Notes:

Merry Christmas, everyone. And for those who didn't have a happy holiday: it's okay. Don't worry. Breathe, recover, and keep moving forward. You've got this.
We're all heroes in our own lives.

Rook

After the glow of the eluvian, Rook opened her eyes, slightly blinded. She blinked slowly, adjusting to the change in light. She looked around, turning slightly to analyze her surroundings.
They were in what appeared to be ruins in a vast forest. The trees whispered around her with the wind, while in the background, the rift could be seen even closer, with a huge green light pointing to it, seeming to come from a place much further ahead of where they stood. She whistled, astonished, looking at her companions with raised eyebrows.
—Well, these are definitely doors to another place. It seems we're no longer in Minrathous— commented the elf, casually placing her hands on her daggers. She felt the tension in the atmosphere, but didn't know exactly why. And that unsettled her.
—I know this place. It's the Forest of Arlathan— Harding commented, surveying his surroundings like a good explorer, confidently taking a step forward. Beside her, the ice mage fixed her gaze ahead, frowning. She raised her hand, pointing forward.
—And there's the ritual— Neve pointed out. Great elven ruins could be seen in the distance. Magical power crackled in the air, taut like a bowstring.

That's where the green light came from, Rook realized, as she saw one of the statues around the ruins emit an explosion toward the sky, causing a massive tremor. The team held steady easily, but the tension rose like a pot about to boil over.
Rook swallowed hard, with a knot in her throat. Those tremors were caused by very, very powerful magic. Magic she wasn't sure she wanted to know up close. But, she suspected deep down, it likely came from a certain god conducting a ritual.
Things couldn't go smoothly for once, could they?
—This is getting worse— Neve blurted out, nervous, unable to help herself. The elf shot her a sarcastic glance, almost involuntarily.
Don't mess this up, Neve, she thought to herself. The tremors and the demons were apparently no coincidence.

Without exchanging looks, they quickly moved on, taking quick steps, almost in a jog, propelled by nerves and adrenaline. Several monsters crossed their path, but they dispatched them quickly, not wanting to waste any more time than they suspected they were already scarce on.
—Is this Solas, the Terrible Wolf...?— Rook started to ask, tension in her voice, while dispatching a demon.
—Fen'harel too— Neve interrupted her.
Rook looked at her with a furrowed brow, exasperated.
—How many names does this guy really have?— she raised her hands, somewhat angrily, unable to prevent hysteria from seeping in.

Varric fixed his gaze ahead, toward those statues illuminated by the green light of the magic. He sighed deeply, his gaze clouded by memories.
—To me, he was just... Chuckles— he commented sadly, letting his shoulders drop as if a burden had settled on them. His bronze skin crinkled with sorrow, making him seem genuinely more exhausted and older.
Harding, beside him, averted her gaze, the weight of it all evident in her body. Rook watched them, shifting her angry expression to one of sorrow as she saw her friends' sadness mixed with the exhaustion of not having realized who their friend was in time.
Of perhaps not having made him change his mind. That her friendship had never been enough for the elf. Rook clenched her fists at her sides, lowering her gaze.
—Hey, I don't know what really happened, but... I'm sorry— she inhaled, feeling their pain within herself— I'm really sorry.

Varric shook his head and let out a sad, tired laugh.
—No need to apologize. It's not your fault. Besides, I'm not the one it affected the most— he shrugged, trying to lighten the matter but failing. The dwarf sighed as well.
—Inquisitor...— Harding murmured with sorrow to herself, though it was audible enough for everyone. Rook frowned again, looking at the statues.
Was the Inquisitor really that close to Solas? No one had ever directly told her anything, leaving her to assume so much. But she was starting to suspect an idea. A very subtle idea.
—Now, the important thing is to stop him— Varric tightened his grip on Bianca, interrupting her thoughts.

Out of nowhere, a crystal from one of the statues lit up, emitting another beam of power into the sky, causing another tremor, slightly stronger this time. Rook felt the magic around her shift uncontrollably. Her little inner voice went off again, but she calmed it down, rubbing her chest.
Now was not the time to let nerves get the better of them.
Neve gestured toward the statues with her staff, which shimmered under the moonlight.
—Every time a crystal lights up, there's an earthquake. I think it's an indicator of how advanced the ritual is. And it seems it's already well ahead of what we expected— she commented through clenched teeth, annoyance seeping into her voice.

