Roof Cookies and A Side of Dread

Skyhold, two and a half months after the defeat of Corypheus.

Varric had left a week earlier for Kirkwall talking about repairs and 'hiring miners for the damn harbor'. Dorian returned to Tevinter a few days after him. He told her he'd 'pop back' shortly. Cassandra left to find the new commander of the Seekers with all the hope in the world written on her face. Blackwall joined the Grey Wardens and left for parts unknown and promised he'd write her. Cole sort of drifted in and out, helping people in his own way. Vivienne was off cavorting with the mages and circles. Very official business. Her luggage had a longer farewell than she did.

Good riddance.

Iron Bull stopped by with the Chargers in between missions, but they were very active in the Inquisition, so they spent more time away than at Skyhold than time there.

Killing is busy work.

Leliana was being fit into Chanty robes and a giant headdress. She was Divine Victoria, after all. Lavellan would not admit the outfit looked utterly ridiculous. It was a terrible loss when the Inquisition said goodbye to it's spymaster. Leliana had left her it good hands and she was still helping from the shadows, luckily.

Sera was still around, but always busy with her friends of Red Jenny.

Lavellan found that she had more time than after liked lately. She paced, feeling like an animal stuck in a gilded cage. There weren't many missions she could accomplish alone, if Cullen or Josephine would even let her. She didn't feel like arguing with them, her nerves were frayed enough as is.

She stayed put. She was aching all the time and didn't feel the demand to act without a target, without a mission, and without her friends. She'd be distraught and broken if not for Josephine. The woman was her lifeline to sanity and relative comfort. If she felt hurt, Josephine would try to distract her. If she were hungry, she'd try to feed her. She was like a doting parent at times, but she admitted that she was too helpful to avoid. She had issues and Josephine would do her best to solve them. She couldn't solve heartbreak.

The heartburn started shortly before they fought Corypheus. Lavellan had no idea how she did it, but when she requested halla milk for her heartburn, Josephine got it. It was fresh from a Dalish clan she'd helped in the past. Inquisition business of course. Lavellan sat down in the tavern with a jug of it and poured herself a cup. It was still warm. Sera popped her head into her periphery. "Oi, what's that?", she'd asked.

"Halla milk", Lavellan said with a smile. Her eyes looked distant, as if she were in another place – back in the Freemarches with her clan. She sighed softly and took a sip of the milk. It was frothy and a light beige color. There was nothing else like it in all of Thedas. It sort of tasted like almonds, if somehow they could be ground up and turned into a milk of sorts. She snorted at the idea of a milk made from nuts. It was absolutely absurd.

"Uh, what's it taste like?", Sera leaned in closer.

Lavellan held her cup out, "Why don't you try it? I can't really explain…"

The blonde elf sniffed the cup of it before gagging and waving her off.

Lavellan shrugged and took a sip.

Sera made a disgusted face. "I don't want any of that shite! Smells like a right dirty twat!"

The Inquisitor spit it out with a bark of a laugh, spraying it like a fountain onto Sera's shirt.

Sera wore an incredulous look on her face and halla milk on her clothes. Her cheeks and ears burned bright red. "AUGH! Fuckin' gross!"

The Inquisitor coughed and laughed, wiping at her mouth.

Oh Sera…

Sera gagged and grabbed a nearby cloth napkin and tried to wipe the milk off, muttering loudly and making retching noises as she tried to hold her breath.

"Disgusting nasty fuckin' deer jizz!"

Lavellan laughed and tried to help, grabbing a bar rag to help soak up the mess. She didn't mean to keep laughing, but it was the first time in a while that she'd felt happiness – though it was joy at her friend's expense.

Sera was moody for a few days afterwards, wary of the Inquisitor and her 'disgusting' beverage. Lavellan made herself scarce and mostly stayed in her room, grumbling from aches and pains that seemed to get worse each day.

Nothing helped her back pain other than heat. She laid on a waterskin filled with hot water; It was the only way she could fall asleep anymore. When Skyhold slept, Lavellan was lie awake in her bed and stare at her mantle. Her most recent prized possession, the little halla figurine, sat there looking pristine. She stared at it, wondering about its history and about what her people had lost.

