Chapter Text
Hasmal Circle of Magi
“Oh piss off, the lot of you!” Casper growled, or at least they attempted to. They had a tough bit of fabric lodged securely between their teeth, and they squirmed in between the boxes piled in the back of their caravan, wrist and legs bound together. The sun shown overhead. Heat rose off the road leading up to the fortified tower of the Hamsal Circle of Magi, and they could hear the ravenous click and chitter of insects clustered in the tall grass on either side. The Hasmal Circle of Magi wasn’t much to look at from the outside. It lacked the grandeur they'd had come to associate with the circle over the years, a fact perhaps exaggerated by the hastily rebuilt tower stretching over their heads. Hasmal wasn’t a city of great means, and the mage-templar war had hit its circle especially hard. Not that Casper had much opportunity to reflect upon that with their face squashed against the floor of the caravan. They could ponder the differences once they were safely inside, working out the layout. For now, they had to put on a convincing show while Raakjekk weaselled what coin he could out of the gruff-looking Templar Commander shooting concerned glances into the open caravan.
“You said this elf was the Anglerfish?” The Commander asked as he waved one of his subordinates toward the mouth of the wagon. “The same Anglerfish that pulled the golden nug heist, and convinced an entire chantry in Ferelden to fund an expedition to recover Andraste’s holy nickers with their tithes? That Anglerfish?” He sounded skeptical. Raakjekk rounded the caravan, patting the side of it absentmindedly as he paused to peer inside at the writhing elf.
“Don’t let their looks deceive you,” Raakjekk warned. “They're kind of scrawny, but they did nearly collapse that whole damned chantry. Absolutely no control over their own magic. Though, don’t get me wrong. I’d be shocked if the destruction weren’t at least anticipated. My boys found a few well placed explosives they failed to activate before they were apprehended. The chantry only lost its pulpit and a bit of relic storage.” Casper shouted something, likely profane, against the leather in their mouth, and the Commander glanced from Raakjekk back to the petite, one-armed elf.
“I can take them back to Val Royeaux if you don’t want them,” Raakjekk added, moving to shut the door. “The bounty is better at the White Spire. Glory begets resources, I guess. And I suppose they would be better equipped to handle the Anglerfish’s specific brand of…talent.” One of the Templars, the stockier of the two, lurched forward with wide-eyed diplomacy, gripping the door before Raakjekk could close it and mustered up a cordial grimace from somewhere in the depths of his rigid personality.
“N-no, that’s alright!” He said, nodding to the Commander who looked on with a raise eyebrow. “Hasmal isn’t afraid to take on volatile mages. We are more than capable of handling the Anglerfish.” Just as he’d suspected, these Templar types sure did have something to prove. He stepped aside, motioning toward the interior of the Caravan with a flourish.
“Then they’re all yours,” Raakjekk offered up a cordial smile. “We just have the small matter of their bounty to settle.”
“Go on,” The commander barked. “Retrieve the elf.” The stalky templar rushed forward to make a grab for Casper, and Casper stole the opportunity to glance past him toward Raakjekk. The rogue knew how to handle himself, but the templar beside the little dwarf was watching his subordinate awfully closely, and Casper was already feeling a bit antsy. They needed a moment. A bit of a distraction.
Casper shouted into the cloth in their mouth, squirming away from the lone templar as he climbed into the comparatively small caravan. The man’s shoulder’s slumped in dismay.
“Andraste’s arse, would you just settle down?” He pleaded, his voice a low murmur. “The boss is watchin’. I don’t wanna hurt’cha by accident, Inquisitor.”
Raakjekk met Casper’s eye and Casper raised their eyebrows in a gesture they hoped would get the message across. Raakjekk practically lurched forward to engage the templar commander.
“A little birdy told me you lot stayed behind to protect your charges during the war,” Raakjekk said, intentionally circling toward the tower so that the man had to turn away from the caravan to continue the conversation
“Oh,” the templar beside Raakjekk laughed, bashful. “Yes, uh, that. We did do that.”
“Well, if that doesn’t deserve a solid clap on the back, I don’t know what does.” Raakjekk grinned, reaching out a thick, clean hand. “Could I shake your hand, sir?”
The templar seemed taken aback, and that was probably about the best chance Casper was going to get. They locked eyes with the templar knelt beside them and jerked their head toward a rough woven sack set carefully aside from the rest of the caravan’s contents. The templar followed the movement with keen eyes, sending a quick glance over his shoulder before snatching the sack up and squirrelling away the doorbuster and prosthetic stashed covertly within.