Harding loosed a quick arrow at a demon approaching them, killing it on the spot. More began to swarm, getting them on alert, just in case. The dwarf turned to Neve, nocking an arrow.
—Then we need to hurry!— she urged, starting to run.
—We're almost there!— Rook encouraged her companions, pulling her dagger from a fallen demon. She ran on, not bothering to sheath the weapon.

They reached a small clearing surrounded by ancient elven ruins. Another earthquake shook the ground.
In the earth, a massive rift opened before them, causing them to take a step back for precaution. From it emerged a demon much larger than the ones they had been facing, blocking their way with a growl, opening that ghostly mouth, from which only black mist emerged.

Neve and Harding prepared to fight, wanting to get it off their backs, but Varric raised a hand, stopping them, frowning. He looked at the pink-haired girl and scoffed with some amusement, not even bothering to reach for Bianca.
—Rook, enough with the nonsense, just do your thing already!— he yelled at her mockingly.

Rook looked at him with a sideways smile, but a cruel expression formed on her face, making her eyes flash for a moment, the magic filtering into them.
—Are you sure?— she asked, asking for permission she didn't need. Varric just shot her a dirty look at that absurd request. She laughed out loud, unable to help it, and stepped forward, twirling her daggers as she approached the demon, still wearing that cruel smile. She licked her lips, as if savoring her next prey. The ice mage approached the dwarf, somewhat distrustful, raising her eyebrows as she looked at the pink-haired girl.
—Her thing?— she asked Varric, unsure whether to accompany the elf or not. He merely responded with a gesture toward Rook, prompting her to look at the elf.

Rook cracked her neck, not lifting her daggers, while tilting her head, that glint in her eyes. She slowly spun them while looking at the demon.
Then she crouched slightly and did a few bounces, adrenaline coursing through her.
—Time to unleash— she murmured to herself and her little voice.

With a snap, the demon lunged at her without waiting any longer. Rook grinned widely as she waited. Neve let out a scream, startled, seeing it so close to her.
But suddenly, the elf was no longer in the same place. The demon paused, confused for a moment. And then, laughter echoed, accompanied by a mocking voice.
—Up here, stupid.

Like a lightning bolt, Rook fell on top of the demon, toppling it as her daggers emitted electric snaps, as if they were hungry. The demon tried to move, but its lower limbs were frozen out of nowhere, without realizing it.
Rook, atop it, smiled down wickedly, tilting her head. In a quick motion, she plunged her daggers in and emitted a huge cloud of electricity that lifted her hair. She slipped a hand into the wound, making a strange gesture, almost as if she were holding something. And she pulled, grabbing one of her daggers that were still charged, swinging it through the air. In a matter of seconds, the demon lay still, vanishing into ashes carried by the wind, as if it had never existed, causing Rook to jump back to regain her balance.

Neve tightened her grip around her staff, going pale, her eyes wide as saucers, unable to believe what she just saw. Harding and Varric, beside her, waited for the elf to stop crackling with pink sparks while she sheathed her daggers and inhaled, smiling at them, making an OK gesture with her fingers.
—No way. The Weaver. The damn Weaver mage— Neve murmured, shaking her head in disbelief. Rook jumped toward them, not falling into the rift, while gesturing for them to follow.
—Let's go— she urged, continuing the path toward the ritual area. The others followed her without delay, but Neve quickly approached Varric, raising her hands.