The people needed something more… There had been so much fighting in recent years. Before she was the Inquisitor, she'd watched city elves spit when she'd walked past them. They'd swear at her, call her a flat ear, a traitor, a fake elf. When she was younger, it confused her. Why were they so angry? The Dalish didn't have much respect or love for the city brethren either.

Lavellan was eager to learn more about her people, so she was happy to talk with Solas about the Dalish and city elves, for as long and as much as he'd tolerate.

"You are Dalish, yet clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here?" Solas had asked her one afternoon in Haven. She was still terrified of the glowing magical scar across her left hand, but put on a brave face. Despite knowing he was an apostate, an elven hedge mage, she went to him looking for help, for sympathy, for kinship. She was disappointed. He was bitter. He snapped at her, visibly agitated. She felt like she was a hunter and he was an angry wolf that she stumbled upon, with him gnawing at the bones of his kill and snarling a warning.

"What do you know of the Dalish?", she asked, answering his question with a question. She felt uncomfortable sharing that she'd been a spy and a cast-off. Her clan wanted news, and less of her at home. She had spent the last five years mostly on the road herself, journeying to towns and cities from Kirkwall to Ferelden and back. She did not mention his tone was concerning, that the look in his eyes made him look suspicious of her. She kept herself closed off and tried not to express her fears, but at least she wanted to be friendly with him.

"I have wandered many roads in my time, and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion."

Solas put his hands behind his back, his shoulders raising. His posture was stiff; It reminded her of a soldier rather than a mage, but she shook it off.

Strange.

"What do you mean by 'crossed paths'?", she asked him. He had a severe look in his eyes and his voice spoke with a barely suffused anger.

"I mean that I offered to share knowledge, only to be attacked for no greater reason than their superstition."

She wondered what he'd offered, how he'd offered it. Then she realized that a strange bare-faced elven mage approaching most Dalish clans would be ridiculed at best, and at worst killed. It was likely he was chased off with weapons. City elves sometimes ran to the Dalish for help, to join and learn of their ways, but not every city elf survived the encounter. Her eyebrows dipped and she frowned, her eyes darting down as she felt ashamed of how her people had acted.

"Would your clan listen to what I had learned in my studies, my travels? Or would they mock the flat-ear and his stories, and go back to their ruins?"

She wouldn't have turned him away. She wouldn't have attacked him. She was always willing to listen. She wished her people were more like her or accepting of her beliefs.

Lavellan wondered if she was the strange one – her clan had always treated her as weird, outrageous, and whispered about her. She was dangerous. She grew up in a clan questioning things that shouldn't be questioned.

Solas's anger was not likely misplaced, so she tried to be a bit more accepting of his scathing tongue and biting comments on the Dalish. He wasn't necessarily wrong.

During her time with the Inquisition she examined the customs and lives of city elves and found that they had their own traditions. The city elves thought they were best modeling what elves should be. The Dalish and the City elves both thought they were right, that they were genuine, that they and they alone upheld their traditions, history, culture, and language. She knew they were both wrong and both right. It bothered her to no end that her people were tearing themselves apart in some pissing contest over who was 'more elfy', as Sera would say. She could guess that both sides of her people would reject her. She was too Dalish for the city elves who would say she played in the woods and pretended to be an elf, and now she was bare-faced and too much of a 'shem lover' to ever be considered Dalish again.

She would sleep each night, thankful at least she had found that figurine. It was comforting in a sad and miserable way that with it she had a little bit of home by her side. She wouldn't be alone.

Lavellen stopped wearing her boots in Skyhold. She liked to pretend it was because she was tired of playing the role of the Inquisitor, that respectable people wore footwear, but really it was because her ankles hurt. They were swollen and it was becoming a challenge to take her boots off. The feeling of cold stones on her sore feet felt almost divine. She sighed heavily and her whole body sagged as she slid down against a wall in the courtyard. She found new aches and pains daily. She couldn't even take a potion or elixir because the scents would trigger her gag reflex immediately. Anything medicinal made her nausea flare up.

And tea. Oh, tea made her gag. She had a whole drawer of teas, even fancy ones from Orlais and Nevarra. Josephine had spared no expense to get her a variety of worldly teas with hints of this and that. What once tasted of orange blossoms and rosehips now tasted like spoiled apricots and wet mulch. She couldn't get past the flavors that hit her. She gathered up all the teas and stuffed them into a sack destined for the trash. She was heartbroken that she had to throw them all away.

