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“Hey, guys, look at what Solas found!” Ellana pointed to a large, ornate mirror in the war room.
“A mirror,” Blackwall said. “How marvelous.”
“A magic mirror,” Ellana said.
“To be precise,” Solas began, “it’s an old Elvhen artifact, back from the days of Arlathan when cities spanned miles and messages could span millennia. It was called-”
“A magic mirror,” Cassandra interrupted. “Magic how? What does it do?”
“It’s simpler if I show you,” Ellana said. “Watch.” She pulled what looked like a smaller version of the mirror from her pocket and, with a small wooden stylus appeared to scratch on its surface. After a moment, the large mirror shimmered and the scrawled words, Hi, Cullen! appeared, followed by what looked like a lopsided heart.
Cullen beamed and Ellana beamed back at him.
Solas cleared his throat and said, “It records and displays messages. I thought that since we are all of us are so seldom in one place at the same time and how often notes seem to go missing,” he paused and gave Sera a significant look that she ignored, “that having a method where we could all communicate with one another was called for. Therefore, I went to sleep and searched the Fade, consulting with spirits filled with wisdom and history, spirits who knew the of the deepest secrets buried in the darkest vaults and-”
“And it was in the treasure room,” Ellana broke in. “In the back. Along with these little mirrors for writing. There’s one for each of us.”
Cole studied his raptly, then said, “It takes thoughts and makes them real.”
“No more than a book does,” Varric said as he turned his mirror over in his hands. “Interesting device. Do you suppose I could have someone -”
“No,” Solas said frostily. “You may not dismantle a priceless ancient artifact to see what makes it work in order to then duplicate and sell it.”
“You have trust issues, Chuckles,” Varric said with a sad tone to his voice. “You wound me.”
“This is marvelous,” Dorian said. “I could transcribe my research without ever having to leave the library.”
“And I could make reports from the field,” Bull said.
“You mean the tavern,” Sera said.
“Hey, I’m not the one who lives there,” he replied.
“And Blackwall can make his reports from the barn without having to seek out the baths first,” Vivienne said. “How wonderful.”
Blackwall muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Bite me.”
Leliana tapped a finger to her lip and said, “I’d like to have my scouts have access to a few of these. Imagine our advantage if we had information in minutes instead of days.”
Ellana shrugged. “Sure, there are several in the vault. We just need to make sure they don’t get into the wrong hands.”
“Agreed,” Josephine chimed in. “If the enemy had even one, just think of the disinformation they might attempt to feed us.”
“Quite,” Cullen said. “Perhaps a few for my senior staff as well. We could coordinate troop movements so much more efficiently.”
“That is all well and good,” Cassandra said, “but what happens when the mirror runs out of room?”
“It doesn’t,” Solas said. “It can contain an infinite amount of messages. You just do this.” He ran a finger along the side and the image rippled up until Ellana’s message disappeared, then down again until it was back. “It uses much the same technology as an eluvian, an ancient technique founded in the days when-”
“Was that the sixth bell?” Ellana grabbed Cullen’s hand and said, “Sorry but we have a dinner date. And then we have to pack for a trip to Honnleath. We’ll keep in touch via the mirror, Josephine.”
Varric watched Solas watch them leave and said, “You really fucked up when you dumped her, you know.”
“I know,” Solas said glumly. When Cole took a breath to speak, Solas raised a hand and said, “No, Cole, you cannot help this hurt. It was something that shouldn’t have been, that could never be, an attraction that would bring nothing but sorrow and regret and -”
“Tell it to the mirror,” Varric said. “I’m going to get a beer and see if I can figure out what makes this thing...I mean, compose some very important memos. For the war council.”
Over the next few weeks the mirror saw regular use. Agents reported in, captains sent in field reports, and, despite cautions to keep its use hidden, word got out. Soon there were requests to send back personal messages to family member waiting in the castle interspersed with troop movements and supply requests. And then one day, the newest message on the mirror read:
A request for Varric Tethras. I cannot help but notice that it’s been several months since your last chapter of Swords and Shields. I would like to request that you cease work on your crime series so you can devote the time and attention to S&S that it deserves. P.S. I think there should be a scene where the Knight Captain can show her softer side, and be vulnerable without appearing weak. It doesn’t have to be a love scene, but that would be all right as well. Please, just no bathroom activities.
“What,” Varric said as he read it, “does that even mean?”
Dorian tilted his head in consideration. “Bathing scenes, perhaps? Which is just silly, because who doesn’t like a good bathing scene? Especially if there are candles and scented oils and glistening skin sliding through the water - are you writing that down?”
“I’ll give you credit, keep going.”
Dorian sniffed. “You could at least buy me dinner if you want me to talk dirty to you.”
“Just so long as you know it won’t go beyond talk,” Varric said. “Bianca and I have very specific boundaries.”
The next day there was a new message:
Why can’t the Knight Captain be all vulnerable with her lady lieutenant? They can show each other their softer sides, if you know what I mean. Following this was a crudely drawn picture of a limp penis with a line drawn through it resembling an arrow.
The men present reflexively crossed their legs.
“You’d be surprised at how often I get that particular request, if not that particular art work,” Varric said.
