Blessed Truth and Blessed Lies

"Mate, I really can't help ya!" a gruff voice exclaimed. The Room was dark. The atmosphere was overwhelming. Deep. Accusing. Bad memories. The interrogation wasn't the man's favorite thing. In fact, it was among his least. The walls, floor, and roof were all made of stone as was the chair he had been roughly thrown into. Now that he thought of it, the chair was from Kirkwall, bronze angular inscriptions had been etched onto it. Was he in Kirkwall? These thoughts were thrust into the back of his mind as his interrogator stepped out of the shadows.

She was beautiful, in a rip-your-balls-off kinda way. Short black hair, almost pixie-like truth be told. Her eyes were a deep brown, almost amber. Amber could describe this woman well. Harry really couldn't help but think of the Mediterranean peoples when he saw her. She had a deep scar on her left cheek and rather severe glare. Ah, that last one is for me.

"I am not your 'mate', Sorcerer, and I would suggest you shut your mouth before you make a fool of yourself with inane remarks and flippant statements." even the Woman's accent was the Mediterranean. Nevarran, actually. He did so enjoy the parallels between the realms, not that anyone besides him knew there were others.

"Ah so you know who I am, but alas, I do not knowwho you are…?" the black haired wizard's voice coming out rough both from not having had any water for a day and a half and how old he was, Master of Death, so thankful for that. His beard was long and rather unkempt as was his wild hair. He had not worn glasses since he was banished from his home realm. Nope, don't think about that. His dirty leather trench coat was stain with blood almost all over except for the arms which had been removed and currently had his plate arm armor sticking through the holes. He knows his Orlesian breastplate was dented to shit from the Seekers. Fucking daisy chantry bootlickers. It was an expensive breastplate too. Gifted to him for saving some random Orlesian mage from 2 rogue templars a few months back. Gold, Silver, and steel could stop a claw from a Wyvern, damn thing. Trust me I've tried it.

The Woman finally answered in that rather pleasant accent of hers, "I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, of the Chantry, and yes, I know a great deal about you… Harry the Bartender, Henrik the Mercenary, Hadrian, Advisor to the Hero of Ferelden, and most recently Imrus…"

Harry immediately deadpanned, "So you know a lot, wondered how long it would take to put it all together. I mean not as if every name was a variant of the other… fucking medievals." he muttered the last part under his breath.

"So Seeker of Truth, you want the truth about me yes, perhaps my connection to every Hero in the past 10 years, Ferelden, Orlais, and Kirkwall?" Harry knew how this was going to happen. He would spill, he quickly decided, well not all of it, owe that much to Hawke. He had wanted this story to be told and truthfully, a hero would be exactly what the world need when it comes to those fucking Templars and Mages.

"Yes, but I have no doubt you will need to be convinced so I to-" Harry quickly interrupted.

"No need Seeker… I'll tell you everything, from Ostagar to the Blight, to Vigil's Keep...even to fucking Tevinter if I have to… no, don't worry, I'll tell you what got us into this mess"

Cassandra looked at the grungy man before her. He was in chains for both her and his own safety. She had no notion that she could defeat him in hand-to-hand combat if he were unchained. Although her seekers could kill him, it would not be without a few losses at least. He was said to have personally trained the Hero of Ferelden, a woman whose magic was as legendary as her sword hand, apparently, she was taught in the ways of the Arcane Warrior, a lost art that Harry (or Hadrian, or Henrik) was a master of, somehow. She had researched his exploits and has consequently come up with very little, Leliana had been of very little help as well, as apparently during her travels with him and the hero, he had said very little about himself to anyone, with the exception of the Hero and the now King Alistair.

Harry asked a question about what she wanted to know. Truthfully there was a lot of missing pieces in everything surrounding the man. AS far as she knew he had helped the Hero, Commander Caron and Hawke then simply disappeared, and she wasted details of it all, everything that had lead to the mage-templar war.

It was true she did want to know exactly what had happened and his hand in all of it. She knew he had been around for longer than 17 years as he told everyone. He said he started his adventuring when he was 18, (17 years ago) but she had evidence of his dealings with the Fereldan Royalty during the Orlesian Invasion more than 100 years ago. By all means, it made no sense, but at the same time, it would explain a lot to find Harry was immortal. She quickly decided to drop her trump card.

"Yes, but I have no doubt you will need to be convinced so I to-" the man interrupted her with an uncharacteristically serious look.

"No need Seeker… I'll tell you everything, from the Ostagar to the Blight, to Vigil's Keep...even to fucking Tevinter if I have to… no, don't worry, I'll tell you what got us into this mess". She had to look uncertain in this moment. The entire sentence confused her. She had no idea what happened at Vigil's Keep and even less of an idea of Tevinter.

"I'll start with the Blight...specifically at its beginning when Commander Duncan's dreams started".

AN - I've literally been pining for a story like this for a long time. There are a lot of SI fics where the characters are immortal for no reason, so I figured I'd make one where the immortal one is Harry, which actually has a reason. Most of the Harry Potter fics out there are either unfinished