Ugh. What a waste!

Lavellan didn't tell Josephine, despite her want for tea, because she had a feeling it would hurt her friend; Josephine would consider spoiled teas her fault as if it were her responsibility to choose fresh teas and make sound purchases. Josephine had enough on her shoulders, she didn't need to fret about tea.

Skyhold was almost quiet some days, and at night there were few voices save for those who drank at the tavern.

The days dragged on without the usual chatter and camaraderie. It was afternoon and relatively quiet. There were no missions that were outstanding, nothing dire in need of being addressed.

Even though Lavellan had always dreamt of privacy, especially living in a Dalish clan and growing up utterly surrounded by people at all times, she was truly uncomfortable with the feeling of being alone.

Lavellan felt abandoned.

Lavellan was finding herself with more free time than she liked. It let her think. It let her feel.

The Inquisitor puttered about, feeling listless and miserable. She knew her stress levels were sky high, despite the world being saved already.

She hadn't been sleeping well. She had barely been able to keep food down. She was plagued with heartburn and heartache. Solas left her.

Fuck him.

She shook her head, angry and blinking back more tears.

Emithal Ma Bbnafelasem vhe'nan! (Behold my withering broken heart)

Fenedhis! (Fuck / Wolf dick/!)

Enan druem, Solas! (I sacrificed, Solas!)

Are you fucking happy now? How are you feeling?

Ena'sal'inast? (Victorious?)

That didn't help. Her cheeks grew damp and she blinked, rubbing at the tears that had surprised her as they ran down her face.

Felasil! (Idiot!)

Nae eolasem… (If I'd only known / I didn't know…)

There weren't enough swears to express her anger, her hurt, her pain, her misery. She felt like she was run down by a druffalo, trampled, and left for dead. How could he just leave? She sniffled and wiped her face more, her nose and eyes turning red and her lips looking just a little puffy. It would be hard to hide that she'd been crying, but she ducked her head against her knees and hid herself in the shadows. She was a rogue, if she didn't want to be seen by most people, she wouldn't be seen.

It was comfortable out and the sun was shining. There wasn't much foot traffic and she had found a quiet corner of courtyard to relax in. Lavellan wiggled her toes in the grass and slid down to sit against a stone wall with a tired yawn. She tugged her hood over her head and closed her eyes for a mid-day nap, seeing as she had nothing to do for the time being. Sleep kept evading her as of late and she felt dead on her feet.

Sera strolled past the Inquisitor, then dramatically did a double-take and spun around with a big frown that was practically comical.

"Jeez, you look like shite." Sera remarked loudly as she looked her up and down. The Inquisitor huffed and opened her eyes, looking at her friend with a scowl. She knew Sera was just trying to help, but sometimes it felt just mean.

"Wow, thanks", Lavellan said with a frown. "No wonder everyone left…", she responded with a voice that sounded only barely above a whisper, some of her heartache leaking through. She looked miserable. She was miserable.

Sera stared at her for a moment before grabbing her arms and pulling her off the ground onto her feet.

"Enough moping! You're overdue for some fun! Come on!" Sera dragged her a foot before she marched toward the tavern. This was clearly not optional.

"Fine…fine!", Lavellan said as she followed begrudingly.

The Inquisitor trailed the blonde elf through the tavern and up flights of stairs. Up, up, and up to Sera's room. Her window was wide open with the roof looming ahead. Sera grinned and grabbed a plate of cookies that sat on the bench, before she motioned to the window and the roof.

"Available for your fine dining experience, messere", Sera said with her best snooty Orlesian accent. It was so bad that she couldn't be sure if it was supposed to be Orlesian or Ferelden. Lavellan did let out a little chuckle, then stepped up onto the bench and ducked under the window frame. She didn't make it to the roof. The world spun and Lavellen clutched to the windowsill. It was too much at once, too much movement, too much up, too high.

Oh fuck!

"I can't do this right now…!" She yelped, grasping at the window frame. She squeezed her eyes shut when Sera put the plate down and grabbed her hips, pulling her back into the room. The Inquisitor felt a rush of vertigo.

Sera pulled away immediately with a worried look on her face. "Wut? You're gonna hurl?"

Lavellan looked green, or greenish. It was not from the anchor.

"No, I'm fine."

