She wakes up surrounded by the scent of lavender and vanilla. When she lifts her eyelids, she sees a frescoed ceiling decorated with golden flowers warmed by the sunlight. The sound of running water suddenly makes her thirsty. She is lying on a large, comfortable mattress covered with a purple silk sheet.
She moistens her lips with her tongue and tries to sit up, but a sharp pain in her head stops her. She can only lean on her elbows and look around the room.
The bedroom is meticulously arranged down to the last detail. Bouquets of delicate flowers adorn the dark furniture, making the room feel more personal. Silver wallpaper, decorated with symbols she doesn't recognise, covers the walls and softly reflects the sunlight. A large mirror reaching to the ceiling reflects her tired image, drawing attention to the heavy bandage around her head.
Suddenly, a door opens and a cloud of warm, fragrant steam slowly enters the room. Ainur'Len sees Dorian step through the threshold, his hair wet, his body wrapped in a white towel embroidered with the letters 'DP'. He's humming a song she's never heard before, gently shaking his head to let the hot water drip down his neck.
When she sees him, he jumps and the towel slips off, leaving him completely naked.
"Ainur'Len! You're awake!"
The elf blushes deeply and looks away, feeling her cheeks burning.
"Dorian, cover yourself, please."
Her friend laughs amusedly and seems in no hurry to get dressed.
"Really? It's as though you've never seen a naked man before. And might I remind you, this is my room."
"Look, will you put some clothes on? It's not like I can get a piece of that cake anyway."
The wizard laughs even harder and finally wraps himself in a milky coffee-coloured robe, not caring that his hair is still wet. He walks over to her and sits down at the foot of the bed, looking at her with a strange smile that she can't quite read. Ainur'Len raises an eyebrow and glares at him.
"What?" she asks, almost annoyed. Dorian shakes his head and lowers his pale eyes, but the smile doesn't fade.
"You saved my life out there," he whispers, his voice full of gratitude. "You went full Berserker when I was in trouble. And in the blink of an eye, you obliterated an ogre. With nothing more than a wave of your hand. I'm still trying to make sense of it... and I'm not entirely sure I want to."
Ainur'Len suddenly remembers everything. The dragon, the flames, the ogre, the flash of green light and then nothing. Her eyes widen and she stares at the wizard, a question etched into her amber irises that she doesn't dare voice.
"It's all over. My arm is fine. The dragon is gone," he reassures her.
Ainur'Len lets herself fall back onto the bed, her head sinking into the soft pillow.
"How?" she asks, staring at the ceiling.
"Rook took care of it," the warm voice of Morrigan catches the elf off guard. She turns quickly, perhaps too quickly, for a sudden sharp pain pierces her temples. She stifles a groan and turns her eyes to the witch, who slowly entered the room, her steps as stealthy and elegant as ever. "It is good to have you back with us," she says with a sincere smile.
Ainur'Len looks at her in confusion, studying her before speaking.
"Rook, you said?"
"Ah, yes. She and her little band managed to push the beast back, but they were no match for it. The dragon fled, as dragons are wont to do, carrying Ghilan'nain away with it. A pity, really."
The elf feels her chest sink and a sudden wave of anger makes her shake from head to toe.
"Are you saying Ghilan'nain was here?" she hisses, narrowing her eyes to slits and finally sitting up.
"Yes, but..."
"Shit!"
Morrigan and Dorian exchange a quiet glance. They remain silent for a few seconds, then the wizard approaches Ainur'Len and places a hand on her shoulder.
"What could you have done?"
The elf looks down and seems suddenly very interested in her knees.
"I don't know, kill her, what do you think?"
Morrigan chuckles softly, but when Ainur'Len glares at her, she tries to compose herself with a clumsy cough.
"Inquisitor, I fear it is not as simple as you think," she begins, patiently. "But I'll explain everything when you are able to stand. You have been unconscious for two days, you need to regain your strength."
"Morrigan—"
"Listen well, Inquisitor. Take the time to rest." She interrupts her, her tone firm but kind. "We have no need to rush. There is ample time to prepare for what comes next. Together, of course. But do not mistake my words for pity; even the strongest need their respite."
"She's right, Ainur'Len," Dorian insists. "You need to rest."
The elf lets out a sigh, defeated. Her head throbs, she feels weak, her throat is dry and her eyes are swollen. But before the witch can leave the room, Ainur'Len stops her with an unexpected request.
