Work Text:
fi·nal·i·ty
noun
The fact or impression of being an irreversible ending.
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Cassandra paced the length of the clearing. The only sound in the air was the thud of her footfalls so she concentrated on that, the steady thump, thump, thump of her relentless worry. It was better than standing still and hearing that thing hum eerily. She looked up at the eluvian as she passed it, the strange shimmering surface of the glass making her stomach turn.
Varric and Dorian were busying themselves around her; she could see them from the corner of her eye as she paced. Dorian was picking at his staff, fiddling at the smooth wood unnecessarily as he too watched the eluvian. Varric was busy with Bianca, taking the arrows out and dismantling it, before putting it all back together. His hands were quick but even she could see them shaking as he gripped the wood of the crossbow.
It had been a good twenty minutes since Cadash stepped though the eluvian. For some unknown reason – perhaps Solas wanted to speak to the Inquisitor alone, Dorian suggested, though he looked like he didn’t believe it – the three of them could not pass through the glass. Only Cadash’s hand slipped through effortlessly when he tried, and it looked to be that he would be making this final journey by himself.
None of they knew what would happen next; they had all seen how the anchor burned brighter and brighter the closer they got to Solas, how it flared up erratically and cast destructive energy on its own accord. Twice, it had lifted Cadash clean off the ground before throwing a sharp green flare over a large area. It had hurt them too, Cassandra remembered how his fearful eyes turned to them after he had recovered, watching as they threw away the empty potion flasks. The next time it had happened, he yelled at them to keep a distance, and before they could react, he had thrown himself into the fray of Qunari. Cassandra had yelled his name, but it was too late; the green flare had ignited, taking out half the horned warriors in one blast. They managed to cut down the remaning enemies, but not before Cadash joined them, his face pale as he ignored their concern. His left fist clenched over the mark as his face crumpled in pain.
They needed to find Solas, but they didn’t know what the result of that meeting would be.
Cassandra’s chest filled with dread as she watched him wrap Varric in the tightest hug possible, the other dwarf looking like he was holding back tears. Dorian could only bring himself to clap Cadash on the shoulder, his tears falling freely down his cheeks.
When Cadash looked to her, his eyes were only filled with sadness. A sob was ripe in her throat and she had to force it down, biting down on her lip painfully as she walked to him. With each step, a flood of memories entered her mind; the firelight conversations, his eager attempts to make her smile, the soft uncertainty of his affection. How his eyes burned bright with the love he clearly felt for her, and how it was mirrored in her own heart. She could feel her eyes grow damp, and she let them.
“Cassandra.” His voice was barely a whisper, but she could hear the anguish in it. He took her hands in his, brushing thumbs across her knuckles. “There isn’t much to say at this point, I think.”
“Edric…”
“Whatever happens, you have to return to the Exalted Council. The others need to know, and they have to decide what comes next.”
“We are not leaving without you,” she said through gritted teeth, and he only smiled at her sadly.
“The Anchor is killing me, Cassandra. You know that.”
“But Solas can fix it! He found a way all those years ago to halt its progress, I’m sure he can…”
Cadash just shook his head until she fell silent. She closed her eyes tightly as the tears fell.
“I love you. You’re the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met, and I’m glad for the time we’ve had together. Whatever happens next… just know this, okay?”
She had no words in response, but instead pulled him close in a fierce embrace, not caring at how their armour clanked awkwardly between them. Only the tight clasp of his hands at her waist, the brush of his lips at her neck, the scent and shape of him; only this was real, and she held that close to her heart until there was nothing else.
And that was what was driving her now as she continued her pacing. It had now been thirty minutes since Cadash had stepped through the eluvian, and there was still no sign of him. He had told them to return to the Winter Palace had he not returned in half an hour, but Cassandra was nothing if not stubborn. She would only leave if she was dragged away, or if there was truly no sign of his return.
Suddenly, Dorian stopped picking at his staff. “Do you hear that?” he asked, a note of urgency in his voice.
Cassandra stopped pacing and Varric stopped fiddling with Bianca. It took a second but they both heard it too; the humming of the eluvian had grown a fraction louder. The surface was also beginning to shift and undulate, a dimple slowly growing larger in the centre. After a tense moment, a figure suddenly rocketed through the eluvian, as if they had made a running start from the other side.
“Edric!” Cassandra rushed up to him, grabbing him before he could collapse. Sweat beaded down his forehead and he looked pale, but Maker he was breathing. He was alive.
“I… I’m alright Cassandra,” he said, his voice shaky as she kissed his forehead, breathing words of relief, of hope against his skin. She would have responded if it weren’t for a loud whoop from behind her. Dorian and Varric had joined in the embrace, and she didn’t care that Varric’s arms were around her, crushing tight. Dorian was laughing, Varric was yabbering about something or other and Cadash was smiling weakly at all of them.
But it didn’t last. Varric finally released them all, and was about to ask Cadash something before the grin on his face faded, replaced with a mask of horror.
“Your hand!”
Cadash had drawn the sleeve over his left hand, or what was left of it, and he reached over to the empty space as if to touch what was no longer there.
“There’s a lot we have to talk about. But for now, we have to get back to the Exalted Council.”
“Edric…” was all she could manage, torn between abject terror and concern.
“It’s alright, Cassandra,” he said, and Maker, how was he still smiling at her after all of this. He reached a hand to her cheek, brushing at the tear tracks that had barely dried. “This was the only way Solas could save me. The Anchor was permanent, and to prevent its spread it had to be culled at the source.”