"Nugshite!" Sera hopped back a foot or two toward the door and crossed her arms. The younger elf looked her up and down, narrowing her eyes and then swallowing before speaking, a little warble in her voice that gave away her concern.

"Don't tell me you're dying! You'd better not be! If it's poison-"

Lavellan huffed and cut her off.

"It's just stress Sera! Not dying. No poisons. Just feeling… like shit, like you said."

Lavellen felt everything wobble back into its place. She carefully lowered herself onto the window bench. Sera stood there awkwardly, avoiding looking her in the eyes. Lavellan grabbed a pillow and stuffed it behind her lower back with a grimace.

Sera looked at her and narrowed her eyes with suspicion. "Uh huh." The blonde elf looked around, frowning deeply until dimples showed. She snatched the plate of cookies and thrust it in Lavellan's face. "Eat."

Lavellan opened her mouth to argue that this wasn't necessary, but Sera gave her a very stern look that made Lavellan flinch. It reminded her of Solas, with his disapproving scowl at some injustice. That stupid fucking handsome bastard. Lavellan grumbled. The last thing she needed was Sera to get all serious and moody and broody on her.

I've turned her into a monster.

Lavellan gave her a not-so-reassuring smile that faltered as she inspected another cookie. She wasn't poisoned yet. Sera's baking skills could be dubious at times. She baked with a lot of enthusiasm though.

Sera forced a cookie into Lavellan's hand. The Inquisitor tried to hide her look of trepidation and stared at the cookie. It was golden brown, baked nicely without any of Sera's usually scorch marks or burnt edges. She sniffed the it. It smelled of molasses, cinnamon, brown sugar, butter… her mouth watered. She only hesitated a moment longer before she took a single bite. It smelled good, but it tasted better.

It was bliss.

She followed up with eager greedy bites.

Wow, what did she do? Did the cooks make these? There's no way Sera made them…

Sera was looking at her with a strange expression. She looked like she was inspecting her. Lavellan tried to ignore it and focus on the delicious crumbles of chewy crunchy sweet cookie.

Sera moved a bit and looked at her as if she was a bug on display, or the way Dagna looked at schematics. Sera leaned over her briefly. Lavellan was pretty sure Sera had sniffed her. She thought of smacking her away for a split second, but the cookies demanded her attention.

Did you seriously sniff me? What do you think, you'll smell poison on my breath?

She eyed the plate and reached for another cookie.

"You're acting weird", she said to Sera with a grumble, trying not to let cookie bits rain out of her open mouth as she chewed.

"You're acting weird!" Sera snapped back with accusation in her voice.

Lavellan glared at her friend as she stuffed another cookie into her mouth whole. She chewed with a very overly dramatic scowl, not terribly serious. In fact, she resembled a caricature. Sera had commented in the past that she had "caterpillar eyebrows". Lavellan grinned on her mouthful of cookie. Sera hated caterpillars, especially the cute fuzzy ones. She wiggled her eyebrows until Sera snorted in reaction.

Sera screwed up her face, trying to look serious and angry. She couldn't quite manage it. Lavellan looked ridiculous with her cheeks full of cookie; she resembled a nug that suffered from bee stings to the face. Sera inhaled deeply, puffed out her cheeks, and stuck her tongue out.

"Phbttt!"

Then she looked away and screwed up her face into an expression that mimicked anger and outrage. It was childish. Sometimes, Sera really showed off their age difference, her age, her youth, by acting so utterly childish.

"Uh-huh, right back at you, brat." Lavellan teased as she pointed at her, as if she were a naughty child.

"Up yours!" Sera said with a grin twisting at her lips.

The Inquisitor, being the older elf, felt like an adoptive older sister to a wayward and wild younger sister. They already got into tons of trouble together. Those lizards in Solas's bedroll? They didn't get there with just Sera's efforts. It was a family effort. Sisters at heart. Partners in crime. Lavellan smirked a little at the memory of him having a few red welts where the little monsters had bitten him. Solas had been outraged and for a single heartbeat she had felt a strange trickle of fear. She expected him to explode. For a heartbeat, she froze in place, thinking that he might just lose control and blast everything with his magic. Instead, he had stomped out of the camp swearing up a storm. The swears must have been quite colorful, because even she didn't know the elven he snarled under his breath. Sera and Lavellan tried their damnedest to stifle their laughter into their fists and bedrolls. It was not mentioned the next day, but Solas was much more careful getting prepared for sleep from that day forward. She knew he checked his bedrolls for lizards, snakes, spiders, and the like. Every time he checked she had to hide a smile.