"I want to meet Rook."
Morrigan raises an eyebrow.
"And why would you want that?"
The Inquisitor quickly reaches into the bag at the foot of the bed and without hesitation pulls out the wolf statuette, showing it to the witch.
"I want to give it to her. You said it was part of something bigger. A key. I..." she lowers her eyes and feels Dorian's grip tighten on her shoulder. "I can't keep it anymore. Maybe at the lighthouse Rook could..."
"You want her to see what you've seen?"
"I don't know. But if it can help in any way…"
The witch continues to stare at her with piercing eyes, but nods.
"As you wish. I'll make sure Harding arranges a meeting as soon as possible." She disappears behind the door, leaving them alone.
"She still gives me the creeps sometimes, you know?" Dorian sighs, not letting go of his friend's shoulder. The elf nods.
"Me too. But she's been a great support." Then she turns to him and smiles. "It's good to be here with you."
The wizard smiles back.
"You can stay as long as you like. Even forever, you know."
Ainur'Len chuckles, brushing the back of her hand against his cheek.
"I'd like that. I really would. Maybe when this is all over."
Dorian knows that will never happen, but the thought warms him. And that's enough for now.
She thought Rook would be different. She doesn't really know why, but she thought she would meet an overconfident woman with a slightly arrogant look and a thirst to smash the world. Instead, she finds herself facing a small elf with silver hair and two bright green eyes, but full of questions, kind and reassuring. Perhaps Varric's stories had been a little unfaithful to reality. For a moment, she realises what it is like to be on the other side, and understands the bewilderment with which many looked at her when they discovered they were talking to the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor.
Rook stares at her with admiration and awe, and in contrast, Ainur'Len suddenly feels small and unimportant before this gaze of sincere courtesy. In her cunning smile, she sees her former self again, when, by pure chance, she had found herself carrying the whole world on her shoulders without the slightest idea how to save it.
They talk about the situation in the south, and Rook listens with interest, asking for help and advice.
As the conversation draws to a close, the Inquisitor's gaze lingers on the statuette of Fen'harel resting on the counter beside her. Doubt pervades her. Is she doing the right thing? The fear that Rook might use this knowledge against Solas freezes her. But deep down, she harbours the hope that it might help. And that somehow Rook might be able to discover the message the wolf has, inadvertently or not, hidden for her.
Fortunately, Morrigan, who is beside her, senses her discomfort and rushes to her aid.
"The Inquisitor has not come all this way to leave you with empty words, however. She brought something no one else could."
"I found it right around the time Solas' ritual failed, when he was pulled into the Fade." The thought of separating herself from this relic, this statuette that holds a part of him, the only one she can hold on to, clouds her thoughts. She hears Morrigan and Rook talking, but cannot make out the words.
She picks up the object and looks at it one last time before holding it out to Rook.
"Solas was... important to me," she begins, her gaze lost in an undefined spot on the ground. "If this statuette helps you understand him, if it reveals something that..." She pauses, biting her tongue. Maybe she'll screw it up. Maybe she should keep it to herself. "Honestly, I don't know. I wish I did. But it feels like there's a part of him in here, and whatever he and I once were... I think, I hope, it can help you."
The Inquisitor places her dark eyes into Rook's light ones, all the walls protecting them falling in an instant as she hands her what is a part of her own heart. Silently, she begs her to treasure it carefully. To do it no harm. In the Mournwatcher's green irises, she reads a gratitude that is genuine and pure.
They say goodbye, Ainur'Len quickly embracing Harding and watching Rook turn away and head for the exit.
The Inquisitor catches a glimpse of a tall, slender wizard with carefully combed grey hair and a thin moustache adorning a gentle smile. He holds the door open for Rook like a true gentleman, inviting her to cross the threshold before him. He looks at her as if nothing else in the world matters.
The Inquisitor's stomach twists in a warm, pleasurable grip, a nostalgic feeling making her heart race in her chest.
She sees Rook return the wizard's smile and thank him with a nod, and they walk out together, their bodies almost touching, listening to a longing in their souls that they may not yet fully understand.
This journey will lead them to discover something beautiful. Something Ainur'Len misses every day of her life.
She smiles.
"Rook. I like her." she finally says. Morrigan chuckles.