Dorian was pale, but Varric managed to speak, albeit through gritted teeth, “So where is Chuckles now?”
Cadash let his hand fall, and she noticed how it gripped tightly at his side, his face shifting into something dangerous.
“I’ll explain along the way.”
*
He was so tired.
Sat on the bed, the stump of his elbow resting on the palm of the remaining hand, he could feel the thickening dread in his chest, the fear growing heavier by the minute. The more he thought about things, about what Solas had said at the eluvian, how he was prepared to destroy this entire world for the sake of a dead civilisation despite all they had been through together, the angrier and more frightened he became. His mind grasped for something, anything in the apostate’s eyes that meant he cared, but he was only greeted by a wall of stone.
It was as if the floor had been dragged from under him and he was falling, to where he did not know. He could not remember a time when he had felt this hopeless, not even in the future or even in Adamant.
How were they going to stop a god? Here he was, a cripple, and with the Inquisition disbanded and its inner circle scattered, he was alone. A one-armed dwarf against the world, a world that kicked and spat and tore at you until you bled to death. Leliana and Cassandra had sworn to fight on in the name of the Inquisition, but he felt guilt at their words. The Divine had her duties to attend to, despite her reassurance that her spy network was running as usual, and Cassandra…
He recalled her words from years ago, the light from the forge painting her features into a harsh beauty. It was in her heart to rebuild the Seekers, and she had spoken about relocating to the Hunterhorn Mountains in Orlais’ far north, after she was done serving in the Exalted Council. As much as he would have loved for her to stay by his side, he couldn’t do that to her, couldn’t take her away from her calling.
So he was truly alone, and the knot in his chest grew into a violent sudden anger. With a yell, he grabbed the nearest vase, by his bedstand, and was about to lob it at the door when it opened.
Cassandra’s eyes widened at him, before her brows furrowed.
“Edric?”
The anger left as suddenly as it came, and he let out a great sigh. Setting the vase down, he looked to the floor. “I’m sorry,” was all he could manage.
He felt her sit down beside him, her hand warm on his own and her body curled protectively against him, and he couldn’t help but lean into her and press his face into her neck. Her arms came around him instantly, stroking his hair as he tried not to cry down her tunic. “I’m sorry,” he croaked again and again against her skin, something inside of him having broken at the scent of her, the warmth of her embrace.
It seemed like an age later when he finally could look up at her, to meet her gaze. Her fingers brushed his forehead gently, and she smiled at him the best she could.
“Cassandra I’m… I’m so sorry. You started the Inquisition with such high hopes that we could do good. You placed so much hope on me and I worked my absolute hardest to help, but it was all for nothing.” He bit his lip and looked at the floor again. “I was worried that this might happen. The corruption, the utter breach in trust, it all happened under my nose. How could I have let this happen? If I’d have only worked harder, kept an eye out on the soldiers, the spies, if I had just worked harder at being the Inquisitor, none of this would have happened.”
She let him speak, rubbing slow circles around his back as he rambled on and on. Finally, she spoke.
“You’re being too hard on yourself, Edric.” How was her voice so gentle, even after all his mistakes? “The Inquisition would have come to nothing if it weren’t for you. I know you think that we only needed you because of the anchor, and yes perhaps that was the reason we recruited you initially, but you became so much more. You have led us with a dedication even I could not have matched, always with the Inquisition’s best interests at heart.”
“And yet I failed to notice the spies.”
“We all failed in that aspect. But I assure you, we stand ready beside you against Solas, and whatever else comes next.” Her eyes were firm and calm, and it struck her that she still burned with belief. Belief in him.
“How can you still have faith in me after all of this?” he blurted out, startling her. “I no longer have the mark, hell I only have one hand. I can’t fight like I used to, and whatever influence I once had as the Inquisitor is gone. How can you even…” his voice grew soft, “how can you even look at me like I mean anything?”
“Do not say that.” Her voice was fierce, as was her grip on his hand. “Edric Cadash, you are the man I love. I know I am not good at showing it, but you are everything to me. You are more dear to my heart than the Seekers are, more than I dare say my faith. There is nothing you can do that will change that, despite anything you think.”
Cadash looked at her in awe, at the love in her eyes, bright and clear and so utterly vulnerable that it struck him as dumb as her words themselves did. She had never spoken so clearly about her feelings, though there have been times she came close. To know that she felt the way she did…
An apology was ripe on his tongue, but as if she knew what he was about to say, she brushed a thumb over his mouth. “You are allowed to feel terrible,” she said firmly, though her voice still held a note of warmth. “After what you have been through, I would even suggest you carry on with what you were about to do with that vase.”
That brought a smile to his face, and he allowed himself a watery chuckle. “I lost my momentum. Can’t do it now.”
He sighed and buried his face in her neck again. The awful feeling in his chest was still there, cloying and dragging, but with Cassandra holding him, he felt a little better. There was an ache in his bones, and it felt like even a week’s worth of sleep wouldn’t cure it.
“Cassandra, I’m tired,” he whispers finally. He sounded like a child, but ancestors be damned if he cared. “I’m so tired.”
“I know, Edric.” She sounded tired as well, but he knew she would not show it to him. His hand, his only hand, he remembers with a sickening jolt, found its way around her waist, pressing himself as close to her as he could.
This was enough for now.