Chapter Text
Everybody always asked Varric if his stories were true, others straight up accused him of lying or rewriting history. “It’s fiction!” He’d say with a smirk, or he’d put on a woefully serious expression and say, “I wish some of it wasn’t.”
He had a reputation to uphold after all.
So when Charter and the Inquisitor had enlisted him to help with the hunt for Chuckles, he’d gone to his room, poured himself a drink, and had a good long think about how the fuck he was supposed to make this shit work. They’d been friends, and Solas was an uncanny bastard who’d see Varric coming a mile away…
He needed a team.
He needed to recruit people with talents that would help him deal with all the damn inevitable twists and ancient bullshit.
Harding had already volunteered, bless her, but she was about as good at lying as she was at looking big and intimidating.
He needed someone who could blend in anywhere and handle the artifacts Solas was hunting.
He needed someone who did shit for the right reasons even if it meant pissing people off, with the skills to get those jobs done.
He needed someone who had the kind of heart and sense of duty that even Solas couldn’t undermine, who could hold their own in a fight.
Varric already knew some people who fit all three of those qualifications, but Solas had already met all of them, and surely had plans in place to keep them off his trail. He’d always been one for elaborate gambits and trickery, treating the world like it was his own personal chess board.
The Inquisitor had said it best.
“Solas started this game thousands of years ago, and what happened at the Conclave was merely a resetting of the board. He needed time to adapt and recharge; and then when it was time he took control once again. I wish we could just flip the damn thing over and leave him scrambling long enough to talk shit through with him.”
Varric hadn’t disagreed, but he’d also quietly thought maybe it was time they started cheating, as clearly Chuckles wasn’t playing by the same set of rules.
Oh. Now that was a fun idea. Maybe Varric could cheat. Why couldn’t he indulge himself in a little misdirection and underhanded shit, too?
What’s the worst that could happen? He failed? That was a potential result no matter what, and Varric was tired of playing by the rules so much. Maybe it was time to make sure when it was time to meet the Dread Wolf face to face he had some aces up his own damn sleeves.
It took time, and there had been some setbacks, but Varric had managed to pull it off. The hardest part was playing it all with a straight face, lying in the faces of some of their allies, adding to the chaos that was already running rampant in the world. But it seemed to be working.
He’d started with Mary Brithari. Maker, he loved that kid. He hadn’t even needed to tell her the whole plan, he’d just given her some hints and a wink and she’d filled in the blanks beautifully. She’d already had a fully functioning alias with both the Veil Jumpers and the Shadow Dragons each, but they’d opted to stick with the former for the sake of the narrative they were crafting.
Then she’d put Warden Thorne in his path, immediately recognizing their potential after befriending them. The seasoned Grey Warden had joined their merry band of misfits and immediately gotten to work. They got along with everyone, and were an absolute tank in a fight.
By chance he’d had a meeting with some Crows he’d worked with before, and when one of them mentioned that the Fifth Talon’s protege had been forced to flee Treviso after doing some stupid (and brave) shit, and that said Talon wanted to track her down? Well Mary had volunteered to help him, and when they’d returned with Matteo Lucia Alessandro De Riva, the last piece had fallen into place.
Solas wanted to play chess? Fine.
Varric was gonna still stack the deck in any way possible, even if it wasn’t a damn card game.
Varric’s plan wasn’t fool proof by any means. In fact it was a fool’s plan, but that maybe wasn’t a bad thing.
The name Rook became associated with him. Rumors spread but some truth shone bright among the more fanciful stories for those paying attention or gathering information: Rook was an elven mage, Rook was a fighter, Rook had been banished from their home for doing the right thing and pissing off their superiors.
Varric talked Rook up wherever he went. Rook was his battering ram, his backup, and his sidekick. Rook was helping him track down Solas, everyone knew that.
Varric always gave his friends nicknames that he thought suited them, and for a mage who was in the bad graces of their superiors it made sense they’d embrace their new name.
So sure, Solas knew Varric was on the hunt for him at the behest of his ex-lover and friend. And of course the old rogue had recruited a detective, a scout, and a wild card. Maybe he’d gotten a little predictable in his old age, but he’d always been stubborn…
But what not everyone knew was he really fucking hated when people called him predictable, so this time he was maybe going at this a little harder than he should. But then again, since the world was at stake, he was probably just being smart.
He’d put three aces up his sleeve when everyone only thought he had one.