—Didn't you think to tell me she's the Weaver mage, Varric? I think it's a pretty damn important thing to know— she almost accused him, grinding her teeth at the dwarf. Beside her, Harding looked at her curiously, not knowing why she had gotten so worked up.
—Is it important?— she asked, trying to understand the detective's point of view.
Neve whipped her head around to her, the hat on her head making a movement that forced her to readjust it with one hand.
—She's the most gifted mage of recent times— she began to explain with some excitement—. They say there's no magic that resists her knowledge, able to learn any type of spell in a matter of days, or even hours— she pointed at Rook, who was pretending to be Swedish, feeling somewhat embarrassed hearing such praise—. Nothing can escape the Weaver. She shapes magic to her liking and, not only that, they say she also masters hand-to-hand combat, mixing her damn skills. She has no weak points, or so the rumors say. And besides, her identity has always been a secret, helping the most needy all over Antiva and beyond— she let out a small gasp, as if hitting herself on the forehead—. Of course. Because she's a damn Crow. And the dates when the rumors started align with Rook's age.

Varric's eyes widened, amused, and he waved his hand dismissively, shaking it off.
—Exaggerations. Don't you see she's just a weird elf?— he said, pointing at her, the tone filled with friendly amusement, as if it were a usual joke between them.
—I can hear you, Varric— Rook called out, turning to look at him with a smirk. He burst into laughter, but the chuckle quickly died when he saw what lay ahead.

They had gotten close enough to the ritual area. The statues loomed impressively, the rays of magic illuminating the sky. But that wasn't what unsettled the dwarf, no.
It was a figure, imposing, tall, and powerful, standing in the center of all the magic of the ritual, atop some stairs. The team quickly hid to the side so they wouldn't be seen. The dwarf peeked out, glancing around.
—Solas. That's Solas— he said breathlessly, as if he couldn't believe he had his friend so close. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath. His face filled with determination, raw and hard—. I'll take care of this from now on.

A handful of demons appeared behind him unexpectedly. Neve and Harding began to defend themselves, launching arrows and spells everywhere. Rook helped with her share, casting several spells as well, although not with as much power, fearing the reaction of her magic so close to the ritual. Harding turned to Varric for a moment, her brow furrowed with concern.
—Are you sure?
Varric nodded, resolute, without looking at her, his eyes fixated on the elf beyond. Harding shook her head and looked at him with some pity, with some anguish she couldn't hide.
—Varric, Solas isn't going to stop just because an old friend kindly asks him to. Not even the Inquisitor could stop him— she whispered, trying to reason with him. Varric gritted his teeth and looked at her, determination in his eyes.
—Solas just needs another reason, a compelling enough reason to justify his change of heart— the dwarf justified, clenching his fists.

—Come on, Varric, we didn't come here just to chat with him— Rook interjected, unable to hold back.
If Solas hadn't stopped in all these years...
But still, the dwarf didn't back down. He placed a hand on the pink-haired girl's shoulder, emphasizing his words.
—He was my friend, Rook. I have to try to convince him. And not just for me— he slung Bianca on his back, but didn't take his hand off her, as if he needed the touch of the crossbow to calm himself—. And if I can't convince him... He'll answer to Bianca— he assured her, trying to ease Rook's worry about him.

But she had a bad gut feeling that had only worsened as they approached the ritual area. She inhaled, trying to calm herself, but looked at him warily. Still, after several minutes, she nodded at him.
Varric had always had a way with words. Maybe now it would also work for his good friend. Varric smiled at her gratefully and turned, stepping out from their cover, heading toward Solas.
—Take care of the team for me, Rook— he murmured, although he knew she wouldn't hear him, already absorbed in helping her friends fight. He climbed the steps, getting closer and closer to that figure, every step echoing in his head. Then he stopped, just a few steps from the elf, who was facing away from him, unaware of his presence, completely absorbed in the rift before him, identical to the one in the sky. And Varric inhaled, placing his ever-reliable smile on his face.
—Hope I'm not interrupting you, Chuckles— he spoke to him, in that playful tone that his apostate mage friend had always directed at him, making him furious many times.

Solas turned abruptly, his elven armor making a slight metallic sound. In one hand, lowered, he held a fearsome ritual dagger made of pure lily. His gaze softened for a second, as if he couldn't believe the dwarf was standing before him, causing his normally serious face to lose its concentrated frown. He looked at the dwarf up and down. And sighed, heavily, as he clenched his fists.
—Varric.

And with that word, the battle of wills began between the two, which would decide whether the world would be saved or end up destroyed to its foundations, in pursuit of a suicidal plan due to the convictions of a misguided god.