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Chapter Text

Many men are loved by their enemies, and hated by their friends, and are the friends of their enemies, and the enemies of their friends.

PLATO, Lysis

There are many ways to betray a friend. One of them is to leave her alone in the burning snow when the Elder One came for her. Somewhere deep in her mind, Lavellan has always known that shems would make her burn for being called Herald of Andraste. But she has not expected it to happen so soon. Not like this.

Something inside her breaks when she sees the backs of her running companions, heading towards the Chantry for safety. Caught between archdemon and the Elder One, she screams in pain as the magic of the orb tries to pull out the anchor inside her hand. Cassandra, Solas and Vivienne are running for their lives, letting the Dalish Herald of Andraste sacrifice herself for the human Chantry and their faith.
"You fucking shem bastards!", Lavellan screams, her voice cracking under the tearing pain. "May Dread Wolf take you! May Elgar'nan burn the flesh off your bones! I pray Dirthamen rips off your tongues for false promises of friendship!"
None of them stops. Nobody comes to help her. Not a single soldier. Lavellan thinks how mere hours before the same people praised her for sealing the Breach, toasting to their Herald and celebrating the victory she bought for them with her blood, sweat and mana How quickly the shems forget their debts. They should not have called her the Herald of Andraste, no. She is a Herald of Shartan, doomed to be abandoned the moment the tide turned against her. Lavellan starts to laugh hysterically, tears of laughter mingling with tears of pain Elder One has inflicted on her.
"Your gods will not answer.", Elder One says. "Your companions have abandoned you."
"I know.", Lavellan answers, laughing harder.
Elder One looks at her, his misshapen face searching for something.
"Some men cry when they understand. They fling angry words at darkness, and know they are lies. You laugh at your death. Why?"
"I spent my whole life learning everything I could about lost magic and indifferent gods. Then these idiots made me a Herald of another false god, even though I told them I don't believe in Maker. They never cared. They sang their Chant and talked about divine will, whining about Maker and why he has turned from them. And now when the one being possessing the power of a god finally shows himself, they run away, like frightened chickens."
She shakes with desperation, unable to tell if she was laughing or crying.
"It is all so futile. They can't even decide what they want. They wanted to have a prophet, and I'm the second one they are letting to burn. I do not envy you for ruling over these people. They are all yours."
Lavellan lifts up her gaze, meeting the creature's eyes.
"Do it. Kill me already."
"You will kneel.", the Elder One said instead.

At his orders, Lavellan cuts the rope holding trebuchet and the avalanche rushes down the mountains, burying Haven. The templar army has already turned another way.
"The Herald of Andraste dies here today.", Elder One says, mounting his archdemon. "The Herald of Corypheus will not."
He allows Lavellan to ride the dragon with him, and they rise high on the sky. Wind blows in Lavellan's hair, and she is terrified, holding on dragon's sharp lyrium scales with all her strength even when her hands start to bleed.
"I will be the god who answers, and you will not fall. You will learn, Herald.", Elder One promises.

--

There is a difference between being Herald of Andraste and Herald of Corypheus. The latter must be earned.

The Venatori hate her. They call her rattus, and mock Elgar'nan's markings on her face. But most of the Venatori are soft. Spoiled nobles of decadent empire, used to getting what they want, never paying for it. Lavellan is not like them. She is a sharpened weapon, a sword without a guard. She cuts every hand which tries to hold her.
One of the bastards, Erimond, is more steadfast than the rest. Somehow he believes that the rules don't apply to him, that the end result will be different than for the rest of the shemlen. He comes to Lavellan when she is in library, reading through the ancient tomes Elder One has commanded her to master, disrupting her work and bothering her with his idle shemlen words. When she does not listen his invitations, they turn into orders, and only then Lavellan looks up from her book. She tells him that she is no bed slave to a magister, and if he bothers her ever again, he will suffer.
Of course Erimond retaliates. How can he not? He has lost face in front of Venatori. The mage attacks her the same evening when she is leaving the library. But Lavellan is ready for him. She strikes first, without remorse. Her Keeper magic is not meant to be flashy, to impress. It is meant to kill, preserve and protect. Becoming First is no different than becoming a magister; both are titles rewarded only for those who win the competition, and one must be ruthless to win. She is the First of her Clan for a reason.
In hindsight, she later thinks, she should not have let him live. Because after she leaves him beaten on the floor, Erimond does what all worms always do. He runs to Elder One and complains.

