Chapter Text
She recalled what it was like to have dreams at night. Those moments she would seek him in the fade, of moments they shared venturing out into the realms of spirits. They would spend their time sharing tales and making secrets, whispering things only meant for their ears. She loved listening to the soothing rhythm of his voice, long fingers wrapped around her anchored hand as if to contain it, to protect her from it. Then again, she adored the endearing moments of silence too, their footsteps the only sound echoing around the uncharted parts of the fade. Memories of another lifetime.
She couldn't decide if her inability to dream like she used to without the magic of the anchor a good thing, or a painfully lonely one.
"-only had two assassination attempts this week. I’m beginning wonder if this is what it’s like to be Antivan." Dorian was saying, his velvety voice seeping through the message crystal around her neck.
He used the crystal more than she had expected him to, most of the conversation pertaining to mundane things that happened to him that week.
She loved the man, but there was only so much patience in her to listen to him talk about his would-be-assassin-turned-lover and their unmentionable affairs for three hours straight.
"Dorian, I’m trying to sleep." She finally said, cutting through his tales about some Antivan wine he was served at a party that tasted of dirt and leather.
"But I haven’t even begun telling you about my new hair grooming ritual. Only includes a tiny bit of blood magic and a handful of animal sacrifices." he joked. A rather bad jest considering how common blood magic actually was in his hometown.
"You need to stop lying to me about these things. Especially the ones about your hair and blood magic. I’m beginning to think if some of them are actually true.” She complained, while failing to contain amusement in her voice.
After the Exhalted Council, Dorian had been stubbornly glued by her side until the day he couldn’t prolong his return to Tevinter any longer. She had been a mess back then, hardly eating or talking to anyone else besides her advisors in occasional meetings.
She told herself and everyone around her that she was merely focused and that she was quite alright. Of course, she didn't fool anyone. Least of all Dorian. He knew what grief was when he saw it.
With the inquisition disbanded, she had no more official obligations. And with the amount of free time she was given after three years of endless work, she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. According to Dorian's judgement, she wasn't handling the extra idle hours well. He and Sera soon made sure to fill those hours with bad pranks and equally bad drinks.
When she was reminded of Sera and Skyhold, her lips spread to a grin. One of the few pleasant memories she held took place there. Lavellan indulged herself in the fondness that memory brought her. She could almost smell the subtle aroma of scented candles from Leliana's shrine again. The light of the candles warming the cold, thin air around them. She could see Sera snooping about Leliana’s rookery, shifting through papers and drawers with a mischievous grin on her face, deft hands examining the small locked chest atop some packages waiting to be delivered before a voice-
She squirmed uncomfortably under her sheets, trying to stop herself before the memory led her down the spiral stairs of the fortress. She steeled herself, ignoring the tightness of her throat.
"Don't tell Blackwall. That man's been eyeing my hair and moustache far too often for my comfort. I wouldn't want to be responsible another Grey Warden blood magic rampage."
"S-scared he'll take all your hair too?" Her voice suddenly broke, a piercing stab of pain cutting through her head.
"Inquisitor?"
"I'm fine." she replied, and suprised herself when words came out rather harshly.
There was a brief silence from Dorian’s end.
"Are you really?" he finally asked, his voice serious.
Lavellan was familiar with the pain. When it first began, she predicted it to be some kind of side effect from residual magic of the anchor. Now, she knew it was The Well of Sorrows demanding her attention. But headache was least of her problems.
Three years. She reminded herself. It took less than a year for the Inquisition to grow into the most powerful political and military order in Thedas. And if she had done this in a single year, what could he have achieved in three? After all, she began as a hunter from a small Dalish clan and he began- Well, as a fucking god.
She was back to where she was before everything, she supposed. A simple Dalish elf. Except she didn’t remember how to simply be a Dalish anymore. She would often see herself bare-faced and unrecognisable in the mirror. Being surrounded by people other than her small clan had been easier when she had her vallaslin to remind her who she was. But she couldn't be a Dalish anymore, not without her vallaslin, and certainly not without her clan. He had taken that last part of herself away from her, along with everything else that made her who she was. No. The truthful answer to Dorian's question was that.
No I'm not okay.