“That all?” He asked, voice low enough not to carry. Casper offered him a slight nod, and he glanced over Casper’s bindings, his face falling.
“What’s taking you so long, man?” The templar commander called, evidently already tiring of Raakjekk’s attempts to butter him up.
“We uh,” he stuttered, eyes flicking toward his commander, “There’s a slight problem.”
“What kind of problem, Aspen?” The Commander side-stepped Raakjekk, stalking up to the side of the caravan with an irritated wrinkle of his nose.
“Well, they’ve only got the one arm,” Aspen stated. “Normally I’d just unite a person’s legs and make them walk themselves in, but then, at least, their wrists would be bound. If we untie thissun’s legs, they’re just…unbound. No point tying a single arm to itself is there?”
“Hmm,” the Commander grunted. “Carry them in, then”
“You want—“ Aspen stammered.
“Quickly.”
Aspen bent to lift them with a grunt of exertion, despite his visible reservations. Casper hung limp in his arms, and he hissed in displeasure as he slipped carefully out the back of the caravan.
“You could at least help me out here,” he muttered, adjusting himself against Casper’s dead weight. Casper grinned around the cloth in their mouth.
The inside of the tower was similarly humble to the outside, and by the time the gates were firmly closed behind them, Casper was feeling a lot less enthused. Humble meant simple interiors. Less possible exits, less places to hide, and a high concentration of templars roaming about the place with nothing to do. Raakj probably hadn’t coaxed much of a bounty out of them, then.
Casper was still preoccupied examining the thin windows toward the ceiling when a willowy older man—a human—approached the group. His face was stern, weathered in the way of deep unhappiness. He paused before them, watery grey eyes sweeping over Casper’s front.
“This is the Anglerfish?” he asked, raising a brow. “They’re smaller than I expected.”
“About level with the dwarf what brought ‘em here,” Aspen butt in. “Never seen a dwarf that tall or an elf this short.” The stern man’s eyes shifted from Aspen to Casper in a single fluid motion, and he beckoned for Aspen to carry Casper closer.
“Why are they hanging like that? Have you paralysed them?”
“Er,” Aspen began, glancing down at the elf in his arms. Arms that had started to shake from the strain. “I think they’re just being difficult.”
“Hm,” the stern man hummed, waving an informal hand at Aspen. “Put them down, then. I don’t suspect they’ll make it far with their legs tied. If by some miracle they do manage to escape, Andraste knows there are enough templars flitting about the place to sniff out just about anything short of which ass fouled the air.”
The templar commander beside Aspen wrinkled his nose at that, but he motioned subtly for Aspen to follow through, despite what Casper suspected was everyone’s better judgement. True to the stern man’s word, though, Casper did not make an attempt to escape. They, instead, stood stock-still, staring the old man down in overt defiance. He seemed almost to wither under that look, as though the prospect of dealing with a particularly stubborn elf had just about soured his morning.
“I’m senior Enchanter Lynden,” he began, and then thinking better of the situation he addressed Aspen. “Andraste’s mercy, why haven’t you removed that rag?”
“Oh,” Aspen croaked, “Um.”
“Never mind, I’ll do it,” Lynden said, reaching up to snatch the leather from Casper’s mouth. The moment the fabric had cleared Casper’s teeth, they twisted around to throw Aspen a snide look.
“Why do you hate short people?” They asked.
“Ah. I see this one’s spirited,” Lynden sighed. “Best get that out of your system now, elf. You were fortunate to end up in one of the more hospitable circles, in my personal opinion, but we still maintain a relatively low threshold for open defiance. As I’m sure you can understand.”
“Not big on levity, huh?” Casper asked. Aspen elbowed them subtly in between their shoulder blades.
“There is a time and place for levity,” Lynden said, “and I might warn you that your intake is invariably not that. Though, I do appreciate a bit of well-earned confidence. You’ve been busy, Anglerfish.” Casper suppressed a subtle twitch as the title rolled off of the senior enchanter’s tongue.
“Anything to stave off the existential dread, sir.” Casper smiled. Lynden frowned.
“Right, I think we’re through here. I’ve seen what I needed to,” Lynden motioned for the templars to direct Casper forward, through a set of guarded double doors, and Aspen scooped them up again. This time, he had the element of surprise to keep Casper from hanging quite so limp.
“If you’re certain our new charge isn’t hiding any especially problematic surprises—we all know what happened in Orlais—then you can deposit them with the rest of the troublemakers. They can remain there until we’ve created their phylactery. Go on. Off with you lot.” Lynden waived them off, and Aspen ferried Casper down the hall just ahead of the templar commander, who hung back to annoy the senior enchanter with a series of inane questions.
