Lavellan
Again, Lavellan and company made their way back to camp, though this time in lower spirits, sadness accompanying them as just another member of the team. They left the sobbing mayor, who hadn't uttered a word, in the care of some scouts, who would bring him to justice as soon as possible. Lavellan didn't even deign to look at him again, knowing her magic would take care of the rest.
Leliana knew how she acted. And that rune connecting them would have already given her a warning.
The group headed towards Irelin and Strife, explaining the situation that had occurred at the crossroads, this time without cheerful greetings. As they told it, a raven cawed overhead, almost like a bad omen.
But Lavellan smiled beneath her hood, cheerfully, knowing what it meant.
Harding turned her gaze when she saw him approaching them, without explanation, abruptly cutting off what she was saying to the scouts.
Suddenly, the raven transformed into a halo of light, becoming a beautiful woman in an instant.
—I dare say it was nothing more than a mere show of force on the part of the Evanuris.
The woman, who introduced herself as Morrigan, approached them slowly, with an elegant stride. Her coal-black eyes fixed on Lavellan for a moment, giving her a knowing little smile. Her short hair, held back by a metal crown, stirred as she tilted her head towards them, while her red, strange but fascinating attire wrinkled as she placed a hand on her hip. Harding let out a cry of joy upon seeing her, clasping her hands together.
—Lady Morrigan! —she exclaimed, as she approached her.
—Just Morrigan for you, scout Harding —she smiled back kindly, seeing the dwarf's enthusiasm—. It's been a long time.
Strife turned to Rook to make the appropriate introductions, while Morrigan watched with that perpetual smile. Even so, Lavellan sighed heavily, knowing what was coming now, as she felt her eye fixed on her, seeing her hood, covering her.
—Rook, I present Lady Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds, an old... acquaintance. I thought she might be able to help us —Harding said, expanding on the introduction that Strife had made. She turned to the elf, with a hand raised. Next to her was Lavellan, who took a step back, trying to hide a little behind Neve, as Harding explained to Rook what she already knew: that Morrigan, years ago, had helped the Inquisition in the fight against Corypheus, being an expert in elven magic, surpassed in knowledge only by Solas.
Which was quite logical, Lavellan thought, as she adjusted her hood. Of course, she didn't believe anyone knew more than an ancient elven god himself, who had lived all of history firsthand, despite having spent a thousand years in a deep sleep.
Morrigan cleared her throat and leaned to one side, humorously, looking directly at her, which made Lavellan shrink in on herself.
Here we go.
—Inquisitor Lavellan, long time no see! —she exclaimed insincerely, clasping her hands together and making sure the entire camp heard, if their hearing was working correctly. An uncomfortable silence settled in the air, with Strife and Irelin slowly directing their gazes towards her.
—Did you say... Inquisitor?
Lavellan brought a hand to her face, cursing her old friend Morrigan.
How she loved to make her feel uncomfortable. And there went her plan to remain anonymous.
With a sigh, beneath her hood, looking directly at the leaders of the Veilguard.
—Hello, Strife. It's been a while since I've seen you. Since the last meeting at the Winter Palace, perhaps? —she asked with an uncomfortable grimace at Strife, greeting him belatedly, while ignoring Morrigan's malicious smile.
Ever since she'd seen Strife and Irelin, she had quickly identified them and had tried to remain in the shadows. She didn't want to take leadership away from Rook, who had begun to trust Lavellan, but the weight of her title often made them intimidated and address only her, as the authority she was, but without the truth in front of them, fearing her wrath if they offended her.
Which she didn't understand, because she had never done anything to instill that fear, she thought, wrinkling her brow, while remaining silent, observing the scouts, who were stunned by her presence.
Although, of course, that time she interrupted the Exalted Council, the most important council in all of Thedas, in the middle of the Winter Palace, standing up without looking back and leaving Divine Victoria speechless...
Or the other time, when she accused the Qun of that rebellion with the Dragon's Breath, risking a civil war...
