Chapter Text
“Maybe he's mute.”
From where they stood beyond the threshold of their prisoner's holding cell, Leliana studied Cassandra's face for any trace of sarcasm. But between the Seeker's stoic features and the gravity of the situation, she had to accept her musings at face value. With a sigh, she crossed her arms and followed the other woman's glare, her lips pressed together into a thin line. “You may very well be right.” For once, she could not confirm or deny it. Her agents were still afield, but as each one returned, they all brought with them the same result: nothing.
Nobody, from The Waking Sea to Val Royeaux, knew who this man was. Not a single soul. At least, not yet.
From where he knelt on the floor, hands shackled into a wooden stock, the elf met their gaze, staring back without a trace of fear. His features were as still as a millpond, more composed than anyone else Leliana ever met before. Yet, she could see a storm building behind his eyes. With care, she stepped back in the room, nodding to the four guards to sheath their swords. She stood in front of him, then lowered herself onto one knee; she took care to stay out of arm's reach, even if he was unarmed and restrained.
“You're angry.” She offered as an observation. He inhaled through his nose, but did not make any other move to betray his agreement. Still, this told her what she needed to know. “Why?” Her question was soft, sympathetic, prodding. And why, indeed: if he'd truly done what he intended to do with the blast, why would he still be so sullen? Was it because he was caught?
“He is angry?!” Of course, Cassandra rushed back in before he could answer. Surging forward, she grabbed his wrist and held his right arm aloft, a green aura pulsing in his blackened fingertips. “The Conclave is destroyed! Everyone who attended is dead, except for you!” She snarled, and that's when Leliana saw a change in his expression, however minute—as his eyebrows knit together, he seemed... Confused. It was as if he had no idea what they were talking about at all—not just the explosion, but the events preceding it.
“Cassandra.” The spymaster gave a minute shake of her head, and when the other woman kept her hold on him, she sighed with exasperation. “We need him.” Even if she wanted to kill him, they couldn't—not if he was truly the solution to the mess they were in.
For her part, the Seeker wasn't pleased either way, keeping her hold on the man as she forced him to stand. “You go on to the forward camp, Leliana.” When she paused, Cassandra frowned. “I will take him to the rift.”
Looking beyond the Seeker, Leliana met the man's eyes again, noting the anger was still there, bubbling under the surface. His shaggy blonde hair hung loose around his shoulders, almost obscuring his ears. She wondered, briefly, what alienage he must have come from before he found his way here. Or perhaps he didn't come from an alienage at all. Maybe he was one of the Viddathari, a convert to the Qun. His temperament was right for it.
Contemplation stalling her departure, Leliana turned to go, the rattle of keys echoing in her ears—at least, until she heard the stock open, and very shortly after, the sound of wood hitting metal. By the time she whirled around, the situation had already devolved into chaos.
Driven back by the impact of the wooden stock, Cassandra fell to the floor, and as she scrambled up, she called out to the guards drawing their swords. “Subdue him! Don't—” she started, but an overeager soldier thrust his blade forward anyway to try and stab at the prisoner. Leliana watched as he took the stock and slammed it shut on the blade's edges, encasing it in the wood, then pulled, causing the sword to wrench free from the guard's grip. In the same arc, he swung his makeshift flail so the pommel struck the second guard in the head, knocking him to the ground.
The stock and sword flung away, the elf launched forward into a roll, grabbing the second guard's fallen sword to grip it in both hands, parrying the other two guards as they attacked, disarming one of them with practiced ease. He had the upper hand, but Cassandra would not let him keep it, shield pulled from her back and sword drawn, she barreled toward him like a battering ram. To his credit, he was deft—he jumped to the side, letting her cut a path between him and the guards. He used her attack to disengage, dropping the sword he'd just acquired before he sprinted away. His hands, Leliana realized, were still shackled together.
The spymaster watched him pass, making no move to try and stop him. Cassandra, breathless, gripped the doorway and gaped, open mouthed, between Leliana and the stairway. “You let him run away?!” She sputtered, rage scrawled across her reddening face like ink.
“I have a feeling he won't get far.” She offered in return, pace deliberate as she strode down the hall and up the stairs, a grumbling Cassandra close behind.
Her hunch was right. Following in his wake, the pair found him in the Chantry's open doorway, staring up at the sky. If he was confused downstairs, the sight of the Breach seemed to perturb him even further. The stoicism he displayed before melted away entirely, revealing sheer disbelief. He took one step, then two, before falling to his knees, eyes still locked on the swirling green hole in the heavens.
“This is the Breach,” Cassandra huffed as she sheathed her sword, taking a wide stance behind the prisoner as she mirrored his upturned head. “A massive rift into the world of demons; it grows larger with each passing hour. Do you understand?” She looked down, searching for any sign of acknowledgment, but found none. “The explosion at The Conclave caused this. And it will keep growing until the word is destroyed.” She circled around him, dropping to one knee much like Leliana did before.
As if on cue, The Breach pulsed, and a faint light formed in the man's blackened fingertips, brightening until it was blinding before shooting up his arm, making him cry out in pain—that, Leliana realized, was the first noise she had heard him make.
“Each time it expands, your arm reacts to it. And it is killing you.” He looked up, blinking away tears—though Leliana wasn't certain that they were just from the pain. “We believe it might be the key to closing the Breach. It's our only chance, and yours. Do you understand? You cannot run from this.”
Once again, there was silence. Cassandra looked to Leliana, distraught. Surely, if this couldn't motivate him to cooperate, what would? But then:
“This is not Hyrule.” When he spoke, his accent was strange; Ferelden, but different, somehow. He looked resigned, but in a pained sort of way, the kind of acceptance that comes through grief. “She's gone again.” He murmured, more to himself than to Cassandra and Leliana.
“Are you looking for someone?” The spymaster stepped forward, eager for any information that could help her figure out who he was.
But whatever may have caused him to open up so suddenly, he closed himself off just as fast. Climbing to his feet, the man rolled his shoulders and sighed. “Take me there.” His voice was clearer now, steady and even. Cassandra regarded him with suspicion. It was a fair assessment, given his attempt to escape not one minute before.
“Then...?” She prompted, and when he stared at her in silence, she cleared her throat. “You'll help us?”
Nodding, the prisoner gestured for her to take the lead, following in Cassandra's wake. Leliana watched them both go, Cassandra's stern voice radiating above the erected tents as the crowd of Haven's citizens parted for the pair.
Eyes narrowing, the redhead gestured with beckoning fingers as she made a beeline for her tent. From the shadow of the Chantry, one of her spies appeared at her heels. “Find out everything you can about this place.” She instructed, scrawling the phrase High Rule across a scrap of parchment. “I need to know who lives there, and why that man came here.”
Puzzling over the paper, the man looked up, his face quizzical. “Where should we start looking? Ferelden? Orlais?”
“I don't know.” Leliana fumed, folding her arms. “Look in every direction you can. He's elven; check the alienages to see if any of them might have a nickname. He mentioned a woman. See if any couples recently went missing before the Conclave.”
“Yes ma'am.” The man nodded, turning away, but before he could leave, Leliana reached out, grabbing him by the wrist.
“I want everybody on this.” Her face was dark; the fact that she had yet to turn up any information at all was starting to unsettle her. “If we can find out who he's looking for... that might be our missing link.”