Aspen didn’t relax until after the double doors closed behind them, and even then Casper could sense an edge to his movements.
“Someone will be by tonight to assist you,” Aspen muttered, leaning close to Casper’s ear as they manoeuvred down a tight, spiralling corridor, deep into the building. A dungeon, Casper suspected. “I can’t give you the rod now, it’d practically bleed the sort of magical aura they train us to sniff out, but you can steal it off our friend when the time comes.”
Casper nodded subtly, flinching as the templar pressed something into their hand. It took them but a moment to decipher the smooth grain of the wood under their fingers, and they gripped the prosthetic tight as they approached the door to what would be their cell for the evening. Aspen offered the templar already guarding the hall a nod.
“I’m dropping this one off,” he said, indicating toward Casper’s head with a jerk of his chin. The other templar, a bored looking man with a prominent nose pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against with an unenthused swagger and moved to unlock the cell behind him.
“Good luck, elf,” Aspen said in a cool mockery of the sorts of sentiments Casper heard often, and no sooner had the door swung wide enough then the man just about shoved them inside. They stumbled, catching themself against one of the cell walls, and the door closed behind them with a solid clank, leaving them alone with an unenticing pile of straw for a bed and two startled cellmates.
They were both human men, one of them scrawny and a bit irate and the other large and scared. Neither looked like they were happy to see an elf. Casper set straight to work ignoring them in favour of endeavouring not to fall over. Their feet were still bound, and their only hand was full of prosthetic. They shifted their weight against the wall so that their back bore most of the brunt, and they took a moment to carefully fit the prosthetic back in place beneath Raakjekk’s tunic. Once that was dealt with they wiggled down the length of the wall until their ass was squarely on the stone floor and they set about working the knot securing their foot bindings in place. Both Casper's cellmates watched the entire ordeal, uncertain what to do about it.
Other oddities aside, Casper was too calm for a newly acquired mage, that must was overtly clear. By the time they’d worked the rope loose and freed their feet with a languid stretch, the others had worked themselves up into a curiosity tense enough that Casper couldn’t help but shoot the men a tepid look as they tested the pile of hay with their foot.
“Never seen someone contort their way out of a problem before?” Casper asked. It was the smaller man that answered first.
“We weren’t expecting another cellmate,” He said, clearly choosing his words carefully. Casper eased themself down onto the hay, immediately regretting their choice when, compacted as it was, it still managed to find it’s way into all of the most unpleasant places.
“I wasn’t expecting company either. Hasmal must be full up if they’re packing us in like this.” Casper paused to shoot the men a curious look. They couldn’t have looked any more different on the surface, but both of their trousers were covered in grass stains and ash, and they had the same look about them. The same rigid stances. The same weary slope of their shoulders. Calloused fingers, odd for career apostates, and dirt under the nails. Less odd, but enough of a similarity in this scenario to tie the two together. Neither of them must have had their weekly bath because Casper could smell the acrid odour of gunpowder and scorched hair from across the cell.
“You arrived together?” Casper posited. The suggestion seemed all at once to startle and concern the men, and they shared a glance that acted as all of the confirmation Casper needed. Casper added a quick addendum, “I’m not your enemy, here. No need to get all tense on me. You don’t have to tell me anything, but if you’re curious, and you’re not huge dickheads, then it’d be nice to start making allies before they yank you out of the pit, yeah?” Another glance passed between them, and for a moment Casper thought they’d lost them, but then the smaller man spoke again.
“We were part of a little uprising. The templars cornered us after we burned down a church field and ol’ lump here twisted his ankle.”
“'Ey, I didn’t twist it on purpose,” Lump protested. “There was a right fat lob of wood hiding in that brush, and I couldn’t see it in all the smoke.”
“I’m sorry, did you say Lump?” Casper asked, bemused.
“He’s got a lump of something in place of his brain,” The smaller man said. “Loyal to a fault, though.” He hesitated and then offered Casper a hand in greeting.
“Name’s Paddy,” he said, hardly batting an eye when Casper offered up their prosthetic in return. “I’m a fire guy.”
Casper glanced the charred tips of Paddy’s wild hair with a nod. “Noted. Have you been here long?”
“Four days,” Paddy confirmed. They definitely hadn’t had their weekly bath then. Casper resisted the urge to wrinkle their nose, nodding their head along to Paddy’s response instead.
Four days probably meant they weren’t going anywhere before nightfall. Circle bureaucracy had a pattern to it. Slow and steady. Every t crossed and i dotted before any step of the process could be signed off on, and given that they were currently stuffed three people to a cell in one of the smaller existing circles Casper had personally encountered, they suspected that process wasn’t going to leave them to execute their escape and retrieval unwitnessed. Not ideal, exactly. They were going to have to feed these two buffoons something in preparation.