Or when she appeared again interrupting the Council, declaring the absorption of the Inquisition by the Chantry, without asking permission from anyone, not even Divine Victoria...
Okay, she told herself, twisting her expression, perhaps she deserved the reputation she had. That reputation that portrayed her as an implacable elf, both in battle and in words, who was not intimidated by anything or anyone.
—Inquisitor? —Strife leaned awkwardly into a half-bow, confused, interrupting her thoughts—. What are you doing here? Why didn't you mention anything?
Lavellan looked at Rook with a plea, managing only to get the elf to shrug, smiling at her and shaking her head. Then, Lavellan abruptly turned her head towards Morrigan, giving her a look that could incinerate a mountain in an instant.
Morrigan covered her mouth with her hand, hiding a laugh behind a false cough. Irelin also covered her mouth but out of shock at meeting her, left speechless. The whole camp began to murmur, seeing their leaders like that and recognizing her in turn, some even daring to point at her.
Then, Irelin leaned towards Strife, with her mouth still covered and whispering:
—But... She's very young, isn't she, Strife? Didn't you tell me you met her eight years ago? And that she was already in her early twenties at that time.
Strife nodded, addressing Lavellan, who had heard the murmur perfectly. For a moment, she prayed to any god that Strife wouldn't ask her. But, apparently, none answered her call.
—It's true, Inquisitor, you don't seem to have aged... at all. You seem to be the same age as when I saw you at the Council —Strife said, crossing his arms.
Because of that question, everyone turned to look at her, surprised. Neve tilted her head, curious, looking at her.
—Well, you do look young, now that I think about it. I'd say almost the same age as Rook —she looked at the pink-haired woman, who was also frowning, analyzing the Inquisitor—. And you were, Rook...
—Twenty-three. I'm twenty-three years old —the elf replied in a low voice, with some tension.
Lavellan shrugged, hiding her nervousness and looking for something to defend herself with.
—I have good genes, apparently —Lavellan commented with grace, pretending it was a non-issue.
But there was a small detail and it wasn't. She better not be asked any more questions, she thought, tension building throughout her body. At that moment, Morrigan approached her, placing her hands on Lavellan's shoulders, with a smile.
—Lavellan has always had very good skin. In the Inquisition, we used to ask her if she was of legal age, she looked so young —she leaned towards them, as if about to tell a secret—. We even used to call Solas a cradle robber many times, for that very reason.
Lavellan elbowed her, while blushing abruptly. Morrigan made a little noise of complaint, looking at her.
—It's the truth, Lavellan. You know that...
—Alright, alright, so, Morrigan, right? —Rook interrupted the witch, throwing a lifeline to the Inquisitor and placing her hands on her hips, seeing her discomfort.
Lavellan almost planted a kiss on her, as relief washed over her. Morrigan looked at them, alternately, but played along, satisfied enough with the discomfort her friend had experienced.
—Exactly. I am here to help in any way I can against this new danger, offering my knowledge —she informed, placing a hand on her hips.
—That's much appreciated, truthfully —Rook smiled kindly, winking at Lavellan. She just smiled back, gratefully.
—Oh, well! No need to give them —Morrigan said, though this time, she lost her smile—. Changing the subject, Solas had very good reasons for locking up the gods, even if he seems like the villain of the story.
Lavellan didn't miss that phrase, raising her eyebrows in surprise.
Could what she was hearing in Morrigan be some admiration for Fen'Harel?
She pinched herself on her non-prosthetic arm, hurting herself in the process.
Okay, it wasn't a dream.
Morrigan had praised Solas. For the Maker's sake.
—Just to be sure, you know your old friend is the Dread Wolf, right? —Rook asked, crossing her arms. Morrigan let out a small laugh.
—That's what I've been told, which would explain why he knew so much about ancient elven history... and why he got angry every time I tried to explain it to him —she rolled her eyes, resting a hand on her hip, while smiling broadly at the memories she was probably reliving—. Even so, I assure you that I possess a great deal of ancient knowledge.