"Yes, really." she answered in an attempt to reassure him. "So you can stop checking in on me every-"
A sudden heat eminating from her necklace burned her, a static noise buzzing around the crystal.
"What? I didn’t quite catch that. Is the blasted crystal faulty? Maybe if I stand outside on higher grounds..Wait while I grab my robes."
"Maybe the magic wears off if you use too much of it." She said hopefully.
Dorian scoffed at that, conversation turning into his lecture about how magical powers harnessed from the fade and contained with its energy can't simply "wear off" after using it too many times, but he turned off the crystal rather hastily after that.
Without dreams, the night passed quickly, and that night was no different. It had been merely moments after she remembered falling asleep when a voice woke her.
"Your worship, the spy master wishes to hold a meeting in her tent." A young elf with a pair of large grey eyes met her own.
Lavellan groaned unhappily while the elf stood by her bedroll, watching her scramble out of her sheets.
She didn't recognise the elf.
"Another blighted meeting..thank you, er, recruit. I’m sorry, your name escapes my head. Early morning and all."
“It's past lunch, your worship." The elf responded rather innocently then left in a hurry when a voice barked an order at her outside the tent.
It had been a few days since their journey -- an exile, rather. Fereldan and Orlais had finally managed to force the inquisition to forfeit their home.
Skyhold, being the immense fortress that it was, could no longer remain a neutral place owing no allegiance to the Empress or the King. Regardless, the fate of Inquisition's home had long left Lavellan's hands.
Outside her tent, the soldiers were busy packing up the camp and already gathered around for roll call. It was easy to spot the only other tent that hadn't been rolled up beside her own to know where the meeting was held for the day.
Rather begrudgingly, Lavellan opened the flap of Leliana’s tent to find the inquisition advisors and Scout Harding gathered around a makeshift wartable. The unmistakable gap between Leliana and Commander Cullen emphasised Josephine’s absence, and for a moment Lavellan felt her chest sink. It was funny how even these small things tipped her off to the breaking point. Many had left the inquisition, she remind herself. They went on with their lives, leaving the their times in the Inquisition behind them.
Little things changed. So everything changed with it. She had to physically shake herself to get rid of dark thoughts threatening to overwhelm her again. Instead, she joined the rest of her council.
Cullen was the first to notice and greet her.
“Inquisitor.”
"Commander." she nodded back, noticing his unkempt hair for the first time since knowing him, but choosing not to comment on it.
She realised the atmosphere to be a little tense, judging by the awkward silence and Cassandra’s flushed cheeks. They probably had another argument then, she supposed.
Others payed her different variations of greetings before the tent fell completely silent again. Scout Harding shifted uncomfortably repeating to fold then unfold her stout arms and throwing nervous glances between the Commander and the Seeker. She caught on quickly.
"You two lovebirds bickering again? What’s it this time?" She teased, lazily leaning against the battered map.
Cassandra was all too eager to go first.
“It seems our commander has some concerns about our operation. Again." Cassandra gestured a hand towards him in frustration, knocking over several marker pieces on the map.
"All I’m saying is, we simply don’t have the resources accommodate these men anymore.” The Commander retorted with equal heat in his voice.
"These men have pledge themselves to our cause and shed their blood for the Inquisition. We cannot simply turn them away for convenience!"
"We are not 'The Inquisition' anymore, Seeker. Which is precisely why we are having this conversation."
Cassandra shot a look her way, fire blazing from the eyes. Lavellan chocked and coughed at the sudden accusatory stare, attempting to fold her arms in feigned effort to look casual, but her arm hovered awkwardly in mid-air without the other to hook itself on to. Every eye in the room was now looking up at her. She felt an old headache slowly creep up again.
"Er..sorry?" she tested.
Cullen let out a guttural sigh while Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose with a groan.
Definitely not the right response then.
“Disbanding the inquisition was a foolish idea.” Commander spoke under his breath.
Leliana, who maintained a passive silence during the argument curtly shook her head at that.
“Of course not. The Inquisition was too big to manage the corruption in its ranks. That is not a risk we can afford to take."
"What is done is done, I suppose." Cassandra added resolutely.
"There's still a matter of solidifying our route out of the Frostbacks. We have avoided the Highway as much as we can, but our paths are proving to be quite troublesome."