“I actually wouldn’t,” the Iron Bull said. And then, “You do seriously take requests?”
Varric shrugged. “I don’t have a lot of free time, but sometimes you get tossed an idea that just speaks to you.”
“Interesting,” Bull said.
The next day:
I’d like to request a new series, a sort of swashbuckling adventure featuring a band of brave misfits and their charismatic leader who hides his deep inner trauma behind a suave and careless mask. They travel the land, seeking out danger by day and passion by night. They’ll do just about anything for a heavy enough coin purse, except betray one another.
“Huh,” Varric said.
“That sounds really good,” Bull said enthusiastically. “I bet it would sell like hotcakes.”
“You know, I’ve traveled all over Thedas, and I’ve never once found someone selling hotcakes,” Blackwall said. “Why does everyone assume they would be a popular item?”
“Because they are freaking delicious,” Bull said. “Especially if you slather on some fresh butter and drizzle them with a little honey. Oh, or some of that syrup from those red trees in the Hinterlands. But mostly with honey."
“A voice like honey and skin like silk,” Cole said softly. “Too sweet and soft for a man like me, rough and raw.” While he paused for a breath, Blackwall wordlessly bolted.
“Huh,” Varric said again. “I assumed that was my thought; had Bianca on my mind.”
“Mmm,” Bull said.
“Were you thinking of someone too?"
Bull ducked his head, then muttered, “Vivienne. It’s the hat with the horns. It makes me all hot and confused.”
Cole said, “I think hotcakes sound nice. Warm and comforting.”
The next day:
I would like a story about a solitary man in pursuit of redemption. He didn’t intend to fall in love, but she captured his heart with one look. She longs to know his secrets, but would hate him if she ever did. Please write a happy ending.
“That, er, looks interesting,” Blackwall said, followed by a painfully expectant look.
“Redemption stories always end in tragedy, you know,” Varric said.
Blackwall let out a sigh and then said, “I know.”
Somehow word got out that a person could make requests for stories via the mirror. At first the requests trickled in, but pretty soon, there was a deluge. Some requests were for new chapters of serials in progress, but quite a few were for --
“Smut!” Jospehine said as she scrolled down the mirror. “Look at this! Templars spanking naughty mages! Mages spanking haughty Templars until they cry! A Qunari fisting a magister! What is fisting? No, I do not wish to know,” she said when Varric looked like he was going to explain.
“It’s human nature,” Dorian said. “We love to tell stories and the best stories are about relationships. And, well, sometimes sex.”
“And fisting?” Josephine indignantly demanded.
Dorian shrugged and said, “Eh, a little wine, a little sweet talk and as long as you take it slow -”
“I do not wish to know!”
The Iron Bull, on the other hand, said, “No, keep going.”
“For you, it would be more than a little wine,” Dorian said waspishly.
“I have an entire cask with your name on it,” Bull said.
Dorian gave Bull a speculative look and said, “I’ll consider it.”
“Maker give me strength,” Josephine said.
And they kept coming.
...something with King Alistair and the Hero of Fereldan, maybe the night before the big battle when they didn’t know if they would live or die and came together one last time. Make it hot, make it angsty, make it both and I’ll send you some ale from the Free Marches.
...the Herald is trapped in the Fade and can only get out by making a deal with a demon. Not for her soul. The demon has seen sex in the dreams of humans and wants to experience for itself and this is its one chance. The Herald hates it at first, but then starts to love demon cock and at the end finds herself going back again and again. Maker I hope no one can tell who this is.
...everyone knows the Commander hates mages, but now he’s working with them. What if Fiona is a secret blood mage and she has him under her spell? She could command him to do anything. ANYTHING. I want to see him on his knees pleasuring her with his mouth, or servicing the mages in the tower and loving it.
…Hawke and Fenris decide to kidnap Anders and stop him from starting the mage rebellion. Sexily.
“If only,” Varric muttered.
...the ancient magisters were called upon a noble purpose, but were deceived and betrayed. One of them slumbered for a thousand years, shackled, imprisoned and misunderstood. He awoke and found the world a dismal place and tried to change it, but a nasty little elf ruined all his plans. Please write it the way it should have been, with a new god ruling over his miserable subjects, who will bow down before me OR KNOW MY WRATH. No bathroom stuff, please.
“What in the name of the Void is all this?” Ellana demanded. “I leave for a few weeks and my magic mirror is infested with smut. Solas, can we erase any of this?”
“No,” he said coolly. “I did mention that it held enough for a millennia.”
“Well that’s just swell,” she said. “Okay, I want all the mirrors back. We’re putting a hold on this until we can figure out a way to deal with it.”
However, even after all the mirrors were accounted for, the requests kept coming in.
“I don’t understand,” Ellana said.
Varric shrugged innocently. “It’s technology, Inquisitor. Once it’s out there…”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “Fine. I guess we’ll just have to put it back in the vault. But, Varric…”
“Yes?”
“Do you think you can write the mages spanking the Templars story first?”
He paused to consider. “Do you want the crying?”
Her eyes half closed and a dreamy smile curved her lips. “Yeah.”
“You got it.”