Lavellan

Harding bowed deeply to Lavellan, which made the latter wince, somewhat displeased.

By the Maker, she had never liked those unnecessary displays of respect towards her. And even less so now that she was really no one, after the absorption of the Inquisition by the Chantry.

—Harding, don't bow, please. We've known each other for years — she asked, nervously, placing a hand on his shoulder, while seeing Rook's bewildered face out of the corner of her eye.

She grimaced again. I suppose the presentation couldn't go worse, she said to herself, even more nervous.

Harding laughed, straightening up again, and looking at her, with that kindness that always characterized the dwarven scout. Lavellan couldn't help but return the smile, slightly. Even though she wouldn't have wanted to see them like this... She was glad to be able to share her smiles with them again. Although those smiles were becoming increasingly rare.

Harding placed a hand on her hip as she looked at her.

—That doesn't change the fact that you're the Inquisitor — she inquired, with a certain glint. Lavellan couldn't help but roll her eyes at the dwarf's words.

—You know that nowadays that's just a meaningless title — she replied in turn, putting her hands behind her back, while interlacing her fingers.

Then, she noticed that Rook was looking at them alternately, not knowing how to interrupt the conversation.

Ah, thought Lavellan, examining her with a critical eye, that same eye that had always saved her when judging people.

This was the Crow that Varric had trusted for the mission he had entrusted to her, the same one that Lavellan had requested, personally. Lavellan reached out a hand to her, with curiosity peeking out in her expression, without avoiding it. Before she hadn't dared to greet her up close, for fear of her reaction to seeing someone unknown, but Harding's presence had eased the tension of the atmosphere, in her favor.

—Lavellan at your service — she introduced herself, with her hand extended—. I'm called many things, but among all of them the most well-known is Inquisitor. Call me Lavellan, please. I beg you — she said, with a certain sarcasm directed at a certain dwarf, who huffed, amused.

Rook accepted her handshake, somewhat hesitant, almost as if she thought it was a danger. What she didn't know was how close she was to being right, thought Lavellan, gloomily. But it wasn't a danger to her. It never would be for whoever was helping her.

Lavellan took advantage of that moment to observe more carefully, while Harding filled her in a bit on the situation.

She was a young elf, younger than her, by a few years. She had short, pink hair, and eyes worthy of admiration, one of a deep silver and the other of a bubblegum pink, very beautiful. She was slender, very pretty, with a quite hardened body, with just enough femininity but without being entirely feminine. Her height was quite small for an elf, Lavellan even having some height on her, which was something notable, since Lavellan had never been characterized as being very tall. In addition, she had sumptuous makeup on her lips and eyes, but it was so beautiful that it looked like a work of art on her face. She had nothing to envy Lavellan herself, knowing that many people envied her for her physical appearance. Lavellan frowned slightly.

An aspect that she didn't want at all, many times.

She began to play with her fingers, interlaced behind her back, while she immersed herself in her thoughts.

Lavellan knew that Rook should know her, not only because she was the Inquisitor. No, she should know her because Lavellan herself had drafted the contract that she had extended to the Crows, requesting the famous Weaver.

In the end, she had her contacts. She always knew about her. And Lavellan needed the best, to be able to stop Solas.

—How should I address you? — Lavellan asked, although she already knew her name perfectly well. Simple politicking, she said to herself, with sarcasm, remembering other times. Better or worse, it remained under the jurisdiction of whoever wanted to analyze it.

Rook tilted her head, confused, probably intuiting that Lavellan herself already knew her name. In the end, after a few seconds, good manners won out.

—My name… You can call me Rook — she whispered, with that somewhat hoarse voice, but always cheerful, optimistic.

The Inquisitor nodded, satisfied. But she still needed to know something. Lavellan tilted her head at the same time, crossing her arms.

—How do you prefer me to address you?

Rook tilted her head back, surprised, understanding her instantly.

—The Inquisitor herself, who hired me a year ago, is asking me about my pronouns? — she commented, surprised, demonstrating and, at the same time, letting it drop that she knew perfectly well who the Inquisitor was.

Lavellan smiled, cunningly. She had hired a clever person, knowing not only how to attack with real daggers, but also how to handle words.

Perfect. The Weaver did not disappoint.

—Isn't that normal? — she asked, narrowing her eyes, without letting herself be intimidated—. I just met you, and, in the letters I exchanged with Varric, he mentioned something about you in passing — she retorted in turn—. One thing I have learned in all my travels, and that is to respect people, above all else. And even more so in these arduous times — she said, with a somber tone.

Rook huffed, moving a strand of pink hair, while she began to tap her foot against the ground, annoyed.

—Blessed meddling dwarf — she sighed, rubbing between her eyebrows, but she looked at her, with a slight smile—. They/Them, or she/her. As a non-binary person, I'm used to either, although I'm usually referred to as she. You know — she pointed to herself, highlighting her feminine appearance—. I feel comfortable with either.

Lavellan nodded, noting it in her mental library. Then, she turned to Harding, crossing her arms.

—Harding, have you been able to explore the surroundings? — she asked, with a certain authority in her voice although, automatically, she scolded herself inside.