If they'd grown up together, she could image she would have terrorized a little Sera with ghost stories and monsters in the dark. Lavellan was very good at scaring children, but not much else. She was fond of making scary noises in the woods at night or sneaking up on the little ones when they were up to no good. She thought maybe Sera was overdue for a prank… The last they'd had a war of pranks, Lavellan woke up with a bucket of cold water crashing onto her head. In response, not exactly clear headed, she'd nearly throttled her and thrown her out of the tavern window.

Sera was staring at her again.

"Stop looking at me like you're going to dissect me or something…" Lavellan said calmly as she took a bite of the cookie. They were lovely. Her stomach seemed to agree. She sighed as she sank back into the pillows on the bench.

"Just make sure you take care of yourself, stupid!", Sera said with her cheeks burning.

Did she just call me stupid? Oh that's it.

Lavellan almost spit her food out and coughed on a mouthful of cookie. She stood up and put her hands on her friend's shoulders, shaking her dramatically.

"Wait, wait… Are you sick?" She asked in a voice that dripped with sarcasm and fake concern.

Her right hand, the one without the anchor, flew to Sera's forehead as if feeling for a fever. "Hmm, it must be serious. Probably Fade sickness. The Veil feels… wobbly here." Lavellan said with a wicked grin.

Sera swatted her hands away gently and grunted in reply.

"Shut up! It does not! I'm fine! You're the one that's-" Sera said before she bit her tongue.

"I'm the one that's a genius. You're the crazy one. But in my infinite wisdom I keep you around because you'd be hopeless without me!"

Lavellan grinned and sat back down. A quiet settled over them and they ate. The only noise permeating the room was the chewing of cookies.

The quiet was out of character for both of them. Sera had only had a few cookies, but the Inquisitor was making quick work of the plate of snacks. Lavellan finished another cookie and went to speak, but Sera thrust another into her face. She rolled her eyes and took it from her friend and ate without complaint.

Sera's scowl deepened and she took a cookie for herself before biting half of it off and talking while she chewed.

"I like you, right? So don't be stupid." Sera spoke as if her confession were something secret and was only being admitted due to being interrogated and tortured. Crumbs fell out of her open mouth.

"Uh, okay. Thanks? You're a good friend, even if you are a bit weird."

Lavellan smiled warmly.

"Says the lady with the glowy magic crack in her hand."

"You're just jealous", the Inquisitor said with a grin as she waved her anchor around in the air. Sera rolled her eyes and let out a laugh.

After a time, Sera filled her in with stories of her latest adventures. Something about 'pantsing' a 'bloody knob'. Laughter peeled from Sera's room. The tavern grew quiet and the tables and chairs were stacked as the night drew to a close. It was time to call it a night. The plate of cookies laid empty on the bench beside them. The Inquisitor licked her fingers and stuck them to the remaining crumbs before popping them into her mouth.

Sera raised an eyebrow at her again, but she ignored it.

"Did you change the recipe? They're really good… I could eat them all night.", she said contentedly.

"You did eat them all night."

"You know what I mean. So did you?"

"Nope!"

Sera looked at her, the empty plate, and then laughed with a hint of nervousness. It was the same way she laughed when pranking people and trying to get away with it; that mad cackle.

Anyone with half a brain should be suspicious. Lavellan narrowed her eyes at her friend.

"Uh-huh…"

So, either she had help or they were poisoned. Great. I knew it was too good to be true.

Sera just looked nervous and smiled trying to put her friend at ease, unconvincingly. Lavellan looked at her with a side eyed glance and licked the last crumbs off her fingertips.

Suspicious.

Lavellan woke up in the middle of the night to a burning sensation in her chest, her throat. She sat up and gagged. The burning sensation was overpowering her senses as acid bubbled up and roiled inside her. She felt like she could spew fire, but knew it was definitely not going to be flames that came out of her mouth. The window was open and the cold night air made her breaths puff out like smoke. Lavellan stood up on shaky knees. Cold floors felt soothing. She shivered and walked. Slow breaths. Her heart was racing, but she swallowed and felt the wave of nausea subside for a moment. Her feet carried her to the balcony. Immediately, she felt her body reject her evening meal, right over the banister.

