fingers with Rook’s and squeezing sympathetically. “It’s been almost a year, hasn’t it?”
“It won’t take long,” Rook promised.
Since his return to Minrathous a little over three years before, Rook had taken to watching over the memorial for Dione at the Chantry. Every year on the anniversary of her death, he would go and infuse it with a light spell to keep it going.
“You know that isn’t an issue. We will make the time to go – together – and you can spend what time you need, amatus.” Ashur lifted Rook’s hand so he could brush a kiss across his knuckles. “So, Dorian’s cook now makes these tarts for you?”
How did you thank someone who understood so easily? It was one of Ashur’s best traits, one that made him so good at his position as Imperial Divine despite being far younger than most of his predecessors. It also made him an exceptional leader of the Shadow Dragons.
Smiling his thanks as he pulled his hand free, Rook retrieved his breakfast. “She made them for my nameday one year and ever since when I visit.”
“Sounds like a good enough reason to accompany you, if you ask me,” Ashur replied.
~
Magister Dorian Pavus, like most of the other magisters of the capital city, lived in Hightown. The walk from Rook’s apartment to his estate was a relatively short one. He and Ashur had barely arrived – indeed, Rook’s fist hovered just over the door to knock – when the door was pulled open by the magister himself. “Ah, cousin! How good to see you again!”
Rook smiled and gestured Ashur ahead of him as they crossed the threshold. “I hope you don’t mind I didn’t come alone.”
“It’s good to see you, Dorian,” Ashur said by way of greeting.
“And you, my friend. Excellent initiative on your part. I think you both will be interested in the reason for this visit.”
Dorian led them further inside, and as they followed, Rook darted a quick look over at Ashur. Dorian was leading them to his private study, not the salon where he usually entertained guests. Whatever the reason behind the message, it must be important. “We came as soon as we could.”
Dorian chuckled, a slight admonishment in the sound but otherwise pleased enough. “Straight to business, is it? No time for social niceties? Small talk? A drink? A moment to catch your breath before taking on a new set of troubles? Viola will be devastated if you don’t at least take a moment to savor one of her tarts, you know.”
They arrived at the door to the study and Dorian opened it with his usual flair, gesturing Rook and Ashur in before him. Rook hadn’t been inside the room before, but he had heard about it from the man during previous visits. It was a nice room, as expected: warm and cozy, a fire blazing in the hearth. Various paintings lined the walls, objets d’art displayed on any open surface, and a collection of Dorian’s more garish magical staves on display in one corner: beautiful to look at but always at the ready should they be needed. Overall, a far more charming and cheery atmosphere than the salon, to Rook’s way of thinking. A room, he decided, that he might like to have in his own home, should he ever have a place large enough for such things.
A chaise and two chairs were situated near the hearth, clearly taking advantage of the warmth, and on the table between them, the tray of baked treats Viola no doubt had spent the morning making. Moving over, Rook ignored the amusement in Ashur’s and Dorian’s gazes and liberated one of the plum tarts from the tray, taking a bite. Making sure Dorian could see his delight on his face, Rook turned back to the magister. Technically, Dorian was his father’s cousin, not his, but from their first meeting years before, he had treated Rook as family. For him, it appeared, the lack of a direct bloodline between them did not matter.
As he popped the last bit of pastry into his mouth, Rook took a seat in one of the chairs. “Please give Viola my gratitude. The tarts are, as always, spectacularly delicious!”
“You’ll have made her year with your praise,” Dorian assured him.
Ashur, who to this point had remained in the background, also flashed an amused smile at Rook as he took a seat and turned his attention to Dorian. “Your message implied the matter was urgent.”
The teasing smirk that had been present just moments before drained from the magister’s dark eyes and his lips pursed into a thin, tight line. “You...could say that.”
Rook’s attention was caught by an unexpected soft snick behind him. Both he and Ashur turned. A hidden door that blended in with the décor of the room opened. Instinct had Rook reaching for the small blade he always carried at his hip while Ashur’s fingers moved in a familiar rhythmic pattern, calling his magic to the ready.
Dorian stepped forward, settling a hand each on their shoulders while murmuring, “It’s all right, he’s a friend.”
The friend in question was a middle-aged dwarf with soulful dark eyes and a mane of dark hair with silver streaks threaded through. His expression was every bit as serious as their host’s. Exchanging a brief look with Dorian, he stepped into the room.