“You boys looking to get out of here?” Casper asked casually. Again, uncertainty flitted between the men.
“Well, we’re not exactly opposed it,” Paddy said, everything about him careful again as he seemed to really look at Casper for the first time. Small, thin, no Vallaslin. Casper had to admit it painted a very specific picture, and that picture might not necessarily suggest they were a particularly capable mage. Casper couldn’t fault his skepticism.
“Those circle folks already created our phylacteries, though,” Paddy added, coaxing a frown out of Casper. It seemed something had exceeded the typical speed of circle bureaucracy. But phylacteries were a good starting point. Casper could work with that.
“I can help you with that,” they said.
“What?”
“I can help you guys retrieve your phylacteries,” Casper amended.
“You want to help us?” Lump asked. “You don’t even know us. Heck, we don’t know you.”
Casper shoved their hand out toward the unsuspecting man who seemed rather more put off by the gesture than Paddy had.
“Shake it,” Casper demanded. The man did, hesitantly. “Names Anglerfish.” A shocked little glimmer of recognition flitted over the faces of both men. Bingo.
“See?” Casper said, “Now we’re acquainted.”
“I guess I don’t understand what’s in this for you,” Paddy said. He was right to be suspicious. It was a firmly strange offer, and unlikely one that would be legitimate in just about every other circumstance, but Casper was on a tight schedule. If they were going to be out and back in their cart by dawn the next day, they were going to have to expedite this whole friendship thing. If not by the grace of their wit or winning personality, then coercion would do just as well.
“Well” Casper began, slinking back to settle onto the hard straw once more. “The way I see it, you don’t have many options, and I don’t plan to be here by morning.” A bit of a risk, but Casper’s hand was limited. “And since I’ve already blabbed that to you like the idiot I am, I probably either have to trust you or kill you.” The men looked horrified. “Don’t worry. I’d rather not get my friend’s tunic dirty. And besides,” Casper’s expression shifted, becoming more serious, “I hate the idea of phylacteries. I’d destroy them all if I could. Nobody deserves to be rounded up and tagged like druffalo, even if they smell like they rolled in manure and burned down a house. So, it’s win win, I guess. I’ll leave the door open for you guys. Make it real easy for ya, and I’ll make sure I destroy those phylacteries. If you really want to repay me, make yourselves a distraction on your way out. It’d buy me some time. Though, you might wanna wait a little while. It’d be a bit annoying if the whole circle was on high alert before I’d even made it halfway to my, er, goal.” They didn’t ask Casper to elaborate but the elf couldn’t imagine there weren’t some questions bouncing around the insides of their skulls. Casper kicked the straw out a little in an attempt to fluff it up.
“I’m only telling you this because you’re probably going to make a break for it anyway, and I don’t want you to kill my templar on the way out. It’d probably be a nasty surprise for the lot of you if you catch him off guard.”
“I’m sorry, your templar?” Paddy asked.
“Well, I don’t own him, but I did come prepared.” Casper offered the men a smile and a bit of a wiggle as they settled in for the night. “What do you say? Deal?”
“Er,” Paddy managed.
“I think we should listen to ‘em,” Lump suggested.
“And to think, he’s the one with a lump for a brain,” Casper murmured into the crook of their arm.
“I-I guess we don’t have another choice,” Paddy agreed, though he didn’t sound terribly confident. “Unless you’re just telling us this to placate us.”
“I mean, come with me if you don’t trust me. Just don’t get caught or I will kill you. Can’t leave any loose ends,” Casper said, closing their eyes despite the little flicker of horror that passed between the humans. “I’ll get your phylacteries either way, though. Always keep my word.”
___
The transition into the fade was always too easy. Casper couldn’t be certain when they’d last experienced a dream that was just a dream instead of a memory with fade green accents. The days when they dreamed of stampeding a horse down the mountain to escape responsibility were almost a welcome nostalgia when most nights forced them to relive the things that pained them most.
It was an unusually dry night in Crestwood, and the group was camped around the embers of a neglected fire a ways into the northern wilderness. They’d heard rumours of a high dragon roosting not too far from where they’d set up camp, and perhaps it was the distinctly sooty quality to the air that’d had the group waxing hypotheticals late into the night, but none of them had been keen to retire. The talk had been a welcome distraction, but not one that Solas had cared to engage in, to the eternal frustration of the Iron Bull, and to a lesser extent Dorian, both of whom made it a point to prod at the apostate until he’d physically removed himself from his place by the fire.