The Elder One summons Lavellan to shrine of Dumat. There are no red templar guards inside the temple; he doesn't need any. Nobody would dare to threaten Corypheus.
"You are too prideful.", the Elder One tells her. His voice is deep, angry. "You are rattus. You bear the markings of a slave on your face. You are no mage of Tevinter, and priest of no god."
Lavellan feels the anger in her heart, the quiet voice which tells her that she is better than they are. She does not repent what she did. A part of her rejoiced for her power over Erimond, the image of proud magister crawling away from her. She does not say these things aloud.
"Erimond interrupted my work.", she says instead. "I have no time for idle games with likes of him. I must master the task you have given to me."
"You say the right words.", Elder One says, lifting her chin up with his skeletal hand, "but your eyes tell otherwise."
"A Herald of Corypheus cannot bow to mortal men.", she says, willing herself not to show fear.
"No.", he agrees. "But you were my enemy. An unknowing, pitiful enemy is an enemy still. How can I know you will not betray me if you had a chance?"
Her blood burns when he calls her pitiful, and he sees the flash in her eyes.
"You would.", he says, gripping her chin. She feels his nails dig into lines of her vallaslin. "You are nothing but an open book for me to read."
He drops his hand, and Lavellan feels a warm bead of blood running down her chin. It paints a red line along her neck, disappearing between her breasts.
"You are but ignorant child, Herald, filled with ideas of false pride. I must teach you your proper place. I do not care for the likes of Erimond; they are below you. But I am, and I will always be, above you. When you kneel for me, you will do it with joy, like a devoted servant of a new god.", the Elder One says.

Lavellan does not know how long it takes. Her memories are hazy, and she remembers only bits and pieces. She remembers the altar of Dumat, her limbs tied to four corners. There are places for ankles and wrists, stone shining and smooth with centuries of use, and Lavellan is certain she is not first elf to feel the touch of a knife. The lines worn over the black marble are too deep, tracking patterns of trashing limbs and futile fights.
She remembers crying out for her old gods, the wrong gods, when his sharp nails draw patterns on her skin and her warm blood runs in the grooves of the stone. Elder One punishes her for it.
"I am the only god you will pray.", he says. He lifts the knife up to his mouth, and his tongue forks to lick the blood.
"Your blood tastes like Fade.", he tells her. "It brings back memories of old days, of Tevinter's glory."

There is a lot more blood after that. The Elder One teaches her that the Herald of Corypheus might not bow to any mortal man, but she will bow to him. He teaches her to kneel before him in humility.
"You will never call any other name but mine.", he tells her when he bends her over the altar. She is too far gone to argue, and survival instincts are only thing she has left in her foggy mind. She spreads her legs willingly, feeling the god inside her. She is nothing but a vessel for his pleasure, but when the moment comes, she remembers to call his name like a prayer.

---

After she is sufficiently healed, the Elder One sends Lavellan to her first mission. She is to gather shards hidden around the southern Thedas. It is a small task, nothing like the missions given to Erimond, Servis or Florianne. At first, Lavellan feels slighted, but Elder One explains it to her.
"You are my Herald, and they are merely my tools. A tool is used only to perform a task. A Herald is a sword which must be sharpened to serve where others cannot. As you collect the shards, you will find and learn the old magic the elves have hidden from the world. Your true task is to find a way for me to enter the Fade and become a god this world needs. It is only fitting, because you ruined the anchor."
She kneels in front of him, knowing better than lifting up her face.
"I did not know what I did then.", she says humbly.
"You did not.", he agrees, his fingers curving lovingly behind her ear and down to her neck. "But you will make amends in any case."
She closes her eyes when his nails pierce her skin.