She had to get rid of that habit that came from the time of the Inquisition. A time that was already behind her.

The dwarf nodded, happy, without realizing her internal discussion.

—Without a doubt, this is the Beyond. Everything indicates that — she took a hand to her chin, with curiosity impregnated in her face—. Where we go when we dream… Although of course, dwarves don't dream — she said, laughing lightly, while rubbing her neck.

Lavellan nodded, satisfied with her response. Her own exploration, since she woke up, had indicated the same thing.

As if the floating islands weren't a sufficient clue, she thought sarcastically.

—I've come to the same conclusion. It seems that it was also Solas' refuge when he had to rest and plan his strategies — she commented, trying to appear relaxed, but tightening her interlaced fingers—. He had some books in the library written in his handwriting, with full details on commanding his armies and the next movements he was going to make, in addition to the names of all the people who ever took refuge here. Very typical of him — she couldn't prevent some bitterness from seeping into her voice, when remembering the elf buried in his papers, years ago, seeming that he was only investigating new healing techniques or spells.

She should have looked at those papers more closely, she said to herself, clicking her tongue, displeased.

Rook raised her eyebrows at that, but Harding just let out a heavy sigh, somewhat exhausted by the situation.

—Well, yes. Changing the subject — she turned to Rook, smiling at her—, I see that you're doing well.

—Yes, I just have a slight bump — the pink-haired girl winked, tapping her head—. It will heal right away, like the hardhead that I am.

—Good — said the dwarf. Then, she pointed her head towards the building where the eluvian through which they had come was located—. I don't know if Neve told you to meet us at the table in the center of the main room to know what to do now.

Rook frowned, confused. Lavellan automatically understood that gesture as that she didn't know anything.

She didn't either, but that was her life. Pure adaptation to chaos.

—No, she didn't tell me anything — Rook replied, placing her hands on her hip— Shall we go then? — Then, she looked doubtfully towards Lavellan, who only raised an eyebrow. She tilted her head, letting her hair fall forward a bit.

Rook thought that she was the one in charge now, she realized, with a small smile. Ah, but how far this curious elf had been left from the truth.

—Don't be mistaken, Rook. You're in charge here. Not me — she smiled at her, cunningly—. I didn't hire you for nothing, did I? — she asked innocently, returning the earlier one.

The elf looked at her, smiling. Touché, she told her without words, transmitting it with just a look. Rook turned, gesturing with her head.

—Then, let's go. There's a lot to talk about — she began to walk, impatient to do something useful.

But Lavellan wasn't finished with her yet. She stopped her in her tracks, touching her arm. She felt her shudder, having a shiver at her touch.

Surely remembering something that had happened very recently and that something was what Lavellan wanted to discuss without fail.

—Rook, can we talk a moment in private? — she asked, although it was almost like an indirect order, again. Lavellan mentally kicked herself again, without hesitation.

Remember, Lavellan. Don't be a boss. You're nothing of that anymore. She had to burn it into her skin, from the time she had time.

Harding, catching the not-so-subtle hint, bowed briefly again and walked away, saying goodbye to them as she entered the main building.

This dwarf is always so intelligent, her friend praised her in silence.

Lavellan released Rook, knowing that her touch, right now, was not entirely pleasant. She touched her prosthetic arm, the nerves rising in her chest, slowly.

How should she start this strange conversation?, she wondered, running her hand along the metal of her arm, as she thought.

Rook's gaze fell on her prosthesis, as she frowned, confused. Even so, she didn't comment on anything.

Lavellan knew the reason for that look. In the end, she had always tried to hide that she was wearing the prosthesis the few times she had had to be in public. And surely Rook didn't know of its existence until now. Even so, to her regret, the rumors spread quickly. Lavellan shook her head, removing that thought from her head, as she returned to what she wanted to ask her. She looked at her, nervously. And she opened her mouth, blurting out the words, abruptly:

—The dream was real, wasn't it?

Silence continued at those words. Rook nodded, slowly, after a few seconds, knowing what the Inquisitor was referring to.

—I think… I think so — she replied, somewhat hesitant—. Solas told me that I became linked to him through blood. Through blood magic — she corrected herself, crossing her arms. Then, she held her chin with one of her hands, with a thoughtful look—. I remember seeing you with blood on your face, in one of my intermittent faints. Maybe what connected me to him, connected you to me or vice versa.

—Since I was the only one who bled near you — Lavellan said in a whisper, repeating in another way what Rook had said. She remembered, while a cold sweat began to run down her body.

It had to be a joke of fate. That, or really...

Then, Lavellan began to laugh, hysterically. That was all she needed. Wasn't it enough suffering these eight years of endless nights, without sleeping, so as not to dream. No, apparently they weren't. Because now she would have more dreams with Solas, but this time made of pure and hard reality, not like the previous ones.

She took her hand to her mouth, desperately, while she kept laughing, without stopping.

Eight years. Eight years without finding him, searching for him, touching him. And now, at last, she had found him, but only in dreams and without him knowing that she was the one who was stalking him now. Magnificent. Wasn't that what she had been looking for? Well, take it, in duplicate.

