That lyrium. That lyrium. It sings its song once again. It was the fifth time this day. The entire room was silent. They were not beating today, they do not sing its horrific lullaby for today. Except for that one shard across the cell, right beside the gate. It must have fallen when one of the guards had passed by her cell, and she's put on the show of not entertaining any question from the stranger at all. Or maybe not. Or was it? Or was it there for days and she did not just remember?
Cassandra doesn't think twice as she reaches for it and grasps the mineral — beating and humming to her — with bare fingers. It was red and was as evil as she remembered it and as she touches it she felt it crawl like it was seeping underneath her skin and it was probably not a good thing. But she grasps the crystal tighter, like it was life itself.
It probably is.
She's felt the symptoms before she knew what they were, and she knew that it was way too late for her to do anything about it. As a Seeker, she was supposed to be able to set it in fire, but they did not respond to her, and that was when she knew she was losing it. The cell was bordered with the crystals, and she's seen it glow, she's seen it show her visions and fake memories like some bastard old god.
And she felt it doing something inside her. It was beating; it had a rhythm different to her heartbeat. She felt the pains and heard the voices. She heard it screaming, whispering, humming. It narrates her memories and distorts them, so much that she could not discern what is right from wrong, what is true or not.
She remembered seeing the Inquisitor and Dorian dying. She remembers Alexius ravishing in his victory. She remembered fighting back, she remembered losing, she remembered bleeding in all sorts of areas that shouldn't bleed, she remembered being taken away. She remembered whispers of assurance, "it's all okay, we'll still see each other, don't worry, don't worry my seeker", before they took him away too, clinging to the feeling of his hand on hers. She remembered not crying, still clinging to her pride.
She remembered praying everyday to the Maker, to Andraste, for hope. A few weeks, months came, and she remembered praying for a miracle.
And after that, she remembered how she just stopped praying altogether.
And the memories become blurry and bad and dirty, and she desperately clings onto broken memories and moments that she held most dear, hoping that they would be as memorable and important if she cherishes them enough, but that was not the way it works. A stolen moment by the fire doesn't seem as magical anymore. The memory of kisses and nights shared together no longer feels passionate. Jokes and banters and stories no longer bring her a smile. And she no longer mourns when she thinks of the possibility of Varric being as miserable and lifeless as she is and she found it strange.
And sometimes she returns to praying, but she does not even know if it was still the Maker or Andraste she is praying to. She merely wanted someone to share her thoughts to, and she'd look at the lyrium crystals and try to make out her reflection on it before she clasps her hands and starts whispering prayers and wishes and desperate pleas to whoever was listening —please do not take these memories from me, please let me keep them please please please—
But the lyrium beats still and it goes on and there was nothing she could do.
She grips the crystal further, not knowing if she was still strong enough to be able to crush it, like before. Maybe a year ago, when she would go out on the fields to train and beat the dummies to submission, and Varric would come and joke on how badly the straw men looked. Then she'd invite him to join her train, and they would for a short while before they either get too tired or they get called in for something important, or maybe they stopped because of what he said about Hawke, of what she said about him being a lying snake, or because of what he said about her being wrong and—
Maker, this is happening again.
Cassandra throws the lyrium crystal across the room, and cries out tears that will never come. She's dried them all out, her throat managing nothing but dried painful sobs. She doesn't even know why she's crying, or why she wanted to. Days ago, the memory would come back, and she couldn't bring herself to care.
It's probably the lyrium, she thought. She always blames the lyrium. There was one reason that it—
"Cassandra? Oh Creators, Cassandra..?"
The gate suddenly opens and there she is— the Inquisitor, like she did not die at all. There was also Dorian, who looked the same as she saw him last.
And there was Varric, behind the two of them, no sign of a grin on his face, his eyes glowing red from the lyrium, Bianca still on his shoulder.
The Inquisitor comes closer and takes the seeker's cold hands between hers, as she tries to check if she has any injuries. Dorian started explaining on how it was all a trick, on how they were transported to the future, on how this was all merely an alternate universe, some dark future that they need to deal with and fix. The words were lost to her ears, but the meaning got into her — there is still yet a second chance for her to get through this lyrium hell, but she won't be there to see it.
It takes a while before Cassandra speaks, with Dorian talking and the Inquisitor murmuring silent apologies and Varric just looking at her as if she looked completely different. "Inquisitor," Cassandra whispers, trying to get accustomed to speaking again after so long. "Inquisitor," she repeats, louder this time. The elf heard and she looks to her, worried. Dorian stops talking, somewhat realizing that it doesn't seem to matter now.