Goodbye cookies. Roof cookies could have a double meaning now.

Ugh!

She grimaced.

Coughing, she retched until she could only spit out horrid bile flavored saliva. She prayed she didn't get sick on anyone below. It was late enough that the walkways would be empty, right? The Inquisitor didn't look very imposing, clutching her banister and shuddering like a leaf in autumn about to fall. She spit a few more times before wiping her lips with her hand. They were dry and rough against the skin of her hand. Unfortunately, her the skin of her hand was also dry and raw.

She took deep gulps of air. When her knees stopped shaking and her hands weren't so jittery, she walked to her table. There was a pitcher of water, shaped to resemble a griffon. An empty cup sat nearby. Hands that didn't shake too much picked up the pitcher with concerted efforts on her part. She tipped the pitcher, watching water pour from the griffon's beak into the cup. She filled it and took the cup with her to the balcony. She took slow sips, swishing the water in her mouth.

Shit.

She gargled and then spit repeatedly over the balcony, something to join her previous evening's meal. It took considerable effort to swallow a few mouthfuls, replace the cup on the table, and make her way back towards her bed. Her heart still raced.

The anchor flickered but the pain wasn't too bad that night. Just a dull throb. She sucked in cold air and felt her lungs expand. Her back ached, as it had now for a few months.

She walked past her mirror and caught sight of herself. She was a little shocked at how she looked. Why had no one told her?

She had lost some weight and looked truly awful, with dark circles under her eyes from sleep deprivation and a sunken look to her face. She felt bloated, her skin was splotchy and red in places as if she'd rolled around in a briar patch or danced naked through some Spindleweed. Her nightclothes didn't fit right, hugging her chest and hips a bit snugly despite her weight loss. She turned in place and peered at herself. Front, side, three quarters. Her breasts looked swollen and ached terribly.

Her eyes roamed her body and then some part of her brain sent a signal of alarm through her like being struck by lightning.

No.

Her breathing started to get faster and faster. Lavellan swallowed hard, trying to be calm. She just needed to breathe. She just needed to take care of herself more. She had to be as objective as possible. There was no way-

No.

It had to be the anchor. Solas had told her it was killing her. She thought that maybe after Corypheus's defeat she'd be safe. She'd wanted to be healed. She wanted the mark gone. These new symptoms were worrisome. But it couldn't be –

No.

She felt a gnawing terror eating her up.

What if the extra pain, the mark flaring more often, was not the anchor but –

No.

A sense of dread crept into her mind, but she tried to shake it off.

No, her fears were just fears. It wasn't unusual that she hadn't bled that month; She hadn't since the anchor took root in her hand. The anchor did strange things to her body. It had been almost two years, it wasn't abnormal. It was the new norm. Couldn't this be from the anchor? It couldn't be-

No.

It was the anchor. Surely, all of it. All of it had to be from the anchor. Panic bubbled up and she felt frantic, gasping like she couldn't breathe.

She didn't know how magic worked. Magic was just that, magical. There was no sense to it. No reason. The Fade was utter madness when she'd fallen there and smacked her face on damned Fade rocks, Fade ground, and then scrambled onto her very real, non-Fade, legs. There were Fade spiders, Fade demons, Fade everything seemed to want her dead.

Solas loved the Fade. She didn't. She loved him. She loved the idea of it. The reality was it was terrifying.

This was terrifying.

No.

She had drank her tea religiously when they were together. She made it a point to never miss it, even if they hadn't been intimate. The herbs in it were potent enough to prevent any blessings. She was smart, she was safe, there was no way she was going to have any surprises when saving the world.

She wasn't saving the world anymore though. Could she have missed a dose?

No.

Surely, she'd know. She'd feel something. It had to be her imagination running away with her, but what if-

No.

Her hairs rose on her skin. She stared at herself. Her hands splayed against her abdomen. She swallowed hard and listened to the steady thrum of her own heartbeat in her ears. It was just one heartbeat, right? Her rising panic started to overtake her and she tried to shove it deep down. She ran to her drawer and tore it open. The wooden drawer clattered to the floor, scattering contents everywhere. She dug desperately through them until she found the pouch of her nightly tea – the tea that she knew she had, she knew it worked, she knew if she took an extra strong dose, it would be enough to –

No.

