Chapter 21: Reunions and Regrets

Lavellan rapped her wooden fist on the door of the manor house, waiting with her hood around her, shivering in the cold.

The door opened and a sleepy-looking Varric squinted at her in the light of the lantern. "Andraste's ass, Inquisitor, what are you doing here at this unholy hour?"

"Running away from my problems," she replied, still in a sour mood.

"Well then by all means, come and have a drink with me. I think tea is the way to go for this hour though. And other present circumstances," he said, noting her belly, which wasn't that hard when he stood at approximately eye-level with her navel. He opened the door wider and ushered her inside. The home was much more grand than many of the others she had passed on her way into Kirkwall. Although she was still always a bit surprised to see people living in such large buildings; particularly as many of them in these upper tiers had such large homes for fewer people. Putting aside her thoughts on the surroundings and Varric's taste in finery aside, she followed him to the kitchens, where he put a kettle on the stovetop and sparked a fire underneath.

"I could boil that faster if you'd like," she offered, but Varric shook his head, groaning as he sat down at the table.

"Nah, it's not like we're in a rush now, right? So tell me, what brings you to my shithole city? Are you here to take in the Kirkwall air?"

"The air here smells of fish and piss," she said, taking a seat.

"Yeah, but to me, that's the sweet smell of home. Though thankfully it's not as pungent up here." He propped his head up, elbow on the table, trying his best to stay awake as he stifled a yawn. "Well, clearly you're not here for the weather either. You said you were running away from your problems. Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," she said, picking up the boxes of tea that Varric pushed towards her and giving each one a sniff.

Varric snorted. "Come on now. You didn't drag your ass all the way to my doorstep half a continent away to sample my tea collection. Cough it up. Odds are, I've heard worse. You are in Kirkwall, after all."

But she didn't want to talk about red lyrium. Or Solas. The thought of him using it sickened her stomach, as flashes of memory from the future at Redcliffe plagued her mind. Shaking her head in an attempt to clear it, she focused instead on the teas before her. "Maybe I did come for the tea. Or a little conversation. I just know I don't want to talk about it just now."

Varric scratched his chin, nodding in understanding. "Well, if it has you fleeing like a thief in the night to visit me, you must be desperate for safe refuge. Luckily, my house is open for whatever you need. There's more guest bedrooms upstairs than I know what to do with and you're welcome to stay as long as you like. My house has become the place to be for all my friends ever since Hawke… Well, you know…"

He trailed off and she frowned sadly; reminders of Hawke's death and her part in it always brought a sharp pain just under her ribs. "I'm sorry, Varric. It must be hard being back here in Kirkwall without him."

He sighed, running a hand over the back of his head. "Yeah. I'm still not quite used to it and it's going on almost four years since he passed. I know it's worse for Fenris, but I still catch myself glancing up this street or that, half expecting him to show up and offer a sarcastic remark." He shook his head, pressing his lips together in a tight line. "You know, I like to think he's still in the Fade, wearing that Nightmare demon's hide as a helmet and going off on new adventures."

She smiled at the thought. "Perhaps there's a good tavern in the Fade where he's raising a glass to us."

Varric chuckled. "More likely he's pissing off all the demons at the bar, mark my words." He shook his head again, smiling at the idea.

"You never know. Maybe if the Veil comes down and the Fade joins back to reality, we might just get to see Hawke again one day."

Varric did not reply as his expression sobered. "Or at least we would have an answer." He left it at that for there was nothing more to say on the matter. Hope was a dangerous thing, after all.

The kettle started to whistle and Varric moved it off the flame, pouring them both cups of a tea called "Cerulean Canonberry Delight."

"So how are things with the baby? Smooth sailing so far?" Varric asked, trying for a bit of levity as the tea steeped.

"Um, good, I suppose. Though my throat constantly feels like there's lava in it and I thought the vomiting would be over by now, but it isn't."

"Dorian said you were working on some mission in Tevinter. Being pregnant doesn't seem to have gotten in the way of your responsibilities as Inquisitor, I see." Her body stiffened and Varric realized he had accidentally stumbled into territory she didn't want to discuss. "You know, Hawke was the same way. He couldn't sit out when he knew he could help people. Did I tell you about the time he and I went out with Isabela on her ship and ended up caught in the middle of a feud between warring pirate kings?"

She shook her head, settling in with a small smile as he launched into the tale. Although she didn't feel like talking, she was grateful to listen to Varric's tales, relieved that after the way she and Varric had left things that the two of them were still able to slip into a comfortable familiarity. By the time he had finished his story her tea cup was empty and her eyes were fighting back sleep. Varric led her to a spare bedroom and she fell asleep moments after shutting her eyes.

