Search For The Lost
Harding squints as she scans the cragged peaks, the glare reflecting off the snow making her eyes tear up. In consultation with Seeker Pentaghast she has blocked out an area below Skyhold that they think it's most likely a person - the Inquisitor - might land. Searching the main valley beneath the fortress had been the easy part. Now they were scaling the sheer mountain face, hunting through every ravine and crevasse. Leaving no stone unturned, as it were.
Beneath the voices of the scouts is the persistent clink of steel on stone as they anchor ropes to the mountainside. It was slow going, but Harding wasn't about to lose a man to a fall now, not after all they had been through.
It was somewhat ironic that here she was - a surface-born dwarf - toiling away at a rock face with pickaxe in hand. Not quite the same as being a miner down in Orzammar, but the comparison made her smile. It was said the stone spoke to those deep-dwelling dwarves.
I will blind you and send you to your doom! is what Harding fancies this mountain screams angrily; spitting razor shards at her as she hammers her pick against it for purchase. She slides down the rope and lands in the next ravine, picking her way along it carefully. They had heard crag wolves calling in the night, but fortunately had not had a run in with any yet.
That might make finding the Inquisitor's remains difficult however. Harding muses grimly, though she doesn't want to believe they'll find evidence of her here. The thought that the Inquisitor could be so depressed and hopeless unsettles Harding. It was the Inquisitor that taught her to remain positive in the face of despair. That together they had the power to change the world for the better.
Harding would never forget the Herald's kindness those first few months after she joined the Inquisition. Charter had been a respectful mentor and appreciated her talents, so she was sent to Haven to assess her combat skills. It was a shock to a young girl that had never been beyond the Hinterlands. Harding had thought everyone in the Inquisition would be honourable and noble - a dashing hero like Commander Cullen. She was quickly proven wrong when the harassment began. They would corner her when alone, frequently during her evening meal at the Singing Maiden.
"A little harmless fun," is what the ringleader, Lieutenant Beric labelled it. For some of the other recruits perhaps it was, but Harding could always sense the thread of disdain and hate in Beric's words. The Templar had a cruel streak as wide as the Breach, but was too charming and cunning by far. He was careful to keep the worst of his malice for Harding's ears alone. When they had learned her given name was Lace, she had wanted to curl up and die. Beric dubbed her Lacy Smalls and his torments quickly turned from blatantly racist to overtly sexual.
She hadn't known what to do about it, other than keep her head down and endure in silence. She had no friends here, Charter and the other Scouts were always in the field. Back home she would have deterred the raucous village boys with a kick to the shins, but here there were rules about striking officers. If it came to blows it would be her word against Beric's. She was just a backwoods recruit, while Beric was a veteran from Kirkwall with old ties to the Commander. Though Harding knew her silence confirmed their belief that she was weak prey, she hoped in time she would be returned to the Scouts and the matter would resolve itself.
Harding reaches the end of the ravine and stares up at the rock face. She readies her pick, hammering it at the unyielding stone as she begins her climb to the next outcropping. Driving home an anchor, she fastens her rope. She settles into a rhythm, hammering, climbing, inching slowly up and across. A smile curls across her lip when she thinks of how far she has come since those days. Lead Scout, a respected and integral member of the Inquisition and - she believes - a fair leader and inspiration to her subordinates. She does not know, or care, what has ultimately become of Templar Beric.
It had happened on one particularly harrowing evening. Harding never learned how she knew about it, but the Herald had quietly slipped into the tavern, to witness Beric's 'fun'.
"The knife-ear is here," Beric's second, Templar Faris had whispered harshly when the Herald finally approached them.
"Maybe I'll find you later, Lacy." Beric's slithering tongue brushed against her ear and a wave of nausea washed over her. She shrugged off his grasping hands as he and the others melted away - cowards all. Varric stood at the bar, arms crossed with a scowl on his face. Harding had felt terror then, the harassment would only get worse if they thought she had complained to someone.
"Have a drink with me, Lace," the Herald had said as she steered her to the bar. A deep blush rose up Harding's face and she groaned to hear the Herald use her given name. "Sulahnean… 'song-bird'," the Herald pointed at herself with a sympathetic laugh, "is not particularly intimidating either."
But you are intimidating, Harding had thought.
"Harding then." She said as she clunked her mug against Harding's. "Charter says you're the most daring scout she's ever seen. I'm glad you're with us."
"I'm sure she exaggerates." Harding had demurred and heard Varric's quiet scoff from the other side of the Herald. She chanced a look up at the elf and found perceptive eyes quietly studying her. Is she waiting for me to say something? Harding had wondered anxiously.
"Don't underrate yourself, Harding. There are plenty of people more than happy to do it for you." The Herald's golden amber eyes flashed angrily.
"My Lady?" Harding queried, worried she had offended her.
"We're women Harding," she stated plainly, "they will always underestimate and de-value us. As an elf and a dwarf in this world, even more so." The Herald placed a warm hand on Harding's arm. "You have to know your own worth. Don't let their ignorance and insecurity undermine it." Harding had not known how to respond, it was clear the Herald knew something of what she suffered. It was kind of her to offer advice and encouragement, but where she could return to the safety of the Chantry, Harding would be left to fend for herself.
"I think you're going to go far with the Inquisition, Harding." The Herald said as she finished up her drink. "Just remember when you've made rank, to value the people under you too." Harding blinked as the Herald flashed her a brilliant smile and clapped her on the back as she left. Varric cracked his knuckles and gave Harding a wink as he fell in behind the Herald.
Harding had barely slept that night, perplexed by their conversation and terrified of what new torments awaited. The next morning she received a summons from Commander Cullen and her stomach turned somersaults.