Casper had found themself awake long after the others had retired for the evening, though, their mind restless for reasons that didn’t necessarily include gigantic winged lizards. They’d thought they were being quiet as they’d crept away from the waning fire and a ways into the field, weaving through house sized boulders and into an arid ravine.
“Is sneaking off the only instinct you humour consistently, or should I keep an eye out for other troublesome behaviours?”
Casper stopped in their tracks, their expression falling as they turned to face Solas. The apostate was leaned against a particularly worn boulder at the mouth of the ravine, arms crossed over his chest and expression resigned.
“I wasn’t sneaking off,” Casper tried. “I was just thinking.”
“I wasn’t aware that thinking required one to travel an unreasonable distance away from the relative safety of camp.”
“What? You’re worried now?” Casper spat.
“I am,” Solas said without missing a beat. That shut them up for a moment. “I don’t follow you like this simply because I feel responsible. I…” He swallowed the last word, reconsidering his approach. “I think we should make our way back. Crestwood isn’t safe at night.”
“Nowhere is. For fuck’s sake,” Casper growled. “I’m Dalish. I can handle the wilderness, Solas. There’s something else here that’s bothering you, isn’t there?”
“Casper…” he warned, but Casper turned away from him, trudging stubbornly further down the ravine and forcing the apostate to trail helplessly after them as they navigated the twist of corridors naturally worn between the rocks. Casper turned into one particular cave, Solas pulling up behind them in exasperation as they stopped short. Their eyes travelled up the inside of the grotto it opened up into and glancing off the delicate little waterfall on its far end flanked on either side by two massive, carved Halla.
“It’s just my luck that you would choose this direction,” he sighed. “You have a knack for putting me in undesirable positions.”
“What did I do wrong this time?” Casper asked dryly.
“You’ve made it very hard for me to restrain myself.” Solas admitted, coming to a stop beside them. “I was saving this place for when I—for when I was certain I was ready for it. It’s just like you to spoil your own surprises, though.” Casper turned a questioning glance on him. He shifted his weight to lean into the side of the rock before them.
“It’s…nice,” Casper said, somewhat less interested in the grotto than the man standing before them, grey-blue eyes boring into them with a solemn intensity they couldn’t help but find unnerving.
“You’re right,” Casper said abruptly, “We should probably go back to camp.”
“Casper, wait,” Solas made an uncharacteristic grab for their arm, staying them. Casper kept their gaze carefully trained on the ground at their feet.
“Whatever you’re about to say, you can stuff it right back in that stupid, perfect mouth of yours,” Casper muttered, expression pinched. “I’m just about out of patience for all of the Solas knows best nagging you do, and I don’t think I could—could…” They trailed off as Solas gently squeezed their arm, urging them back around again. They were reminded of the way he’d spun them in the fade. The brush of his lips on their’s. The hunger behind the motion and the way he’d seemed almost immediately to regret himself. As though the very thought of being with them was a stolen secret. They refused to meet his eyes.
“I know I can be obtuse. But, above all else, I yearn for your safety,” Solas breathed, trailing his thumb over the exposed skin above the crook of Casper’s arm. “I want you to live a good life. A happy one.”
Casper shook their head, emotion welling up in them and choking them out. Why this memory? Why this sentiment again and again? If he had truly wanted their happiness then surely he never would have involved them in the first place. He’d have taken the anchor and been done with it. He could have lobbed the whole arm off right then and there for all they cared. It would have been less painful.
He gripped Casper, though, drawing them in, and they fell in line as though they could not hope to dispel him. They’d so rarely been alone together, so rarely been vulnerable, and perhaps that made this moment all the worse to recount. He’d brushed their hair back, tracing his fingers across their cheek, and he’d leaned into them, his nose brushing theirs.
“Ar lath ma,” he’d breathed. Not the first time he’d said it, but certainly the least forceful, a hoarse softness to his voice that betrayed the futility of his emotions. The gesture laid him bare in that moment, but Casper couldn’t allow themself to feel same sense of hopefulness they had at the time. Now they knew better. They knew they were picking at the carcass of a love that he had thoroughly discarded. And yet.
Casper didn't pull away. They never did. When Solas pressed into them, they poured themself into that kiss with the same barely restrained affection they had always suffered for in return. Hard won moments where one or both of them caved, and like that night, found themselves lost in the gentle rhythm of surrender. A kiss. A touch. A whisper.
And then he was gone, and as suddenly as the dream had begun it had left Casper to their own devices in the silent grotto. Lonely, but not alone. Something had taken his place.