The next morning, she arose to the sound of humming and a faint sweet scent upon the air. She followed the sound and found Varric in the kitchen, wearing a flowery apron trimmed with white ruffles. A splotch of flour was smeared on his cheek and a fine dusting coated the back of his hands as he flashed her a grin. "Good morning, sunshine. How'd you sleep?"

"Like a log. Though you seem to be quite the early riser. I must say, I'm surprised to see the Viscount of Kirkwall cooking up breakfast himself. Especially in such a fashionable apron."

Varric chuckled, taking a step back and showing it off from different angles. "You like it? It was a gift from Daisy on my last birthday. Isn't she thoughtful? Big flower lover, that one."

Recalling the conversations she had with Merrill, Lavellan grinned. "Well, I'd say it suits you perfectly. Really brings out your eyes. And the chest hair, of course," she added, making him laugh.

"You know, not many dwarves could pull off the pansies as well as I can. Surprisingly, even us surface dwarves don't dress up in florals that often."

"Then they're clearly missing out."

Varric poured her a cup of tea, the same kind as the night before. "You're a lucky lady, you know. I don't make my world famous raspberry muffins for just anyone."

"You do know how to make a girl feel special," she said, blowing on the tea.

"Well, don't go around spreading this, but you are my favorite Inquisitor of the bunch."

She laughed and set the tea cup down before she accidentally burned her tongue. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should. I've been reading up on them and so far, you're still my favorite."

"Good to know. Is that what the Viscount of Kirkwall gets up to in his spare time? Reading about other Inquisitions?"

"Why, are you jealous?" he grinned, before shrugging and pouring himself more tea. "Eh, I was curious. After all that mess with Ameridan I wanted some real answers. I've kept in touch with that Kenric kid from the Frostback Basin and he's been helping me do some digging. I think after all that crazy stuff with Ameridan everyone's interested in knowing more about what really happened in the past. Not just the Chantry's 'version' either."

"A noble pursuit. I wish you luck. You will tell me if you find anything interesting, right?"

"Of course. Besides, I'll need you as a consultant on the book when I write up the story of your Inquisition in my golden years."

She raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised to hear it. "I suppose that's better than appearing in your next issue of Swords and Shields. Although if you do write about me, be sure to mention I'm elven. Wouldn't want to repeat that little omitted detail again."

"Don't worry. I'll be sure to constantly point out all the efly things you do and how pointy yours ears are. 'And she dipped her pointy-eared head to the ground in search of more elfroot.' How's that?"

She snorted into her tea. "Perfect." Setting down her cup, she stretched and rolled her neck, loosening up her body a bit. "What's with the sudden interest in history? Is fixing Kirkwall not interesting enough?"

"Kirkwall is what it is. I can only help so much to make it a slightly nicer shithole."

She fixed him with a look and he ran a hand over the back of his head.

"Eh, what can I say? After all the stuff we've seen, I can't help but be a little interested to know more. Have you heard the rumors circulating out of the east? They think a new Blight is coming. And the reports from Orzammar are getting more and more worrisome. Things are bad, but they're doing their best to keep it all hushed up so the surface doesn't catch wind of it."

"There's always rumors about a new Blight. I'm just hoping we get some answers soon though. What have you heard about Orzammar?"

She listened intently as Varric told her the various rumors he had heard and the strange happenings that seemed to support them. When the muffins came out of the oven to rest, her mouth started to water. By the time they were cool enough to eat, she practically swallowed the first one in a single bite. Varric laughed, but took the compliment in stride and passed the tray closer to her.

"Do you ever think it's all connected somehow?" she asked, pulling a bite-sized piece off one of the muffins and popping it into her mouth.

"What? The titans and what's happening in Orzammar? Shit, probably," Varric replied, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

"Maybe even more of it. There's so little we actually know about the Blights. And the red lyrium popping up all over the place. Didn't Bianca say that red lyrium has the Blight? What if there's a titan that's contracted the Blight? Except instead of a red templar growing crystals all over its skin, it's one enormous titan?"

Varric shivered at the thought. "Shit. And I thought killing gods, evil tevinter magisters, and fixing holes in the sky was bad." He shook his head, running his hand over his hair. "Can't the world just chill out for a little bit? Wait until I'm dead or something before it decides to all go to shit again. Like why can't the world just stay saved for a decade or two, you know what I mean?" He groaned and settled back in his chair, eyes staring off into the middle distance.

"I don't know, Varric. I think the world is just out to get us. Like a mean kid knocking over anthills or something."

He laughed, darkly. "Yeah, maybe. Either way, it's a fucked up world out there."

She clinked her tea cup against his in agreement. "Indeed it is."

Pushing his crumb-covered plate away, Varric leaned on his elbow and looked at her, a serious expression on his face. "So now that we've covered the world-ending stuff, why are you here?"

