Author's Note: Major spoiler warning for The Descent! Read at your own discretion.
Scout Harding had never seen the Inquisitor so quiet. She was usually quite chatty around the dwarf, joking about whatever threats the region offered, musing what obscure lead Corypheus could possibly be searching for now, or even just checking in on her at Skyhold. But since the Inquisitor had emerged from the Deep Roads, some lingering trace of the darkness below seemed to haunt her face.
"Find out you're queasy in small spaces?" Harding joked good naturedly as the group began the long trek back to Skyhold. The elf didn't acknowledge her, eyes resting on the reins in her hands but focused on other thoughts entirely.
"I don't think Quizzy here is up for chat right now," said the Iron Bull to the dwarf in low tones. "Been as silent as a Sister the whole trek up, too."
"Is something the matter?" asked Harding, shifting nervously in her saddle. She hoped she hadn't missed something obvious. She'd be a pretty lousy scout if she did.
"No, nothing like that," answered Bull, guiding his horse easily with one hand while he gave a small dismissive wave with the other. "She just has a lot to think about is all. It'll pass."
Harding nodded as Bull clicked his horse forward to resume his normal spot. Harding dropped back until she was watching the Inquisitor's back, the monotonous motion of the horses failing to help lull her mind into easy acceptance. It just seemed so terribly out of character for the Inquisitor, and Harding couldn't find a way to force the new tension from her muscles. Eventually, though, the group stopped to make camp and pulled the scout's mind back to reality.
With the help of the Inquisitor and her companions, the work went quicker than expected, and Harding was surprised to find that she had a few brief moments of free time before dinner. She walked over to a small patch of grass, grateful that the Storm Coast was still lush with flowering weeds, and picked nearly all of the flowers she could find. When she returned to the small camp, she was sure she looked like some lost flower girl looking for a marriage ceremony. That, or just an overly enthusiastic green thumb. She ignored the looks of those around her and made her way to the Inquisitor, the fierce determination on her face in odd contrast to the delicate haul in her arms.
Avanna looked up for a moment as the scout approached her, blue eyes finally meeting hers, and Harding found herself letting out a small breath as she realized that they were not glassy or unfocused as she feared. The moment passed, though, as the elf turned to examine the ground before her with the same unseeing stare as before. Harding let the bundle of flowers fall before the Inquisitor before seating herself on the ground across from her. She picked up two of the white flowers when she heard the elf sigh.
"Harding, I'd really like a moment a—"
"Alone. I know. And I promise, I'll be very quiet."
"Harding." She could practically feel the frustration in her voice. "I'm really not—"
"I can tell," continued the dwarf as she maneuvered the stems of the flowers to face each other. "And if you'd like to find another isolated log to sit at, go right ahead. But I'm staying here."
Harding had to keep herself from snickering as she heard the Inquisitor look around, armor rustling and clinking at her every movement. Resigned, the elf remained. Harding silently celebrated.
The dwarf returned to her self-appointed task, tying the two stems together in a knot. Satisfied with her handiwork, she took another flower from the pile and tied the stem of that one right below the petals of one in her other hand. She continued in this fashion for a while, holding the growing chain of flowers in one hand while sorting out good flowers from the pile in the other. Confident that the Inquisitor was too dispassionate to care if the dwarf talked, Harding began, "I find that I like to have something to do with my hands when I'm thinking." She liked to think that the elf at least glanced her way but was confident that she didn't. "It lets me sort through things better. I dunno. Maybe it's just because I was raised always doing something, but the weight just feels nice sometimes."
Harding glanced up. The elf had moved her head. Just barely, but enough for the scout to realize it.
"My mother used to make me darn socks when I was in trouble," continued the dwarf. "Told me that if I wanted to brood over what happened, I should at least be useful while doing so." She paused as she laughed. "Don't understand much how making flower crowns helps in a time like this, but at least it's something."
She continued working in silence before the Inquisitor voiced a question.
"Where did you learn that?"
"I lived on a farm that had weeds everywhere. And considering I was a shepherd staring at sheep all day, I got used to keeping myself entertained." Harding looked up, finding the elf's blue eyes focused on the flowers. "Come on. You can make one. It isn't that hard."
"No, I'm fine, thank you," came the practiced, diplomatic answer. Harding rolled her eyes and tossed a handful of flowers to the Inquisitor. "Come on, Lavellan. You know you want to."
Whether it was simply in hopes of placating the chatty dwarf or out of actual desire to try, Harding would never know, but the elf picked up the flowers in her hands and started to tie them. It was a simple task that required no instruction so the two were free to work in silence. Surprisingly, the Inquisitor spoke again.
"They didn't have plants in the Deep Roads," she murmured to herself. "Well, not until…" Harding watched as the dexterous fingers in her line of vision faltered. Shaking her head, the Inquisitor resumed work and the fingers flew into motion again.
"Until what?" Harding ventured, not looking up but hoping that the Inquisitor would elaborate. There was a long pause, awkward in its tension, but two quick words silenced it: "The Titan."
Harding struggled to recall if she had run across the name before in any of her reports. It didn't seem familiar but the elf spoke it with such gravitas that she felt that she should have.