She let out a little hiccup of delirious laughter. Lavellan felt like she could just be torn to pieces and it would feel better than she did at this very moment.

This was torture. This was cruel. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not to her. Not this way.

Fate? Fate was a bitch.

Why would it curse her like this, when she'd sacrificed so much and still fought tooth and nail to save every person and spirit she could?

She was cursed. What elven god did she gain the eye of? Was it the Dread Wolf? Did he think this was funny, making her suffer with such impossible choices? Did she even really have a choice?

The Inquisitor sobbed and shook. Tears spilled down her cheeks, her vision watery.

What would Solas say? What would he think of her? Would he hate her forever? Would he scream or cry? No, it would be worse. He would just stare at her with those eyes that seemed full of bottomless depths of melancholy. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to wring his neck. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to hold her and whisper 'Vhenan' in her ear. She wanted to feel his skin on hers.

Oh fuck. No, please, no.

He would hate her. He loved the people, he would die for them – she had no doubt. He would despise her with all of his being. She couldn't have him look at her like that, hate her, loathe her. She couldn't destroy his faith in her, destroy his very world and his view of her. He thought she was good, and she wasn't. She didn't deserve him. She didn't deserve any of them. She couldn't take another thing away from him. He hurt so much, grieved for the people and their losses so much, how could she possibly make him grieve for one more life?

She nearly dropped to the floor but stumbled instead, gasping. It was too hard to breathe. Too hard to think. She grasped the pouch of herbs in her hands with a death grip.

What the fuck was she supposed to do? She could save the world but this? This was beyond her. This was not something she wanted, not now, maybe not ever. She couldn't do it. She couldn't be a-

No. No…No! NO! NO!

She whirled toward the bed and dove onto it blindly. Her body crumpled up into a ball. The Inquisitor was just a mortal woman faced with a dilemma that had been faced by countless others since the beginning of time. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what she would do. She didn't know what was right. What was right for her? She didn't know if she would tell anyone, if she would do anything, if the herbs in her hands should be thrown out the window or swallowed in bulk.

Sobs wracked her body as she pawed at the tears that cascaded rather suddenly down her face. The covers scratched at her wet cheeks. She wanted to scream but her throat was raw. Her heart was crushed in her chest. It was so hard to breathe. There was no easy answer. She couldn't decide. She wanted someone to tell her what to do.

Distraught, she buried her face into the covers. She shook and howled with despair. The bag of herbs barely resembled fabric as she mangled it in her grasp.

Lavellan shook and gasped into the blankets, her movements a staccato rhythm of sobs and gasps for breath. Her limbs trembled; It wasn't from the cold.

No, please, no. Please! I can't!

The Inquisitor had saved the world. She'd defeated a would-be god from ancient Tevinter. She'd defeated a titan. She'd fought giants and dragons. She'd freed Ameridan and stopped another would-be god from being revived. She had done so much. She was possibly the most powerful woman in Thedas and controlled an army that could overtake nations.

Lavellan could do it all. She liked to pretend she wasn't afraid of anything, save for Fade spiders and their non-Fade counterparts.

The Inquisitor didn't feel fear. She was fearless. She couldn't be afraid. But Lavellan wasn't the Inquisitor. She played her as her role, but that wasn't who she was on the inside. Lavellan wasn't that person, that figurehead, that Herald of Andraste, that powerhouse. She was just a woman. Just a mortal. Just an elf with freckles, scars, caterpillar eyebrows, wild hair, and blasphemous thoughts. An elf that had given away her people's legacy to a human witch. An elf that was alone, clanless, bare-faced, and lost. The Inquisitor had saved the world from its doom. Lavellan had only confessed her fears, unmasking herself to Solas. Only he had seen who she truly was. He had said he loved her. She could barely handle him being gone, her friends being gone, her skin being bare, her rise to fame and infamy. Fighting a demi-god seemed easy compared to what she was dealing with already.

And now…

This was bigger than anything she had ever faced.

This was her afraid.

This was her terrified.

This was dread.

This, she couldn't do.

Not now. Not without him. Not alone.

She shivered into the fine goose down, sinking deep into her bed. Her sobs died with time.

Eventually she succumbed to sleep.