Lavellan also relived those memories, remembering that time they went to the Temple of Mythal, where Morrigan and Solas did nothing but argue about the elven gods. She smiled, unable to avoid it, though that smile contained sadness and longing.
She missed those times.
She missed that Solas.
Bellara tapped her foot on the ground, restless as she looked at Morrigan.
—I hope it's enough against this new threat. We don't want a repeat of the Crossroads D'Meta incident around the world —she said somberly.
—It's our fault, Morrigan —Lavellan hugged herself, looking down—. We had him there, but I couldn't... We couldn't stop him. We only interrupted him, which caused the gods to escape —Lavellan bit her lip, with guilt burning throughout her body. Morrigan approached her again, placing a hand on her shoulder, while looking at her with empathy.
—It's okay. We'll find a way to overcome them —she squeezed her shoulder, consoling her.
She knew how hard it had been for Lavellan to encounter Solas. Probably, she was the only one who knew what it had cost her.
The only one who knew all that she had really suffered in these years.
Morrigan separated from her, after a last silent squeeze, returning to her position next to the scouts—. We can start fixing everything, for example, by ceasing to see the Evanuris as impossible divinities and instead as the powerful and ancient mages they are. We need magic on their level.
She began to move in place, thoughtfully, while trying to find a solution.
—By chance, didn't Solas have some kind of magical tool during the ritual?
Lavellan then remembered it.
The dagger. Solas' lyrium ritual dagger, which he held while he stabbed Varric mercilessly. The same one she used shortly after that, when she had no other choice.
—He had a dagger —Harding stepped forward, informing Morrigan of the same thing Lavellan had thought—. But it was lost in all the chaos —the dwarf lamented, looking down.
—Then, I would recommend you go look for it. Better in your hands than in the hands of the gods —Morrigan shrugged, tilting her smile.
—Could Solas have anything else that could be useful to us? We're in his... Well, he calls it the Beacon —Rook informed her, running a hand through her hair, playing with it unconsciously.
—Oh! —Morrigan clasped her hands together, excited—. The legendary sanctuary of Fen'Harel. It is said that, through his eluvian, the Vi'Revas, one could travel to any part of the world as long as there was another connected and functioning eluvian.
—But it doesn't work right now —Neve commented, making a slight pout—. It only leads to Arlathan, that's how we got here.
—I can take a look and fix it, surely —Bellara interrupted, somewhat nervous, while interlacing her hands, playing with her fingers.
—We would be grateful if you could fix it, truly —Rook reassured her with a smile, thanking her for the help. Bellara nodded, satisfied, but frowned again.
—Well, as long as it keeps functioning as an Eluvian. With all this uncontrolled magic... —She shook her head, desperate at the thoughts running through her mind—. It seems like a nightmare come true. Our gods. Our gods —she stressed, raising her hands— are killing and corrupting the world! —She clasped her hands together, nervously, again—. How do we face that?
Lavellan opened her mouth to reassure her, but Rook stepped forward, ready to speak.
And Lavellan listened to her leader, with a small smile.
—Step by step. And as a team. Bellara, you're an expert in elven artifacts. Your help is invaluable right now —Rook said, pointing with one hand. Then, she turned to the ice mage—. Neve is the best detective I know, she'll surely be able to find who we need. —She turned to Harding and Lavellan, tilting her head—. Harding, you're an exquisite scout, we'll quickly find Solas' lyrium dagger thanks to you. And you, Lavellan... —she stopped, with a lopsided smile, fixing those strange eyes on her—. Well, I don't think I need to say much about you, Inquisitor —she told her, with a certain edge to her title, but in good faith. Lavellan returned the smile, squinting her eyes, pleased.
They may have their differences, but Rook was starting to grow on her.
And that was a big step for their friendship, which was beginning to take root, little by little.