Leliana ran a finger across the map that followed the path they had been taking through the mountains since Skyhold. The room fell silent once more, this time with their thoughts deep in consideration of the spy master's statement.
The mountains of Frostbacks were cold and steep. There were hardly any game to be hunted out in the freezing weather, while what little rations of food they carried ran dangerously low each day.
"What do you suggest, Inquisitor?"
"I don't know."
The Seeker eyed her blankly.
"What do you mean you don't know?"
Cassandra's expression was soft when the question was addressed, but Lavellan felt as if a bolt of lighting had just struck her. She stood there paralysed, sporting a strained expression on her face.
She needed to get out of there. She couldn't let others worry unnecessarily over her again.
Her head thrummed angrily. She ignored the whispers of the Well of Sorrows coaxing her thoughts, seducing her mind from the darkest corners of her consciousness. A thousand lost voices circled around her head, clouding over her own thoughts. If only they left her alone so she could think.
"Why are you asking me? I'm not the one in charge anymore. I quit, remember?"
She finally spat out, her anger not directed to anyone in particular. The violent heat of her emotions lingered in the air, making it stiff and colder than before.
"You are better acquainted with the terrains of this land than anyone here, are you not?" Cassandra pushed on, ignoring scout Harding's pointed cough.
Go seek the roads beneath the light.
"What?"
"You have been all over Thedas-"
"No, I mean after that. You said.."
She didn't. That was voice of the Well, she realised. Cassandra and others watched her closely as she slid a shaking hand down her face.
"I-I'm sorry. I don't know what got in to me. I think it's the headache." she said apologetically.
"Has it gone worse?" The Seeker asked stepping forward and reaching out, not offended, but concerned.
"It'll pass." she said, placing a hand over Cassandra's for a moment before setting it down assuringly. "And you're right. I know a way up the northern boarders that is relatively safe from bandits and military activities."
"Then we trust you to lead us there." Lavellan heard Cassandra speak definitively through the throbbing in her head.
Leliana considered this.
"Can you explain more on this route?"
"It's the one I took from Ostwick to the conclave. The path bared no notable dangers, but.." She gave a quick glance at Cassandra. "I doubt we can remain subtle or pass through the roads completely unnoticed with this number of men."
"Then we divide our men, give half a day distance between the groups."
Cullen shook his head disapprovingly.
"Are these men expected to work for us without pay? We can't even provide them with proper food!"
Ready your bow..be ready..find the one who wields the secrets...
The loudest voice in her head chanted those words. Was she going crazy? Their words bared no context.
Was it the Well? Was it her?
Regardless, she tried best to ignore it, unable to decipher what the Well was telling her. Lavellan used all her strength to shut the voices out, and when she finally did, the headache had subsided as well.
She took a moment to recollect her thoughts.
"Separating our men would mean extending our journey a few more days. But I remember those parts of the land being plentiful with quarries. There is also a narrow stream that leads up to Lake Calenhad. We may have a chance to stock up on what we have lost in these mountains."
"If that is true, we should commit to this path and not waste time any longer."
And with Cassandra’s final words, they were ready to set off again.
After half a day's trip, mountain slides and treacherous slopes became hills and valleys. And soon their path bared a bit of green and brown ahead of them amidst the cold snow.
"You were from Honnleath, were you not?" Lavellan heard the Seeker ask Commander Cullen.
"Yes. I assume it isn't far from here." he answered with just a hint of longing in his voice. "But we are closer to Haven..or what's left of it."
"From what I've heard, Arl Teagan has started a reconstruction work in the area."
"Then we must make sure to avoid them." he said meaningfully, giving a concerned look over the men trailing ahead of them.
When the sky started to grow darker, they decided to call it another day of travelling.
Without the blistering cold, the men were visibly in a elevated mood, some of the former members of Sing-Quisition singing away gleefully around the camp fire.
The men were seemingly unaffected by the playful tease of Commander Cullen’s men in their choice of group name.
Lavellan snuck out from the bustling of the camp and wandered just a bit away from it. A quiet place for her to think alone, while close enough that she could still hear the muffled singing and chatter in the distance.
She'd stood by these woods before. And vaguely remembered the familiar impressions of heavy leaves and fallen logs. The way the vegetation reflected the colours of setting sun, quiet churn of insects the flutter of nocturnal birds above her. Voices of the Well were quiet too. And for a moment she enjoyed the distant noise of people and the crackling cool breeze hitting the branches.