Lavellan is a weapon. She is a sword sharpened to serve, and she will not disappoint. The Elder One gives her a group of Venatori to lead, and something else, a prisoner. An elven mage who calls herself Commander Helaine. The elf is to teach her the skills of Knight Enchanter, so Lavellan could better serve her master. She suspect that the elf is also there as a test. She was once a servant of her People, the First of Lavellan. It is still the name she uses when she thinks of herself. Did she have a given name, once? If she had, it must have been before Conclave. The shemlen never called her nothing but Lavellan.
When she has learned everything the elf Helaine can teach her, Lavellan is merciful. She shows Helaine only compassion she has left in her, making it quick and as painless as she can. Lavellan hopes she understood. For the ever-present Venatori watching them, she answers to Helaine's pleas:
"You are not one of my People.", and her spirit sword cuts deep.
She lied, even if Helaine did not have the slave markings on her face. The Venatori captain writes a message later that evening, no doubt telling their master that Lavellan is to be trusted, that she can kill an elf without hesitation, and no longer pays fealty to her old ways.
Lavellan cradles the truth in her heart. She didn't kill Helaine. She merely gave her a gift Helaine needed most. The blessing of false god called Falon'Din.

--

They collect shards from Hinterlands and Storm Coast. Calpernia has assured Lavellan that those few she had time to collect before Haven, will be dug from the ruins of Haven. There is a new Inquisitor, she tells Lavellan, who has no time or interest in magic. Viscount Hawke, from Kirkwall. The Inquisition resides in a fortress in the mountains, in a place called Skyhold. Lavellan has read about it in her studies, seen it's real name carved on the smooth surface of an elven artifact she has on her desk in the library. Samson brought it to her, as a gift. The name is Tarasy'lan Tel'as.

A castle so high up that it touches the sky. Holds the sky, like the elven name describes. Lavellan understands that it was supposed to happen like this. None of her former companions would have given her a castle in sky. Where they went, she could not follow.
Cassandra wanted Lavellan to worship the Maker, asking why there was not a room in her heart for one more god. But the woman was never willing to make room in her heart for gods of the People. Cassandra's was one-sided exchange, like all exchanges humans suggest. Make our ways your own, but we will not bow to yours. Vivienne, with her clipped words and the air of arrogance as her armor. Seeing her as a savage, a barbarian. And Solas, who scorned her for being Dalish, but at same time, praised her for her choices. It made no sense at all, because Lavellan thought that being Dalish was her most important choice. He and Vivienne were much alike. Lavellan wonders what they would say about her now. Vivienne might approve, she thinks. She does not want to think what Solas would say, because pity is one thing she can't bear.

When she is alone in the library, she traces the lines of her vallaslin with her fingertips. The dark side and the light side, masking her face and hiding her true emotions. It was a good choice, and a lesson. A woman with markings of a slave could never have been Inquisitor.

--

She knows that they know. It does not happen often, but when it does, he sends for Lavellan. She kneels before him, parts his robes with respect and worships him. He always takes her from behind. He does not want to see her face, but if he is feeling cruel, he lets them to see. Her naked form, pressed against the window glass, so all can see his long clawed hands on her breasts. That all of them will remember the former Herald of Andraste impaled by him, legs wide, lips opened in pained moan. But she calls out only the name he wants to hear.
The rest of Venatori, even Erimond, never speak of it although they all know. Instead, they keep her distance from her, always treating her with reverence. Some, the weak ones, are frightened of her. Lavellan understands they are not strong enough. They fear that if they spoke, they would be uplifted to her place, to serve him like she does. But Lavellan knows that there is a place beyond fear. Her mind has been living there for some time, now.