"I told you so."
Morrigan leads Ainur'Len to the Eluvian that will lead her to Ferelden, where the drakspawn are taking over and the grey wardens seem to be getting thinner and thinner. Their forces are gathering in the north, and this does not bode well.
"Well done, Inquisitor. Giving the statuette to Rook was a wise choice. Though I imagine it's not something that came as easy."
Ainur'Len shrugs. Until they met, she had always regarded Rook as a mere pawn. But now there is something about her that makes her think she might have the right instincts to lead her team to success.
"I just hope she makes good use of it," she comments. 'And if she also manages to decipher the message Solas left for me, assuming there really is something there...'
Morrigan nods slowly.
"It is possible. In the Crossroads and the Lighthouse, the magic is different, more pervasive." She fixes her piercing eyes on the elf's and pauses. Her gaze is searching. The seconds tick by slowly and Ainur'Len feels uncomfortable, scrutinised by those yellow irises. She swallows. She knows. Morrigan knows she has met Solas. "Who knows what may happen. We will have to be patient."
The Inquisitor looks away, as if to shake off the feeling of being peered into. Morrigan's incredible knowledge sometimes frightens her. Just a few moments ago, she had openly explained to her the difference between High Dragons and Arch-Demons, and how to strip ancient gods of their immortality. She shudders as she returns her irises to the mirror.
She stands still, staring at the shiny surface that will bring her back to the Crossroads, and for a moment she hesitates. She thinks of her friends here in the North. She thinks again of Solas, of how far away she feels from him as she fights desperately in the South to hold the world together and keep it from falling apart.
And then she thinks of her clan. Her family, who might need her. Suddenly, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crumpled letter that arrived weeks ago, but she still hadn't bothered to read.
"Morrigan. It will only take a minute," she says, unfolding the paper and holding her breath. Her heart misses a beat. She recognises the handwriting at once.
"My dear, sweet Ainur'Len,
I hope there is the same determination in your eyes as there was the last time we met, but I hope your smile is more truthful and untroubled now. These are dark times and you need it now more than ever.
I wish you were here with me, Da'len. I miss you, terribly.
I am writing this letter to you because your mother Deshanna is too proud to do so, and also because it is the duty of a good Keeper to protect his Clan.
We need your help.
The Darkspawn threaten our home more and more, the plague spreads and threatens to reach the waters of the river; that would be the point of no return. None of us wants to leave our land, but I fear that sooner or later we will be forced to.
Before that happens, Da'len, I beg you to return to us.
I apologise on behalf of our entire family for the way you were treated last time: seeing you stripped of the Vallaslin upset them. We have not dared to explain the true reason for your long journeys, only Deshanna and I know the path you have chosen. The rest of the clan would not understand: you were still the Keeper's First, supposed to be protecting us from the Dread Wolf, not trying to save him.
But with what is happening now, with our old gods waging this terrible war, many of us are wavering. We have lost Hivarin and his brothers, they disappeared last night. I fear they have joined Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain in this madness.
We need your help to hold us together, your precious strength to counter the wave of dark spawn that threatens to sweep us away every day.
And I need to see you. I know where your heart is now, but I need to [deleted] talk to you.
In the hope of having you back with us soon,
I hold you tight.
Always yours,
Keeper Yeben".
Ainur'Len stares at the letter until she can no longer see it. She can almost hear the voice of the friend she grew up with begging her to return, she can see his soft green eyes smiling sweetly at her, the same eyes she loved to lose herself in when they were children dreaming of walking the streets of Arlathan. Her gaze lingers a few moments too long over the erased word that smudges Yeben's perfect handwriting.
"Morrigan. Please. Make sure there is an Eluvian near Clan Lavellan. I will ask Cullen to send a group of soldiers to protect them, but I need them to have a safe way to escape."
"Ainur'Len…"
"There is no time now."
She will not return to her clan. Not after being called Shemlen by some of them. Not if it means seeing the disappointment in her mother's eyes again. She would only return for Yeben, but he understands her. He will forgive her. The important thing is to keep them safe.
She folds the letter and puts it in her pocket, trying to forget Yeben's face begging her to return as she crosses the Eluvian that will lead her to the Ferelden.