“Viscount Varric Tethras,” Dorian said formally, “I would like to introduce you to two very good friends of mine. Nicias Mercar,” he squeezed Rook’s shoulder, “and the Viper, both of the Shadow Dragons.”
Rook stiffened. It had been a long time since he’d used his real name, especially in Minrathous where his enemies could track him down, and introducing Ashur – even by his nickname – was always a danger, no matter the company. But to so freely give their names to someone they knew nothing about... “Dorian –”
The magister’s hand tightened on his shoulder, silently asking for patience. “Rook is formerly a mage centurion of the legionnaires but has found his second calling among the Shadow Dragons. He is second in command and, I believe, will have some ideas how best to help you.”
The dwarf cocked his head slightly, scrutinizing both Rook and Ashur from head to toe and back again. “And you’ll vouch for them, Sparkler?”
Releasing his hold on the men, Dorian stepped forward with a soft chuckle. “My friend, I’ve trusted both with my life for years now. Given what we went through together during the Inquisition, that alone should give you the answers you seek.”
A slow smile spread across the viscount’s face, and as it settled into place, his chestnut eyes sparkled, the grave expression vanishing. “Now, that sounds like a story worth sharing.” He exchanged a quick look with Dorian before adding, “Another time, perhaps.”
“Excellent.” Dorian said, and they both took a seat across from where Rook and Ashur were still perched on the edge of their chairs. “Now then, where shall we begin?”
Rook shared a quick look with Ashur, slightly unsure of how to proceed. Technically speaking, Ashur was the leader of the Dragons and Rook just his second in command and private bodyguard.
Ashur made the slightest tilt of his head, a nod for Rook to take the lead in their conversation. With that settled, Rook asked, “Viscount of...”
Varric chuckled. “I’m not one for standing on ceremony, kid. Just call me Varric.” Dark eyes sparkled with curiosity. “So, you’re second in command?”
Rook nodded.
“What’s a mage centurion?”
Rook shifted in his seat. “I served in the Tevinter Legion. I led a battle group – called a century – and because I was their leader, I was a centurion. But I am also a mage, so my official rank was mage centurion. Think of it as a fancy title for battle mage.”
Varric sat there listening intently, one hand rubbing along a stubble-covered jaw thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard of a battle mage before.”
Dorian poured himself a cup of coffee and sat back, eyes twinkling as he explained, “You won’t find many in Tevinter. Most mages would have jumped at the chance to improve their social station when given a chance. Laeterns – despite being the lowest of the low among mages – still gain much by taking part in the never-ending social and political battle of I’m better than you.” Dorian’s lips twitched as he flashed an affectionate smile in Rook’s direction. “But Rook, here, had other ideas. Much to his dear mother’s dismay, I might add.”
Heat rose in Rook’s cheeks. “My father trained me to be a soldier from a very young age,” he explained. “When my magic manifested, I wasn’t going to let that stand between me and my duty.”
Dorian rolled his eyes, a sardonic, “Maker forbid,” escaping his lips as he sipped his coffee.
Ashur’s expression remained carefully neutral, though Rook swore he could see a sparkle of amusement flickering behind his hazel eyes, if only briefly.
To Varric, Rook asked, “Is my being a mage a problem for you?”
The dwarf on the other hand, did nothing to hide his amusement. With a warm and friendly smile, he replied, “Look, kid, I may be from the southern part of Thedas, but I know my history. Well,” he added while winking, “most of it, anyway. Enough to change the facts as necessary when I write.”
When I write...
Varric Tethras. “Wait,” Rook interrupted, several pieces of a much larger puzzle slotting into place all at once, “are you saying you’re the author, Varric Tethras? From Kirkwall?”
The dwarf grinned, face lighting up as he flashed Dorian an I told you so sort of grin. “One and the same. You’ve heard of me, then?”
Rook glanced at Ashur as he nodded at Varric. He absolutely had heard of him. Though his books were a challenge to get in Tevinter, he and Ashur had spent evenings together reading the ones they could find.
Ashur chuckled softly as he gave Varric his full attention. “How can we be of assistance, Varric?”
Any and all brightness in the room faded. Varric’s earlier grave expression returned, lines deeper, shadows darker. Even Dorian seemed to age a few years as he set his drink aside and leaned forward as Varric spoke.