"So what's the story with your hair?"
She allowed the memories she held of the place to unravel in her head. One of her early memories while travelling to the Hinterlands in some quest she couldn't recall.
"I'm sorry?"
A voice had asked in return.
"You know..you don't have any hair. Just wondering if you had a hairline that was running away from your forehead."
"Ah. You wish to know if I'm going bald. Has Sera put you up to this?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't think it would be a touchy subject. Forget I said anything."
Her memory didn't remember the expression she wore at the time those words were said, but she knew what she was doing. She was teasing him, trying to satiate the curiosities she held of this stranger. Her own kind, but oddly different. Foolishly poking at the things she didn't understand as an ignorant child would. Oblivious to the dangers of the subject she was provoking.
"Certainly not. You have just accused me of having a receding hairline."
To her divine bad luck, the subject happened to be just as curious as she.
"It wasn't an accusation. Just a simple wonder."
"And why does the subject of my hairline interest you, I wonder?"
"I don't know..It began with me wondering about the colour of your hair, I suppose. Was it always like that?"
"Was it always receding, you mean?"
"Well, someone holds grudges."
"No. This appearance is the result of my preference in practicality and convenience. I hope that satisfied your question."
"But were you going bald, though?"
There was a resolute sigh, almost as though he was giving in to her persistent curiosity.
Then something happened.
The corners of those lips which usually stayed in a straight line had coiled upwards, surprising her with a devilishly wicked grin.
She sensed trouble coming.
"Do you often wonder about my body parts in your free time, Inquisitor?"
"I-er..excuse me?"
"It was a simple question. And by the manner of your cheeks flushing, I would think you wonder about parts other than my hair."
"I-you-what!?"
"Don't worry Inquisitor, it wasn’t an accusation. Just a simple wonder."
And with the smug smirk that left her bothered and uncomfortable for many nights after that, the memory faded.
Lavellan sighed into the void. Then a strange chill ran through her spine.
The woods have fallen oddly quiet, and the animals and birds have retreated into the safety of their nest.
The singing had also stopped. She could hear nothing except for the beating of her own heart. Something was wrong. Blood pumping frantically through her veins, Lavellan took the first steps back towards the camp.
A few steps more, then a scream.
"It's an ambush!"
"Grab your weapons. Hurry!"
Her cautious steps turned to a sprint at the shout coming from the camp. She stumbled too many times from the unbalance caused by the missing limb. She fought through the sharp branches poking and slashing at her as she reached the first glimpse of lights coming from the camp fire.
Except the fire had spread throughout the camp and consumed the tents.
Embers from the fire had been sprawled on the ground, spreading fire like a contagious disease. There were too much snow where they stood for fire to act this way.
This wasn't natural. It was obviously magic.
Without thinking, Lavellan searched for her bow and arrow, only to curse herself upon realising she could not wield it. She tugged blindly at the belt of her armour and threw what she hoped would be the dagger towards a figure who had Charter pinned down and ready to strike a finishing blow.
It missed their head by an inch, slicing their pointed ear. An elf. Their armour and sigil unrecognisable.
Charter managed to wriggle out of their grip and narrowly escape her death.
Their head now turned to her, and she bolted out of the way as a ball of fire clumsily sparked out of their hand and flew directly towards her.
There was a strange oddity in the manner of how their magic was conjured.
Lavellan stood there rooted to the spot while trying to comprehend the uneasiness she sensed in their magic. Regardless, she now had their full attention. And they twisted its mouth to show a satisfied grin that chilled her to the bones.
Lavellan felt as if her head would split in half.
The voices had began to shout in her ear like a war horn ripping through the air to alert the unknowing. Her agonised expression ripped a wider grin from their faces.
No, she thought to herself. Not now.
Leave me alone.
She fought the ache with desperation. Speaking to it directly for the first time in a long while.
That was when it spoke to he in return. The voices in sync the battle cry of the elf in front of her.
Ghilas, da'len.
"Kill the Inquisitor! Harellan var Elvhen! For the glory of our people!"
Ghilas. Enfanim banal. Arassan ghilan aval'var..
"-for Fen'harel!"