Solas watches as Rook's image vanishes into thin air. With the help of the Grey Wardens, she will have to face Ghilan'nain and her archdemon. A quest that seems almost impossible, except that he sees something in her that reminds him of someone else. A purity of heart he has encountered before.
He smiles faintly, a longing he has been trying to suppress for some time squeezing his heart in a warm embrace.
He thinks back to the first time he had met Ainur'Len's curious gaze. How she had thanked him with a smile for saving her life, and how he had felt ashamed, knowing he was responsible for the wound on her hand. Deep down, the same feeling comes over him every time he meets Rook's sincere gaze, which seems to trust him as much as the situation allows.
He shakes his head and lets out an amused sniff. He really is pathetic. Ever since he saw her again, everything reminds him of her.
"How could it be otherwise?" he whispers to himself. His heart had been searching for her for years. In the lighthouse, the caretaker had tried to help him as best he could, feeling his suffering. Every day he would bring him something to remind him of her. Something to ease the conflict between what he longed for and what he had to do, but Solas politely refused these gifts. Deep down, he knew that if he dwelled too long on those memories, he might give in.
But for a long time the caretaker had continued his work. He was there to fulfil the wolf's deepest needs, and Solas desperately needed to be loved. He needed to stop feeling alone. To stop himself from what he was trying to do. To see her again, to melt into those warm, safe, comforting arms, to surrender to what made him feel good, to look away from the past. At first, these desires were so strong that the Keeper could feel them echoing through the Lighthouse like a cry. But Fen'harel's spirit, once so bright, was now grey and dark, chained to a guilt and pain that could not be broken.
Eventually, little by little, the caretaker could no longer hear such deep longings from the wolf, who spent his days locked in his rooms, studying, meditating and playing a melancholic and yearning melody. Solas had to hide what his heart and body were crying out for, lest he drive the spirit who was trying to help him mad.
As the moment of the ritual approached, he had stopped visiting the Inquisitor's dreams. The last few times he had felt her presence more strongly, as if Ainur'Len had long studied how to control her sleep and move through the folds of the Fade with dexterity. He had heard her speak in the ancient language, begging him to listen, and it had become too painful for him.
As the moment of no return approached, he had denied his desires and concentrated on his duty, until he had grown so cold that he had feared to lose himself.
And it had only taken a moment to destroy all his efforts. She was there with him only moments before. She was real. Once again, she had managed to upset his plans simply by looking into his eyes and truly seeing him.
Solas brushes his lips with his fingers, almost able to taste Ainur'Len's. He closes his eyes as if to remember the sound of her trembling sigh as he held her close. He sees those tear-filled amber irises again, begging for forgiveness when she has nothing to apologise for. He feels a pain in his chest as he realises that he has not seen her smile in a decade.
Solas tilts his head slightly to the side, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, as if to avoid the grief that is beginning to consume him.
If only he could see that smile one last time. If only he could...
"Perhaps..." he whispers to himself, slowly opening his eyes again, startled by his own thoughts. "Perhaps I can control it now, now that I understand. Somehow, I may speak to her through the statuette."
This is wrong. He should let her go. But maybe...
"Just to feel her close to me. Not to talk, but just to see If she is safe."
He swallows hard, every fibre in his body fighting with all the strength in the world to hold back, but finally the weight of that kiss breaks through his chest and his eyes fill with blue light.
He searches for her. He focuses every thought on the relic he left her until he sees it, sees his shard glowing and pulsing, but it is empty. She is no longer there.
He cannot find her. He cannot feel her.
The light in Solas' eyes fades, giving way to a new hopelessness and fear. Why can't he feel her?
The thought that something might have happened to her burrows into his brain.
The thought that she may have finally decided to give up on him and abandon him to his fate makes him shake from head to toe.
"Remember what we must do," the voice of a spirit in the distance makes him jump. It is his own voice. The voice of wisdom, but it is distorted, wrong, speaking to him backwards.
"Remember this: if you give in, it all will be a waste, and then I'll have died for nothing, too."
Solas shakes his head violently to dispel the vision of the Spirit of Wisdom hovering over him. He takes a deep breath and his eyes harden.
He cannot afford any distractions. Not now.
He is unaware that at this very moment, his statuette in the lighthouse is glowing with its own light, and that a red-haired dwarf with a gentle, freckled face is staring at it with stunned eyes.
"Rook! The statuette the Inquisitor gave you is doing strange things! Come here!"