Her face grew grave and she stared down into her nearly empty cup as all the emotions she had suppressed bubbled back to the surface. "Solas and I ran into each other while I was on a mission in Tevinter. I tracked some slavers to a portside warehouse and found one of their red lyrium shipments. You see, they were taking slaves and other people that wouldn't be missed and infusing them with red lyrium. I was working with Dorian, Bull, Sera, and a few others and we finally struck and knocked a bunch of them out. I took point so I wasn't involved in much of the fighting, but I caught Solas sneaking inside to see what we were doing and well…" she sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "Solas was angry with me for not telling him where I'd gone and what I was doing. He assumed I was at Skyhold. But he didn't tell me what he was up to either. Anyway, he was upset with me for going on a dangerous mission and potentially exposing myself to red lyrium. Myself and the baby, that is." Tears of frustration burned in her eyes and she shook her head to try and clear them. "Turns out he was being a hypocrite about that though. He was following the trail of red lyrium to find smugglers because he was looking for something." She flicked her eyes up to meet Varric's and could tell he knew what she was about to say before she said it. "He's looking for an idol made of red lyrium."

Varric swore and dropped his face into his hands, shaking his head. He groaned.

"Exactly. We both know what idol he's talking about, Varric. You told me about what happened to Bartrand. Solas may not know what that thing is capable of, but we do. And something like that… You must know what happened to it."

Varric stiffened in his chair, pinching his lips together in a grimace. "No. I'm not helping you find it. That thing should stay lost," he declared with an angry gesture.

"I know. I agree with you. Varric, I saw what Solas was like when he was infected with red lyrium in the future at Redcliffe. I saw him die. I can't let him use it. That idol has to be destroyed."

"It can't be destroyed!" In his anger he stood up, pressing on the table in a white-knuckled grip.

Lavellan drew back, growing quiet. "Oh. I see. You've tried, haven't you?"

His face fell and he hung his head. Then with a sigh he gave a single nod. "But it was no good. No matter what we did, it didn't matter. It fixed itself. Smash it, burn it, make it explode into a dozen tiny little pieces… None of it worked. It just reforms. The thing can't be destroyed," he lamented.

"Reminds me of Corypheus. But we stopped him, Varric. I have to believe there's a way to destroy it. No one can withstand the corruption it causes and I'm afraid of what might happen if Solas or someone worse were to get ahold of it. Isn't that what happened to Knight-Commander Meredith?"

Varric gave her a questioning look. "How did you know… Ah. Cullen, I'm guessing?"

"And Hawke. When we grabbed drinks one night on the way to Adamant. But still, Varric, where is it? Something that dangerous… Those things never stay hidden forever."

He rubbed his chin. "Damn thing should've stayed locked up in the Deep Roads. All the trouble it's caused… It should stay lost, Inquisitor."

She reached across the table and he hesitated for only a moment before accepting the gesture, gripping her hand in response. "I know, Varric. And I wish it could. You told me once that you either drown your problems or lock them up and throw away the key." She looked at her friend sadly, for she knew he carried heavy burdens, much like herself, and a part of her wanted to help him keep his secrets. But she also knew this was one secret that would not stay hidden.

Pulling the large key from her pocket, she held it up. It was the same key he had given her at the Winter Palace after he was appointed Viscount of Kirkwall, the key to the city which raised the giant chain nets in the harbor. "You threw away the key, didn't you Varric? When you couldn't destroy the idol, you tried to drown it and then lost the key so it wouldn't be found."

They both looked at the key in her hand, heavy with the weight of the secret submerged at the bottom of the harbor.

The nights were quickly becoming the worst for Lavellan. At first she had assumed stress was the cause, but then she began to fear it was exposure to red lyrium, or perhaps something far worse. The nightmares were unrelenting. She was terrified to reach out into the Fade in such a state, for fear it would attract demons or something worse. It did not matter though. Something worse found her in her dreams: the Dread Wolf.

The Dread Wolf pulled her into the center of a dense mist and from the fog it watched her with the eyes of a predator. The very air around her and the breath within her lungs froze in the unnatural icy chill. She tensed, fearing the strike that must be coming, but to her surprise the Dread Wolf didn't move. It stayed, cloaked in obscurity: patient and watching.

Summoning her courage, she rose to her feet. "Well? Have you come back for the other one?" she asked, gesturing with her hand.

But the Dread Wolf did not move. She studied it carefully, sensing something very strange and different compared to before. It was not aggression or a predatory gaze with which the Dread Wolf watched her. No. It was something else. Something difficult to describe. Except, perhaps, she detected a note of curiosity. She wondered if bonding herself with Solas had unintentionally created a new bond with the Dread Wolf as well. A ball of ice froze in her gut. What was it that held the Dread Wolf's attention and kept it from springing out of the mist to attack?