“Several months ago, a good friend of mine went missing,” the dwarf began. He held his breath briefly, then released it in a heavy sigh. “I was away at the time on Inquisition business, but as soon as I found out, I started looking for her. My search has taken me far and wide, but a recent lead brought me here, into the heart of Tevinter.” A wry smile twisted across his lips. “Not exactly where I expected to end up.” He darted an apologetic look at Dorian.
The magister smiled, reaching for his usual wit and charm even as he waved away Varric’s apology. “Can’t say as I blame you, my friend. Please, go on.”
“As you can imagine,” Varric continued, “most Tevinters – Tevenes? I can’t remember which it is – think they’re witnessing the next great invasion when foreigners like me show up, so you can imagine the challenge I faced. Where do I turn, I thought to myself. And the next thing I knew, I was on Sparkler’s doorstep.”
It was the second time Varric had referred to Dorian by that name. Rook frowned, noting Ashur had a matching pinch between his brows. “Sparkler?”
The dwarf and the magister both grinned at one another, but it was Dorian who supplied the answer. “My dwarven friend here has an uncanny knack with nicknames.” And as if to prove his point, Dorian wiggled his fingers, just enough to send a few minor sparking waves of magic into the air. “And with finding allies. He was right to come to me.”
Varric nodded in Rook’s direction as he picked up the thread of the conversation. “Sparkler said you have some unique experience in these kinds of situations.”
Rook rubbed the side of his nose with a finger, an imagined itch that wouldn’t go away. “What kind of ‘situation’ are we talking about?”
The dwarf sighed heavily and spent a couple of moments sitting in silence. Rook looked over at Dorian, wondering if perhaps he’d pried too deep, but the magister replied with a small shake of his head and held his palm up at Rook signaling for him to wait.
Sighing again, Varric muttered something beneath his breath Rook couldn’t quite catch. “My friend’s gone and gotten herself mixed up with a Venatori slave ring.”
Rook blinked. “Mixed up?”
“She’s a member?” Ashur asked.
Varric shook his head, quick to clarify, “No, she isn’t a member, she was taken as a prisoner. A slave.”
That was not what Rook had expected the man to say. A quick glance over at Ashur’s expression – as grave as Rook had ever seen it before – assured him that he hadn’t misunderstood, either.
“I think you both can appreciate just how serious this is,” Dorian interjected, glancing at both Rook and Ashur in turn. “The friend in question is also an acquaintance of mine, and I can assure you, this did not come about by any choice of her own.”
Ashur leaned forward, his eyes asking a silent question of Rook. For his part, Rook nodded acquiescence. As head of the Shadow Dragons, Rook was more than willing for him to take over the next phase of questions. Unneeded permission acquired, Ashur turned back to Varric. “What can you tell us about this slave ring?”
The dwarf pulled a piece of paper from an inside pocket, looking it over once before handing it to Ashur. “Well, I’ve got two people who managed to track her to a place called Nessum.” He paused, his eyes meeting Dorian’s again before he asked, “That name ring any bells for any of you?”
Rook had heard of the city before, had even served in the Legion down in that region of the Imperium for a time, but beyond that, he had nothing.
An unexpected ripple tingled across his fingertips catching him off guard and his gaze immediately flew to Ashur. It was rare these days that his fellow mage’s magic flared enough to catch Rook’s attention. Their closeness aside, Rook had become used to Ashur’s individual imprint upon the Fade. Like fingerprints, each mage had their own unique connection. Over time, Rook’s sensitivity had become used to Ashur.
But something had set his partner off, and while he concealed it well, on closer inspection Rook could see the tightness pinching around Ashur’s lips and the way his eyes were just slightly wider than usual. Something about the dwarf’s question, most likely. Keeping his voice low, Rook leaned towards him. “What is it?”
It didn’t come as any real surprise when Dorian’s head swiveled around sharply. His unerring gaze settled on the two of them, and while he would never do anything to give someone’s secret affections away, a knowing smile twitched beneath the frame of his moustache.
Clearing his throat, Ashur finally spoke up. “Nessum. I know it.”
Dorian nodded. “I’d wondered if you’d been told about it.”