The girls returned to the LightHouse for a moment, to rest a little. After an hour, which they used to chat with each other, they headed towards the eluvian again, with Neve and Bellara staying behind, one to recover and the other to tinker with the Vi'Revas, promising them that she would "try not to break it to avoid leaving them stranded'".
Lavellan reached the ruins of the ritual area, swallowing saliva as she saw the rubble left behind by the magical explosion. Everything came crashing down on her at once – the feelings, the memories.
Seeing Solas again, his violet gaze sweeping over her as if she were a dream. How Varric fell, stabbed by Fen'Harel himself, even if it was an accident.
What she had to do later, with that same dagger.
Her breathing began to quicken, uncontrollably. Shaking her head, she tried to shake off the bad memories and approached Harding and Rook, who were further ahead.
—I should have shot— Harding lamented, looking up at the ruined stairs in front of her. Rook shook her head, frowning slightly.
—It wouldn't have done any good, Harding. You know that.
—I know, but...!
—But what? —Lavellan challenged, crossing her arms as she reached their side. Her hair billowed in the wind, as she had decided not to put on her hood this time—. Who are you blaming, Harding? Because I hope it's not yourself... —she lowered her voice, with a hint of threat in her words.
—No one, Inquisitor! —Harding retorted, furious. Lavellan just raised an eyebrow, questioning her without saying anything else. Harding sighed, surrendering to the evidence.
—Okay, yeah, it's true, myself. But we tried to end one thing and we only got two worse things. And Varric...
—Varric knew what could happen, Lace— Rook countered gently—. We all accepted it. But it's okay. Now, it's time for each of us to find our strengths and use them.
Lavellan nodded, in agreement with her. Then, she gestured with her head, indicating one of the sides of the ruined staircase.
—Let's move on, let's go find the dagger.
They entered the ruins, opening a double door. Lavellan cast one last look at the top of the stairs, where she had seen Solas, unable to avoid it. Her heart skipped a beat at the memory.
Solas, she sighed his name internally, like a prayer, but she regretted it immediately afterward.
Stupid heart, she told herself, closing her eyes for a moment.
Stupid apostate mage, stupid god who had made her fall in love, so many years ago, and she still didn't want to let go of that hand that led her to perdition, of those arms that had consoled and embraced her so many times, with warmth, only to release her at the worst moment.
To use those hands to destroy the Veil and destroy the world, at the same time.
But she would find the solution. And she would save him, no matter what.
She turned around, following Rook and Harding, closing the door behind her. Rook pointed to a spot further ahead. Traces of bluish light could be seen through the earth, like a fresh, still bleeding wound.
—Here— she crouched down, resting her hand on the ground—. A trace of pure magic. Very strong.
—Surely, Solas' dagger— the Inquisitor observed, seeing the marks on the ground.
They nodded in agreement, when a sinister growl rose in the air. They looked up, alert.
A darkspawn was at the bottom, looking at them, and in its hand...
—The dagger! —Harding exclaimed, pointing at it. The darkspawn turned around and fled, with the dagger in its hands, as if it were a precious treasure it didn't want to let go of.
Rook started running, chasing it. The others followed her, though they were interrupted several times by darkspawn, whom they quickly defeated. In one of those, Rook finished one off, while asking aloud:
—Why the hell would a darkspawn take the dagger?
—Maybe the magic it has attracts them— Lavellan replied, finishing off another with a clean cut, while looking at her.
—I'd bet on that— Harding agreed, tensing her bow and releasing another arrow.
They continued chasing it, sliding down an earth ramp. They reached a dead end, where the darkspawn stopped, growling and drooling.
—Friend— Rook gasped, recovering from the chase—. What you have in your hand is ours.
The ghoul growled even more, as if it had understood her. Lavellan couldn't help but smile a little at the comical scene.
—Okay, well if you don't want it the easy way... you'll get it the hard way!