--

Her skills grow. Elder One gives her another prisoner, an elf called Cillian. It is harder this time, because he bears white lines of June's vallaslin on his dark face. Lavellan remembers him from Arlathvhen, remembers that his clan is Ralaferin and their Keeper is Elindra, their First Neria. It makes him too real.
He is supposed to teach her the ways of Arcane Warrior, and he does that when he is made to understand that otherwise the Venatori will kill his First, Neria. They were imprisoned in the same attack. The fealty the clan gives to First is strong, and the Red Templars stayed their hand, killing only the rest of Inquisition agents. Samson makes sure his men follow orders. He is a good general, and only member of Elder One's Inner Circle who is not from Tevinter or a noble.
But Cillian speaks , when they train, in familiar and comforting language of the Dalish, questioning her choices and her loyalties, pushing her. He doesn't let Lavellan be , and finally one day she just loses it.
"Stop it!", she screams and attacks Cillian with rage which gives strength to her arm and seems to make her feel more alive than she wants to be. "Stop talking about the Dalish! I am not a First! I'm not a Dalish! I'm a rattus!"
She strikes him down, breaking his defenses with sheer ferocity since she can't claim much skill yet, not when she is upset like this. She had to unlearn much of what Helaine taught her, because the skills of Knight Enchanters are nothing but a bastardized form of Dirth'ena Enasalin stolen by Chantry.
"These are slave markings!", she screams, pointing at her face and then his. "The Elder One told me that elves of Arlathan kept slaves, marking them for a god they served. We are not children of nobility, we are slave children of slaves hiding in the woods. We are rattus, and this is what we chose to keep from our culture."
Cillian's dark face drains pale, too pale for someone with skin as brown as his, and Lavellan storms away before she kills him. As far as she knows, there is no other elf living who had rediscovered the art of Dirth'ena Enasalin, and the Elder One would be most displeased if Cillian died before Lavellan has learned everything he knows. Her master has told Lavellan that when she is ready, she will face the Inquisition at his side, so the world will see the glory which is Corypheus.

--

Lavellan's group has collected all shards from Exalted Planes and Western Approach when news reach them. Florianne has failed at Winter Palace, and the Inquisition has won their first victory. It was not supposed to happen this way.
"You are summoned to Shrine of Dumat.", the agent says to Lavellan. "The Elder One is very angry for Florianne's failure."
Lavellan simply nods. For the rest of the evening, the captain of her guard avoids looking at her. Lavellan does not care. She is long past caring, now.

They return to north, and she enters the Shrine of Dumat alone. Lavellan is the Herald of Corypheus and his old enemy. The Elder One needs him because only enemies speak can the truth, and he must hear the mistakes Florianne made in his name. Lavellan has read all the reports and written a list to make sure she will not miss anything. Friends and lovers lie because they wish not to hurt, followers lie because they don't dare to do otherwise. Lavellan is not his friend nor his lover, and although she follows, Lavellan knows better than a lie to a god.

She gives him truths he needs, but does not wish to hear. She pays for her insolence, but does not die. The Elder One is merciful, or cruel. Lavellan can't decide which when she finally staggers down the stairs leading to temple and almost collapses in the empty yard. But she is strong. She is the Herald of Corypheus, and above mortal men, even when the fever rages in her veins and her skin is nothing but a grid of red lines.
"Fenedhis lasa!", someone curses when Lavellan closes her eyes. Arms catch her before she falls.

--

She thinks she remembers Cillian washing the blood off her skin and pouring strong wine in her wounds to keep off infection. She thinks she might have cried. Lavellan hovers on both sides of the Veil for a long time, and when she opens her eyes once again, he is still there, sitting by her bed. He is not wearing his golden armor but simple clothes, and there are dark rings around his eyes. He has been awake for a long time.
"Go away.", she croaks, her throat dry.
Cillian disobeys and slips a warm hand behind her neck. Lavellan startles, preparing herself for ripping of what is left of her hair, but the pain does not come. Instead, he supports her head and lifts a cup of water on her lips. It does not taste like poison.
She drinks greedily, and when he takes the cup and his hand away, Lavellan feels acute sense of loss.
"Go away.", she says again, stronger this time, although her eyes are closed. It's hard to keep them open; the left one is swollen shut. "Go to Calpernia and tell that I no longer need you."
He opens his mouth, his beautiful Dalish mouth on his Dalish face with white lines of false Dalish god, and Lavellan can't bear the sight of it. It looks nothing like the bloodless lips of the Elder One, telling her what the world will be like after their great work is done. Calpernia is kinder than Samson. She has a soft spot for slaves. She will not grow a crystal garden inside his skull.
"Go away!", she sits up, ignoring the tearing pain on her ribs. He touches with kindness, holding her shoulders and telling her to lay down, that she will hurt herself like this. She shouts, her voice breaking and rising and finally the guards come.
"Take him to Calpernia and tell her that I no longer need him.", Lavellan commands. Cillian rises up, but before he leaves with guards, he puts the cup of water near so she can reach it by herself. His hand brushes hers when he does that. Lavellan hates him for that, but she hates herself more.
When she is alone again, she looks at the cup and closes her eyes.