"Congratulations Harding, Charter has recommended you for a promotion. Where'd you learn to fight?" Cullen asked admiringly.
"Picked it up here and there." Harding shrugged and Cullen smiled warmly at her modesty. Harding wondered if the Herald had known this was coming and the Commander was watching her with such a curious expression, she didn't know what to make of it.
"You'll be leading a small group of scouts to the Fallow Mire. Report to Harritt at the Smithy and he'll get you properly outfitted." Cullen dismissed her with a nod.
"Y-yes, Ser." She managed to stammer as she backed out of his tent. She hadn't expected the promotion, but she was relieved by the news she would be returning to the wilds. As she neared the main gate she caught sight of Beric and Faris. The rush of panic made her stumble over her own feet, her new-found elation quickly dissipating.
Beric turned and his cold eyes locked on her. Harding gasped at the sight of him, his lip split and swollen, while a sling held his arm firm across his body. Faris turned too, barely able to see her through the purple, puffy flesh around his eye. It was only then she noticed the guards were barring their entry through the gate. Faris put a hand on Beric but the other Templar shrugged him off angrily and they stormed away from Haven.
"If that isn't just the most poetic shit I've ever seen." Harding jumped as Varric sidled up to her.
"Did you…?" Harding asked the dashing dwarf, as she looked back to the gate.
"I didn't do anything," Varric held up his hands. "Sulahnean looks all sweet and mild, but she's got a mean right hook. Turns out, bully Templars are a bit of a bugbear of hers. She told me she was going to give them a stern talking to and wanted back-up.
"It was all she could do really. Given she doesn't have an official position, as far as chain-of-command is concerned, you see?" Varric seemed apologetic and Harding still didn't really understand what had happened.
"Funny thing is, Faris decided to take a swing at the 'knife-ear cunt', just as Cassandra and Cullen happened to be coming back from drills. Pretty strange coincidence, right?" Varric rubbed at the stubble on his jaw and chuckled, "Beric was a sly piece of work, but he sure got out-played by the Herald." Harding's eyes went wide as she realised what the Herald had done for her.
"Why would she endanger herself like that, why not just talk to Cullen directly?" Harding asked, horrified by the thought of a mage picking a fight with seasoned Templars.
"Because neither you, or anyone else seemed to want to talk about it and I guess she's still trying to figure out exactly how much authority she has around here. She didn't trust the humans to just take her word for it." Varric shrugs.
"I thought Cullen was going to execute them on the spot, but she even had the grace to talk him down and let them get patched up. Curly gave them their marching orders this morning. Beric's arm was the Seeker's work, by the way. Maker, but she scares the shit out of me."
"You seem to be the only one enjoying yourself." Harding almost yelps out loud as Cassandra's voice drifts to her from above. She crawls up the last few feet and Cassandra reaches down to help her onto the ledge.
"Just remembering Templar Beric," Harding explains. Cassandra makes a sound of disgust and shakes her head.
"I'm sorry, we didn't realise how he had been treating you and the other recruits, that was not the Inquisition I had envisioned." Harding starts at Cassandra's apology. It was not something she ever expected or felt owed, but it was nice to have and she nods in acceptance.
"That's the moment I should have realised we needed to appoint Lani as Inquisitor." Cassandra laughs wryly. "I can't believe it took us so long to figure out how worthy she was." Cassandra looks wistfully over the mountains.
"The Inquisitor was always kind to me. I mean, it felt like she made the effort to be, when she didn't even need to acknowledge me." Harding wanted to bite back her words. The Seeker had never really spoken to her outside of work and she didn't want her to think she was criticising her. "Not that I expect my superiors to carve out time for me, busy as they are. But the Inquisitor seemed to make everyone's problems her own, or am I wrong?" Cassandra settles down on the ledge beside her, long legs dangling in the air.
"No Harding, you are not wrong." Cassandra answers with a gentleness Harding has not heard before. "She was - is," Cassandra corrects herself, "like that with everyone. I do not know if it was an impulse she developed as First of her clan, or if she was simply born to it. The first time I spoke with her, I threatened to execute her." Harding's eyebrows shoot up in disbelief and Cassandra nods in earnest. "I was angry, frightened and she was so patient with me. Gentle even." Cassandra wrings her hands as she speaks, surprising Harding. She has never known the Seeker to be vulnerable or uncertain.
"Thinking back, she must have been equally confused and frightened, if not more so. But she never rebuked me, or called me out for being wrong when the truth came to light. I suppose it was just her nature. We were so blessed that she was the one that bore the Anchor. I dread to think how things might be different, had someone else come upon Corypheus that day."
Harding thinks back to the strife that had overwhelmed her home in the Hinterlands. When she passes through her old community now and sees it thriving again, it fills her with pride. In herself, in the Inquisition she had joined. They all played a part but she knew, the Inquisitor had been the steady driving force behind it all. Their inspiration.
"I don't want to believe it." Harding confesses. "It just doesn't seem fair, after everything she has done. All she has given." Harding recalls the truths they had uncovered about Inquisitor Ameridan. How his actions, his sacrifice - even his race and ideals - had been erased by the Chantry. She thinks of the tragic death of his dear friends and his lover, Telana - pining away for him, alone on a forgotten island. The thought that after everything, such tragedy is all that awaits Inquisitor Lavellan is enough to make her weep.
"She deserves a happy ending." Harding chokes out, her voice thick with emotion.
"Ah…" The Seeker remarks, her stern face softening. "You're a romantic." Harding blushes and a deep sadness creeps over Cassandra's features. "I do not know that a happy ending is something she is destined to find." Cassandra rises then to her full, imposing height. "But I can tell you what we will not find here, Harding." She declares and Harding lets the conviction in her voice chase away her fears. "We will not find her."