The Inquisitor muttered louder apologies — sincere ones, the seeker knew, her hands were warm and regret was written all over her face — but it did not matter to Cassandra now. All that mattered to her was that she was alive and she could still fight, thanks to her, thanks to Dorian, thanks to Varric, even though he too suffered through this. The hope, at the very least, is one thing Cassandra was grateful of having back, and that is what she had. She wielded the sword given to her like it was raw anger, her revenge for taking the memories and making them something unrecognizably foul.
She's felt the dried-out buds inside her starting to grow into the roses she loved, as she stood, unfamiliar armor and sword and shield on her, and she smiled, and she said silent words of gratefulness. If she could not go on, maybe the other Cassandra Pentaghast could live and write a better ending than she could.
And maybe she and Varric could write a better tale that won't involve memories lost to lyrium.
As the door was closed behind them, there was silence except for the distant rumbling of their deaths to come. There is no turning back, and she is happy to embrace her death for a second chance that she'll never see. She draws her sword and raises her shield, waiting.
"Seeker," Varric murmurs. It was the first word that Cassandra has heard from him. She could not remember how he sounded a year back, but she was certain it did not sound so broken before. "It's nice to see you again. You just don't know."
Cassandra wordlessly smiles back, the relief washing over her, before she responds. "Did you hate this place as much as I did? I'd be glad to see it gone."
He loads Bianca as he answers. "Hate would be an understatement. I could write an entire novel about it, but sadly I'm not even sure if I could still write."
"Your words are still elaborate. If I ask, you could probably still tell a tale like we're in a tavern."
"Well, I have written them. It's all here." He points to his temple, and grins. "It's not worth writing if I can't remember it!"
"So I have a question, then." She turns to him. "Do you still remember how you planned Swords and Shields to go and end?"
Varric pauses, before he turns to answer. "Yes, I think I do."
"Since we're dying anyway, can you tell me what will happen to the guard-captain?"
Before Varric was able to respond, the first demon comes, and Cassandra raises her shield and attacks, but it was evident that she was still waiting for a response. Varric tries to focus to his words as he shoots bolts to demon heads. "Of course, she ends up with her handsome guardsman, they end the rebellion, and they saved the city and all that! But I forgot to tell you about something that I have been writing before."
"Which is?" A second and third demon comes, and Cassandra blocks one as she proceeds to attempt to behead the other, but Varric beat her to killing the foul thing before it comes any closer.
"There's this novel I've been meaning to write, about this shield-maiden and her dwarven rogue."
Cassandra smiles, instantly knowing what he meant, even as the demons increase in numbers to distract the both of them.
"Sadly, I never got to finish it. There were too many details I wanted to write. Their intense first meeting, how handsome the rogue was with his chest hair, how pretty and strong the maiden was, how they'd steal some moments when they can, read terrible books together, maybe fuck out an argument once or twice—"
It takes her a while, but Cassandra starts laughing. The sound seemed foreign and strange, as if it was her first time doing it, but she didn't care how awkward and stupid she looked and sounded, laughing like a little girl as she goes around impaling demons. Even as she missed, even as she failed to block a strike, even as she falls down from a fatal strike. She still raises her shield and tries to defend Varric, even though she knows it was futile and inevitable — but the laughter was still on her lips, as soft as it could be.
She might have looked insane, but with the lyrium in her system, she's as close to insane as she could be.
The laughter dies down when it was Varric who falls, and Cassandra made sure that she was close to him when he does. The blow she received earlier is already doing short work of killing her, the lyrium helping somewhat, and she could no longer stand up, let alone prop herself up with her arm.
She later found his hand in hers.
"How— how would you end it, if you were given a chance?"
He laughs out weakly, blood gurgling up his throat as he does so. "We-well, shit. I forgot." He grips her hand tighter. "That meant it wasn't really a good ending, wa-was it?"
She laughs, but it grew weaker as she went on. Later on, Varric tries to squeeze her hand, but she no longer responded to it. The keep door was open, and there were arrows everywhere and he knew that it was time. They were gone, Dorian and the Inquisitor have probably returned, and he's probably going to die any second now.
The pain in his neck and chest comes to remind him of this. Varric looks to the seeker's direction, who has her eyes still open yet empty, with the glow of red lyrium swirling in her irises.
"Now that I think about it, this seems better." He grins and looks at the Breach on the sky for one last time, feeling it rumbling and eating up everything in its path. "It's more memorable, right?"
Varric squeezes her hand for the last time before he finally closes his eyes, just at the moment he felt the love and the passion of the memories return. He thought they were gone, away on delusions and fake songs, but amidst the chaos it was only that tale that stayed intact and it was one thing the lyrium did not take.
He would have remembered that for a long time if he lived longer.