She glanced about and searched the fog for signs of Solas, but there were none to be had wherever they were. A thought occurred to her and part of her mind believed the notion crazy, and yet the other part… almost believed it.

Stepping forward, she placed her hand on her belly. A familiar relief washed over her at the gentle sound of her baby's heartbeat. She raised her chin and with a spell, amplified the sound.

The Dread Wolf's ears turned and its eyes narrowed.

"Solas told me that you were the original reflection of pride in this world. The Pride of Creation. He told me that you had lost your purpose as the world grew more destructive over time." She paused, expecting something from the Dread Wolf. "And I'm sorry that is what the world has become. I have seen it myself. Endless destruction. Again and again. But know this: we are trying to create a better world, one that is whole as it once was. This sound is the heartbeat of our baby, growing inside me. I know that this world is a terrifying place…" Her voice fell, softer, gentler. "And I know that not all things we hope for come to pass. But I can't help but hope that they do. Which is why I will continue to fight for a better world, one where our child can grow and thrive. So I ask you to remember who you were. Because I think, like Solas, you have lost your faith in what could be. But it can be better. You can make it better."

The creature of shadow withdrew into the fog, and as the red eyes disappeared she wondered if her words had any impact at all or if the Dread Wolf was still out there, hidden, watching her and waiting for the right moment to strike.

Solas tore through the stack of intelligence reports, combing through them in desperation for some news, some hint of her. But there was nothing. Just as there had been nothing reported for the past several weeks, ever since she left. She had vanished, just like he had. His attempts to reach her in the Fade were blocked and wherever she was, she was doing everything in her power to keep him at bay.

He had written to nearly every contact who knew her who would reply. But nothing came back. Not even a response from Leliana, her spymaster for the Inquisition. At first he had assumed she was lying on the Inquisitor's behalf to keep her location a secret, but that was not the case. From Leliana's latest message, she too was worried about where the Inquisitor was and kept him informed of her efforts to find the Inquisitor, wherever she may be. In the message she had reached out to close friends of the Inquisitor, including Cullen. When Solas saw his name upon the page his heart sank in his chest and he feared that he had driven his love away for good. But not even Cullen had heard from her. Wherever she was, she didn't want to be found.

Balling up the latest message, he threw it into the fireplace, resting his elbow on the mantle as he pressed his fingers to his temples, watching the flames consume the paper eagerly. He hated not knowing where she was. He hated that he had driven her away. And above all else, he hated himself for not stopping her from leaving in the first place. The voice in his head that had once told him she would be better off in some far corner of the world where no one could reach her and brought him comfort in that assumption now enraged him. He had seen the dangers out there waiting for her, knew firsthand that there were at least two exiled criminals who wanted her dead, not to mention all manner of other enemies lurking out for a chance to kill her or use her as bait.

After she left he assumed she had returned to Skyhold or Tevinter to continue her work against the slavers and smugglers. But Dorian had refuted that, in addition to sharing his colorful opinion on where Solas could shove his inquiries. This elevated his fear, for now that he knew what she was involved in, he feared even more for her safety. Would the smugglers or slavers rebel? Had she been captured or kidnapped or… worse? Solas couldn't bear to think of that. She had to be okay. Wherever she was, she was okay. If she wasn't, she could reach out to him. He would know. They were bonded now, and if she was in some danger, she could reach out to him. But when he tried to reach out to her, there was no response.

He hated not knowing. It drove him to near madness, searching for answers with no response, no assurance of any kind. And all the while, he couldn't help but feel his own guilt grow. For this was exactly what she must have felt after he left. It was far worse, he decided, to be the one left behind as opposed to the one leaving. When he left, he made a decision: a difficult, heart-wrenching decision, but a decision nonetheless. And he had gone, taking all the answers to every loose end with him. He had thought it for the best. A kindness, in the long run. But it wasn't. It was hell.

And as his hell stretched on and on, it drove him to places and thoughts he feared. There was a moment, lost in the Fade searching for her with no response, in which he felt a familiar presence lingering and watching from beyond the mist. The Dread Wolf had taken an interest in his visits, watching, waiting; but for what, Solas did not know. Nor did he want to discover its purpose. After so many months of keeping it at bay, away from his partner, away from their unborn child, he feared its return and what it might mean. Yet the Dread Wolf did not confront him. It lingered beyond his reach, patient and watchful.

But the Dread Wolf had power he alone did not. The power to find her, perhaps. And that power lured him in with the promise of answers.

All the while as he worried for her, he worried too for their child. Was the pregnancy progressing well? Was she ill? Was she eating enough? Was she sleeping? Or had something happened? Was she worse? Was the baby?

Shutting his eyes, he prayed. "Please. Please come home."