Inquisitor Sylvanni Lavellan hated going to bed.
The door to her personal chambers in Skyhold closed behind her with a solid sounding click, and she leaned back against it, head lolling back to rest against the wood and eyes closed. She wished the day wasn't over. She wished everyone else was still awake and about. She wished her own tired exhaustion would have let her avoid sleeping just a little longer.
It wasn't that there was anything wrong with the rooms themselves. In fact, she had some of the nicest rooms in the keep, and certainly the best view from her balconies. They were well furnished, beautifully designed, and altogether what one would expect for the most powerful member of a powerful institution like the Inquisition.
And yet, she hated every moment she had to spend in her quarters, because as soon as she left the main hall behind, she was alone. The one thing she could not stomach about her rooms was that they were always, unfailingly empty. No company but herself.
She simply stood, leaning back against the door on feet tired from a long day, focusing on the feeling of her body's own soreness as a way to distract herself. Surrounded by the multitudes of friends and allies as she was during the day, it was not loneliness which made her dread retiring each night, but rather, fear.
With no one else around her, there was no escape from her thoughts. An actor could not take the stage with no audience. No one wore a mask when they had no one to hide from. A storyteller could spin no tales if no one would listen.
Sylvanni could not be the Inquisitor with no one around to need her.
She'd taken on the part so well, she hardly remembered what her life had been like before the events at Haven. It started as a survival tactic. She had been a prisoner, and would have done anything to convince the Inquisition that she was innocent, that she meant no harm. She'd stepped into the responsibility of closing the rifts in the Fade because she was the only person who could. She'd taken on the mantle of Herald of Andraste for the protection the new status could afford her, realizing that if she was no one special, she was likely to end up imprisoned, dead, or Tranquil.
Then, it had started to give people hope. She saw that her position, the ideal that she was coming to represent, was helping people through a time of chaos and uncertainty. Playing the part of the Herald didn't feel natural to her, but it felt like the right thing to do at least. When she was asked to become the Inquisitor, it simply seemed like another necessary responsibility, another chance to do good by the people of Thedas. She felt she could lead this group well, make something of the Inquisition. Make it powerful enough that they could challenge and defeat Corypheus.
It had to be done. Someone had to do it. Someone had to step up and be the Herald. Be the Inquisitor. The Inquisition needed a leader, or they would fall and falter. It simply happened to be her. All she could do was give them her best, couldn't she?
She had become what they needed her to be. A religious figure as the Herald of Andraste, a symbol of hope and fate. A fair judge, presiding over wrongdoers from her throne, and choosing punishments that had to be deserved and just. A tactician, moving resources and troops across the table and the continent. A politician, able to decipher the intrigue and plots of Thedas' most powerful nobles and rules, and savvy enough to hold her own in the twisted machinations of the Game.
To her companions, she needed to be different things as well, and she did her best to adapt to what they needed. A listening ear for Varric. A comrade in arms to Blackwall. An employer and occasional drinking partner for Bull. A best friend for Sera. A foundation for Cassandra. A protégée for Vivienne. A kinswoman to Solas. A family for Dorian. A protector for Cole.
To Cullen's soldiers, she was the banner waving at the front lines of the army. Leliana's spies saw her as the keystone, the one holding all of the secrets and seeing the full picture. She was leverage for Josephine, a name with influence that could be used to move their opponents and allies as needed.
So many needs, so many things she needed to be if she wished to see them succeed. The burden of being the Inquisitor wasn't the responsibility for one role, but adapting to the mask as it changed, shifting faces and actions and self to match her situation, like a chameleon's scales against an ever-changing, never-ending sequence of backgrounds.
But who was she when she was alone? When those needs dropped away in the small hours of the night, when her responsibilities laid themselves down from her shoulders to rest until the next day, who was she? She couldn't remember anymore. That terrified her. Terrified her beyond words.
In these nights, surrounded by the quiet of her chambers with no company but her own, her fears haunted her. They whispered that she'd worn the mask for too long, that there was nothing underneath the persona of the Inquisitor. That she'd faked her way through everything she'd needed to be that she didn't know what was real anymore. If there was any part of her that was still real.
She undressed and readied herself for bed, feeling a horrible emptiness within, like a puppet putting itself away for the night. She tried to think of who she'd been before the Inquisition, before Haven. She loved her clan, but there had always been something about her that didn't fit in with them. She'd done her duty as First, excelled at her studies in magic, but there was always a slight tension between her and her fellow clanmates. Resentment because she'd been the First? Jealousy that she'd picked up magic quickly? A part of her still wondered if she'd been sent to spy at the Conclave because she didn't quite click with those she'd grown up with. Perhaps they'd thought she could serve Clan Lavellan better away from them.
Now it didn't matter who she'd been then. Clan Lavellan was gone. She hadn't been able to serve them at all. She'd read the report on her own, hearing from Josephine's negotiators that her clan had been scattered – those that hadn't been killed. She remembered reading those words, that nothing could have been done to save them, hitting her like a blow to her chest. She'd found a quiet spot alone, down in the broken, dusty prison cells, and had cried herself dry over the loss of them. That had been back in Haven, but it hurt her still, like an old wound that didn't ever heal right, sore and aching with every day, every hour, every moment. She still hadn't talked to anyone about it. She couldn't find the words.
Perhaps it was better, not having anything to tie her to her past. Nothing to distract her from her duties in the present, right? It wasn't as though she would have been able to go back now. Word of the Herald of Andraste had spread through the Chantries of Orlais and Ferelden, possibly farther. Now, the name Inquisitor Lavellan was known far and wide, and she was fast becoming a leader to rival the powers of Empress Celene or King Alistair and Queen Anora. If she defeated Corypheus – and the alternative was unthinkable – she had little doubt she would take her place as a figure of legend. An unsettling thought, that, but in terms of the burdens she had to carry, it was simply another on the list.
Regardless, she wouldn't have ever been able to go back. Stepping back down to be Keeper of Clan Lavellan never would have worked. Even if they had survived, another First would have been appointed while she was away. They would have gone on without her. One way or another, she would have left Lavellan behind forever. The young Dalish mage Sylvanni wasn't what the Inquisition needed. She'd set that version of herself aside, and now she'd moved on too far to pick it up again. She didn't know who she'd become in the meantime, beneath it all. She feared she hadn't become anyone at all.
She lay back in a bed that almost seemed too soft, as it always did after she returned to the keep after a few weeks sleeping on the road, and stared up at the lofted ceiling. Quiet nights on her own, she felt so empty. Try as she might to keep her mind focused on what still needed to be done and her responsibilities, the dangers of her introspection circled, lying in wait and watching for a weak point to strike. She never felt weaker than when the mask dropped away. Her inner demons had nothing to do with the Fade. What would the Inquisition think if it found out their leader's greatest fear was nothing more than herself?
She forced her eyes closed, trying to will her body's exhaustion to pull her into unconsciousness. Those questions of who she was, who she would be when this was all over, who she had become, seemed to whisper at her from all sides. She knew they were always there, always haunting her, but the silence seemed to only make them stronger.
She told herself that it didn't matter who she was. Not until this was over. The Inquisition did not need Sylvanni Lavellan, whoever she might be. Thedas did not need her. They needed the Inquisitor, and until this was all over, that was who she would be. She clung to that rationale like a lifeline, pushing away thoughts of herself for another day, and waited for sleep to claim her.