Then, she returned to think about that question. In that Solas couldn't see her. In truth, he couldn't know who she was. And, perhaps, looking at it well, she could take advantage of it. She turned to Rook, who was looking at her as if she had loosened a screw.

And, being honest, she wasn't wrong. She herself thought that she had lost a little sanity already, after all.

—Well, he couldn't see me — she told her, stopping her laughter and informing her of that event, which she suspected that Rook already knew anyway.

—Exactly — Rook frowned, as she began to play with her hair, thoughtfully—. I don't understand that at all. Maybe the connection is not so strong. Or the blood magic has weakened somehow with you. — She sighed, frustrated—. I think Solas hasn't even realized that, when performing the spell, he also did it with you, unintentionally.

—No offense, but I hope it stays that way — she commented, raising her hands—. Solas always defended that blood magic could be practical. But I suspect that he didn't make much use of it, not to say none. Maybe that's why he didn't know how to do it well.

Rook looked at her sideways, with doubts in her eyes.

—He told me that he abhorred blood magic — she said, hesitant.

Lavellan huffed, knowing that part, since she had heard it from him, when he told the pink-haired elf in that strange dream.

—Yes, well. He's also very skilled at hiding half-truths, as you may have realized. As I realized, years ago — she commented, with bitterness.

Then, silence fell on them, with an unspoken question in the air. Rook opened her lips, several times, without knowing how to say it. Lavellan raised an eyebrow, funny. She knew perfectly well what Rook was trying to tell her.

And she was very amused by her reluctance to ask it, knowing how she was with how little she knew her. Lavellan crossed her arms, funny.

—Yes, Rook. Solas and I were lovers. I was his partner. His girlfriend. His girlfriend, however you want to say it — Lavellan gestured with her hand, but regretted a little for the abruptness with which she said it. She sighed deeply, uncrossing her arms and lowering her gaze.

Perhaps she shouldn't have said it that way, so rude, but she was exhausted.

Exhausted, from having to hide what she felt from everyone, having to pretend as if she didn't care anymore. Exhausted from hiding her relationship by someone who had discarded her so easily.

Exhausted from not being able to make a change in her heart, with a simple snap of her fingers.

Rook let out a triumphant shout.

—I knew it. I knew my instinct didn't fail me — Even so, despite her cheerful tone, she emitted a groan, grabbing her head between her hands—. Oh, but may the Maker save me. That's all I needed — she squatted down, rubbing her head—. A couple of lovers who hate each other are now roaming through my head. May Mythal protect me, because I'm going to need it — she lamented, in a low voice, although Lavellan heard her perfectly.

If she were in her position, she would think the same, she said to herself, shrugging her shoulders. Lavellan dismissed it with her hand, downplaying it.

—I'll try not to interfere in your talks with Fen'Harel, Rook. Surely it only works if we both sleep at the same time — she reasoned, giving her some somewhat empty hopes. In the end, Lavellan was going to try to accommodate her dream schedules, expectant to see him once more. To get information from Solas, of course. Not to be able to continue seeing him.

Of course not, she said to herself, with sarcasm.

—I woke up shortly before you, that's why you caught me awake now — she explained, continuing the above, making a small grimace, for being deceiving the elf. Rook looked at her from below, with suspicion.

—I hope so — she told her, narrowing her eyes.

Lavellan knew at that moment that the pink-haired girl didn't believe her ruse, but it was worth it anyway, she thought, shrugging one shoulder. She offered her a helping hand, which Rook accepted happily, straightening up. Once at the same height, Rook let go of her hand and pointed backwards.

—We should go with the girls.

Lavellan nodded to her.

—I'll go in a moment — she told her, hugging herself.

Rook turned, with an approving gesture, and headed to the building, saying goodbye to her with her hand.

Lavellan was left alone, with the breeze stirring the white dress that she had found in one of the upper rooms of the lighthouse, after taking off her armor. She turned her head upwards, looking at that strange sky above her, sighing.

It was weird.

After so long searching, after so many headaches, because of Fen'Harel's agents... And now, so easily, they knew where Solas was for sure. Lavellan knew that he was going to stay there, until he himself discovered how to get out. Lavellan clenched her left fist, the metal, silver, almost white, resenting a little.

She closed her eyes, feeling the wind of the Beyond.

"I will never forget you"

Lavellan remembered those words, said in the whisper of the wind. The same words that Solas had told her eight years ago, as an inevitable farewell.

The same ones that drove her on this path, knowing that they were true, within all the lies that the Dread Wolf had come to tell her.

Ten years ago, she closed the Breach and defeated Corypheus, achieving a peace, broken into pieces by the constant civil wars, that she had had to deal with, to defend her people. Now, with two elven gods with a thirst for revenge milling around, the world was vibrating again with anticipation of the unknown, again relying on a few brave ones, the only ones who could prevent everything from going to waste. With those thoughts in her head and with a serious step, she went to the meeting, ready to save her world, again.

Even if her world was a stubborn god with somewhat suicidal tendencies, she said to herself, reluctant to admit it.