"The Titan? Sounds ominous," she found herself reflexively quipping. "Well, I guess not too ominous if it had plants."
"It wasn't ominous at all," the elf said lowly. "It was one of the most breath taking things I have ever seen." Harding sat quietly afraid to speak and shatter the train of words that slipped past the Inquisitor's lips.
"Imagine traveling down so deep that your eyes couldn't adjust to the lack of light around you," began the elf, dam breaking as she struggled to articulate the thoughts that had festered in her mind. "So dark that you could only move by feel and fear. And then imagine that as you descend lower lyrium veins show up everywhere, spidering across rocks and reaching into the air. Pure, untouched lyrium. And then imagine that you have to go lower. You expect that you'll find more darkness or more lyrium but as you emerge from the cave you see…plants. Green plants."
The Inquisitor paused as she absentmindedly rubbed her fingers on the leaves of a flower already forged into the crown chain.
"Plants. All the way down into the belly of the earth. And as you step out even more, you're bathed in sudden light and there are clouds floating around you. A whole world, untouched, living where every reason and logic says it should not. And that's when she knew that she was right."
Harding found that her mind paused over that pronoun. She took all male companions with her. Perhaps it was the Shaper?
"Valta knew," the Inquisitor continued. "Valta knew that the Titan was real. But in the end…"
Harding watched as the Inquisitor trailed. So here was the crux of the matter, Harding thought. Here was where the mind brooded.
"What happened with the Titan?" asked Harding quietly.
The Inquisitor sat still, face unreadable, fingers frozen.
"It…is her."
Against her will, Harding pulled a face. Mercifully, the Inquisitor didn't notice.
"Well, not really. I don't know to be honest. She 'harbors it' might be better," said the Inquisitor, mind clearly struggling to make sense of the situation. "She's marked in a way. Like I am."
Harding honed in on those words. They were simple on their own, but Harding could hear the lingering bitterness beneath them, could feel the tension radiate from the elf like a wave. Gasping as she realized it, Harding stifled a cough. The Inquisitor was jealous.
"What do you mean 'marked'?"
The Inquisitor practically glared at the dwarf.
"I mean that she has the essence of a Titan in her and can suddenly shoot lyrium from her palms. I mean that she suddenly speaks in awed, monotone words as if she is now somehow vastly superior to everyone. I mean that she isn't Valta anymore. She's some…half god practically."
Jealousy, bitterness, and fear, Harding surmised. More had happened than she could have possibly imagined.
"It's okay to be upset," Harding offered.
"I'm not upset," the elf said defensively, crushing the juice out of some stems as she did so. "I'm frustrated. If this dwarf can suddenly gain the powers of a Titan by mere chance, what's to say that Corypheus can't somehow become more powerful, too? I thought that I got the Anchor by chance at first. Thought it was all some weird accident. And now, just when I think that Andraste might be behind this after all, this dwarf comes along and proves me wrong. Proves that I am, in fact, just another product of fate. That the mark I have is naught but chance. That even the damned burden I have because of it is not even mine. It's all just bloody chance."
The elf threw her nearly finished crown to the ground, standing up as she did so. Harding scrambled to her feet as well.
"It's more than just fate, Inquisitor," Harding began.
"Oh, don't try to spit some Chantry nonsense at me," bit the elf. "I've had enough of those words trying to change me."
"No, I mean," Harding faltered, struggling for the right words. "You were a person before this."
The elf turned a wild gaze on her.
"I mean, you still are," she rushed to clarify. "But you were a person before all this. You were Avanna. And despite the mark and Corypheus, you still are Avanna. And I believe that only you could rise to the occasion."
"Oh, please—"
"No," said Harding with such conviction that she startled the elf. "I believe that only you could be the Inquisitor. Imagine if Valta got the mark. Do you think she'd do what you are? No. Because she is not you. You possess a will of incredible power. You have a purpose that calls out the best in you. You have proven to a nation that only you could have done this. You did not shy away from this duty, you did not crumple under the weight, and you did not bow at Haven. We remember that, Avanna, and we know that it is because you have the mark that we are still here today. I can only imagine what it feels like to carry that burden around with you, hounding you like Corypheus himself, and I can only imagine what it feels like to see another adopt a similar role after you have endured yours for so long. But her role does not lessen your importance. It does not null your purpose. Yes, you may not be the only victim of fate, but you are the only one who carries your burden, just as Valta carries hers. They are different. Similar, yes, but fundamentally different. Your burden is still your privilege, Inquisitor. It will always be a burden only you can bear."
Harding watched as Avanna moved her jaw up and down, attempting to form any sort of thought, but left before she could muster those words. Harding had done what she needed to do and knew that time would finish the rest. She did allow herself to glance over her shoulder, though, and found that the Inquisitor was madly fashioning crowns from weeds, creating order from chaos even in her worries.
Author's Note: Because I'm stressing about school, and I think Harding would give epic motivational speeches. Super special shout-out to Embrium for reviewing my last chapter! And to you all you lovelies who have faved, alerted, and/or read this: THANK YOU!