Rook made a series of gestures with her hand, annoyed. The air around the darkspawn crackled, and a storm broke out over it, frying it on the spot and causing it to drop the dagger. With a wail, the darkspawn disappeared through the wall, climbing and fleeing.
Lavellan applauded slowly, amazed by the pink-haired elf.
—One day you have to give us an explanation of your magic— she asked Rook, with curiosity in her expression. Rook gave a lopsided smile, looking at her.
—A secret for a secret, Inquisitor.
Afterward, she turned to the dagger. Lavellan held her breath as the pink-haired woman approached the weapon.
The dagger flickered, as if it were happy to see them. And Lavellan swallowed, as she saw that flicker, which seemed to be more intense when she looked at it, as if the dagger knew what she had done.
As if it was laughing at her.
Rook crouched down in front of the weapon, her eyes shining with the bluish-green of the blade.
—The dagger. At last.
She reached out a hand to it, but Harding stopped her, raising an arm. She crouched down, with Rook and Lavellan on each side. Hesitantly, she took the dagger in her hands.
And then, everything went wrong.
The dagger began to glow, as if it wanted to rival the light of the sun itself. Suddenly, Harding gasped in pain, her veins lighting up in blue, causing her friends to rush to her, worried. The dwarf looked at Rook with fear.
And Lavellan opened her eyes wide, as she suddenly understood. Solas' dagger wasn't the refined lyrium she was used to, no.
It was pure, raw lyrium, as freshly mined from the vein.
And she hadn't noticed until now, because it hadn't affected her in the failed ritual, when it should have.
But the worst of all was that it was affecting the dwarf, who twisted her face, realizing this fact instantly.
—Lyrium...
With a sigh, she fell into Rook's arms, who said her name, alarmed. The dagger fell to the ground, landing between them. Rook went to pick it up, but Lavellan slapped her hand, denying her.
—No. It's dangerous.
Then, she placed a hand on the dagger, without touching it. And she whispered some words, which she had once stolen from someone, reinforcing the runes that were on the weapon.
The dagger flickered, with the runes glowing on its surface. Lavellan held it, sighing, while looking at Rook, who had the dwarf in her arms, unconscious, but alive.
They would have to return to the Lighthouse as soon as possible to detoxify her.
—Done. Now we should be able to...
Suddenly, the ground shook, probably as a result of that very powerful magic she had had to perform, enraging something unknown.
In the end, it was a spell forbidden long ago.
The ravine where they were began to collapse. Rook and Lavellan fell to one side with a cry, unable to avoid it, and Harding plunged into the void, unable to be held by Rook because of the blow she received against the ground. Rook opened her eyes wide, alarmed, while Lavellan shouted the dwarf's name, alerted.
—HARDING!
The two approached, frightened for their friend, looking towards the ravine for any trace of her.
—No, fuck, no...—Rook murmured beside her, paling at times.
—This is the eternal hymn, the prayer, and the proclamation.
Just then, Harding's voice rose from above, mixed with a cacophony of voices, older, deeper.
A voice that seemed to come from the earth itself.
—Isatunoll.
Harding rose from the earth in front of them, as if the rocks were parting for her, as if they had saved her from that mortal fall, in a thunderous roar, with a ghostly blue glow in her eyes. Her posture radiated power, antiquity, as she fixed those strange eyes on her.
Lavellan swallowed, creeping towards Rook, while she just watched her friend, speechless, with the dagger in her hand, held tightly.
—Free again. Whole again. Here again. Again...—Harding inhaled, looking towards the sky, as if praying to someone. But, out of nowhere, Harding collapsed heavily to the ground, with a gasp. Her friends rushed to her, quickly, to check on her condition.
To check that she was still the dwarf they knew.
—Harding— Lavellan put her hands on the dwarf's back, worried, while Rook took her hands, squeezing them, with that paleness still on her face.
—I hear it...
Harding looked at them, frightened, that whisper escaping her mouth, almost as if she didn't want to say it. But she swallowed, speaking again:
—The song of the rock... I hear it—She lowered her gaze to the ground, confused—. What's happening to me?