Varric nodded thoughtfully. “A contact of mine – Neve – told me that the Venatori have set up shop there. There’s some old temple they’re using – no one knows where, exactly – and a ritual of some sort planned to help them regain some of their previous stature and power.”
Rook shuddered. Anyone who knew about blood magic and the Venatori knew that wasn’t a good combination. “How big of a ritual are we talking?”
“No idea. All I know is they intend to use my friend – and many others – as part of the sacrifice to make it happen. So, I’ve got to get in there, rescue her, and get back out without them being any wiser.”
A sobering silence filled the room before Ashur broke it. “That may be a difficult task. The city is well guarded as I recall. How sure are you of your information?”
Varric shrugged. “As sure as I can be without getting inside there myself,” he replied. “Like I said, I have two people on the ground right now. They’ve been quietly looking around for me, trying to get the lay of the land, see what they can find out.” He sighed. “And none of what I’ve heard so far is good.”
“You can see why he turned to me,” Dorian added.
“Have you heard anything specific?” Rook asked.
“Apparently, the Venatori have taken over control of the city,” Dorian replied. “Rumor has it, they’ve brought in one of their senior mages to lead this ritual.”
Ashur’s expression didn’t change but Dorian’s announcement brought Rook up with a sharp gasp. “Wait a minute...back up a couple of steps. Since when did the Venatori get control of a city?” He was aware their power had been growing – all the Shadow Dragons were – but this was the first he’d heard of them controlling an entire city.
“It’s been a slow progression over the last few years,” Ashur explained. “My information suggests Nessum is being used as more of a warehouse. A collection point for slaves in large numbers who can then be distributed around Tevinter for use in their rituals, but I have never found any proof of that.”
“What better way to cover up their intentions to perform a major ritual and the need for so many blood sacrifices,” Dorian muttered, disgust dripping from every word.
Cold and dread spread through Rook. His voice was barely a choked whisper as he added, “Maker help us...”
Varric nodded. “Exactly. Look, these guys have changed some since Sparkler and I last encountered them, but not that much. Blood rituals to make a power grab, that part hasn’t changed one bit. And though they don’t have an exact number, my friends tell me as close as they can figure, there’s at least a hundred people being held there against their will, minimum, and at least that many Venatori to watch over them.”
Rook bit back a groan of dismay. Sure, the Shadow Dragons had been helping free slaves, seeing them off to new lives outside of Tevinter and all, but those groups had been far smaller. And while Varric might only be asking them to go in for one specific person, they wouldn’t leave it to a rescue of just one. Not if so many really were being held there. All or none was their usual philosophy, no matter the cost.
Sitting back in his chair, Rook ran a hand over his chin. But a hundred, minimum? Maker, how were they supposed to deal with that? They didn’t have the manpower to get that many out safely, let alone the resources to help them afterwards.
“Don’t worry about resources,” Dorian said as if reading Rook’s mind. “I’ve already spoken to Maevaris and you will have what you need and then some.”
“Getting in and out of the city won’t be easy,” Ashur pointed out, pulling the conversation back around to practical logistics. “A small team is less likely to be noticed, but an operation like this needs all hands on deck.”
Rook stared over at him blankly. With those words, he had just agreed that the Shadow Dragons would help. He didn’t blame him, but he had intended on having something of a plan they could follow before making that decision.
“Maybe,” Varric agreed, “but my two people are worth a dozen regular soldiers.” He looked up at Dorian who nodded. “And with the Shadow Dragons helping, I’d say we have a better than average shot of getting the job done, no matter what we find in there.” He looked back and forth between the two Shadow Dragons. “What do you say?”
Ashur met Rook’s gaze, his hazel eyes filled with concern and contemplation. Well, at least he seemed to be working through an assortment of ideas and plans for helping out that many people already. Rook felt like he was playing catch up. A blood ritual, a warehouse full of slaves, the Venatori controlling an entire city. Still, if Ashur was adamant about helping out, Rook knew there was no way to change his mind. Not that Rook wanted to; that many slaves... Varric was right; it couldn’t mean anything good.
He gave Ashur a small nod. They would figure out a plan, somehow.
“We will help,” Ashur told Varric. “Give us the day to come up with a workable plan, but I’d say we should be ready to leave Minrathous by midday tomorrow.”
Relief washed over the dwarf, and for the first time since they’d met, he seemed to relax. “That works for me. The sooner we get this done, the better.”