Without warning, before her companions could answer her, the darkspawn from before appeared, attacking them by surprise. Rook tried to reach her dagger and Lavellan raised the lyrium dagger quickly, but she knew they wouldn't have time to counterattack.
The darkspawn was already in front of them, growling, opening its mouth towards her, ready to bite her. Lavellan gripped the dagger, expecting the pain of the bite.
But it didn't happen.
Harding raised her hands, defending them and turning the darkspawn to stone, killing it instantly.
—Mythal'enaste...—Lavellan breathed, with a sense of déjà vu, as she watched the darkspawn shatter, turning to ashes.
This was going to be a long time coming.
They returned to the Lighthouse, confused, but safe, with Harding fully recovered from seemingly nothing. They gathered around the table with Neve and Bellara, to whom they explained what had happened.
Lavellan handed Harding a tea, who thanked her quietly, without looking up. She remained standing next to the sofa where Rook and Harding were sitting, with Bellara and Neve in front of her. Silence settled among them, as they didn't know how to explain what had happened to the dwarf.
—So, something took possession of you? —Neve asked for the umpteenth time. And, for the umpteenth time, Harding replied:
—Yes. But... it's not a p-possession, right? —Harding asked nervously, the tea trembling slightly in her hands.
—No, dwarves can't be possessed— Neve replied—. They aren't connected to the Fade.
—But they can't do magic either— Rook continued—. And you did—she frowned, confused—. Although, I didn't really feel it as magic. It was... different.
They fell into a pensive silence again.
And Lavellan realized that it was her opportunity to speak.
—Once, ten years ago— Lavellan began, breaking the silence. All eyes turned to her, attentive to her words—, I met a dwarf. Valta. I can't go into details, as I promised to keep the secret— Lavellan apologized, looking at Harding—. But I think it might be similar. I'll bring some old papers about that mission. They'll sound familiar to you, but you probably never got around to reading them.
—Valta...—Harding lowered her head, thoughtfully—. That does sound familiar...—She moved her head from side to side—. But what is this power anyway? —Harding insisted—. It resembles the sense of the rock, that sense we dwarves get that helps us detect minerals and such— Harding stopped, looking at Lavellan, who had frowned at her words—. But it's not that.
—No— Lavellan confirmed, crossing her arms. Harding looked at her pleadingly, seeking answers, but Lavellan only shook her head, apologizing softly.
Rook clapped her hands a few seconds later, breaking the tension that had settled among them.
—Well, whatever it is, you should be proud, Harding— Enthusiastically, she grabbed her hands in hers, her eyes shining as she looked at the dwarf—. It's a gift, Harding. I'm sure of it.
Harding sighed, perhaps not entirely convinced by the elf.
—I hope so. Well...— Looking at the ceiling, she sighed even more deeply, with many worries wrapped up in that sigh—. I'll inform the Grey Wardens about the corruption... and take a nap.
—Okay. I'm going to try to contact Solas, to look for more answers about the gods' plans— she gave a meaningful look to Lavellan, who only nodded, understanding what she meant—. Rest, Harding.
Harding nodded, although Lavellan knew that, in her attempt to console her, she had only given her many more questions than answers, while another thought placed itself in her mind, almost unintentionally, altering her heart and making it beat faster.
She would meet Solas again, once more.
And part of her couldn't wait to do it.
Everything had started as a disaster. The Ritual, the Crossroads D'Meta...
Even so, they didn't give up.
With their eyes set on the Dread Wolf, our team never knew that what had happened to the dwarf scout was only the prelude, the prelude to a war between dwarves and gods, a memory buried long ago, in which Rook trusted that her friend could control, but others, like Lavellan, knew much more than they could say.
Now, Harding was connected to the rock, to the dwarves, and to the titans, with all their secrets that only needed a little digging... to unearth them.
END OF SYNOPSIS