It is not crying if one keeps eyes closed and makes no sound.

--

Few days later Calpernia sends her a golden armor. Lavellan stuffs it in the back of her closet and most definitely does not cry.

--

Lavellan finishes her task. As instructed by the Elder One, she uses the shards to enter Temple of Solasan in Forbidden Oasis. The Inquisition has presence there, but it is a small camp with bored guards, nothing she and her soldiers can't handle easily. She is not the woman she was in Haven. She is a willing embodiment of will made manifest, a body shaped into perfect weapon.

There is an inscription written on the temple doors. The writing is shaky and uneven, but readable. Lavellan and Calpernia both have access all knowledge at Venatori disposal, including the oldest archives available in Tevinter, and Lavellan's ancient elvish has been much improved.
Emma solas him var din'an. Tel garas solasan. Melana en athim las enaste.
Arrogance became our end. Come not to a prideful place. Now let humility grant favor.
Lavellan snorts and walks inside. No woman who serves a living god can hide sins in her heart.

She is right, and temple poses no danger to her. She walks through the doors of fire, ice and spirit, defeating the elements and gaining the prizes she has bought. If she had came here before Haven, Lavellan thinks, she would have been hurt by magic cracking her bones, making her more. But she is no longer angry, scared woman shouting after her fleeing companions. She is Herald of Corypheus, and pain caused by magic is nothing new to her. She has learned to embrace the feeling, to enjoy the knowledge she still lives, and this pain is good sort. Lavellan can feel it. It makes her stronger. The Pride demon in the heart of temple can scarcely touch her.

Magical items and her almost impermeable skin are not only gifts Lavellan brings to her master. She tells the Elder One about reference she found carved under one of the altars. It spoke of Vir'Abelasan, an ancient nexus of ley energies located within temple of Mythal.

--

The Elder One is pleased, so pleased that he ignores the sting of Servis' failure at Western Approach. It is good. Lavellan is given a promise: the Elder One tells her that Erimond is collecting the demon army in Adamant, and the Inquisition is preparing to attack the fortress. Erimond has asked for backup, and the Elder One had sent red lyrium dragon to Adamant.
"If he succeeds, I will forgive you for stealing the anchor, and I shall reward you with immortality.", the Elder One says and smiles. Lavellan does not know if it's the words or the smile which makes her frightened.
"I only wish for what you are willing to give.", Lavellan bows at him and leaves the shrine.

--

If Lavellan didn't know it was wrong thing to do, she would have prayed Erimond's failure. It is highly possible: the man is arrogant, flashy and pompous. But the dragon turns the stakes: Erimond, Inquisitor Hawke and his three companions fall to their deaths from the battlements. The ritual is not finished and Nightmare still remains in the Fade, but Inquisition flees with a tail between it's legs, leaderless. Sera, Blackwall and Vivienne are no more. The Elder One decrees that although Erimond failed, the demon army may wait. His apotheosis is more important. His servants focus all their efforts on locating Mythal's temple.

Lavellan thinks of Vivienne's death often. One down, two to go.

"Think of it. You will live thousands of years like your ancestors. You will stand by Elder One's side forever, and you will see Tevinter reborn in all it's glory.", Calpernia says.
Lavellan wants to say that Tevinter is not her home, and she doesn't care one bit about their glory, but she remains silent. She has no place to go. This is her place. She is a powerful woman with mages and templars under her command. She is the Herald of Corypheus, the first servant of a only god who speaks to his followers. The Dalish know that one did not have to love a god, or like him. Gods are above such feelings. They want respect and obedience. One does not turn away a gift from a god, like one does not choose which god to follow.

"At least it will be pain for purpose.", Samson tells her. "You were used by the Inquisition, like I was used by the Chantry."

The Elder One begins to prepare the ritual at the Shrine. He sends Lavellan to subdue a dragon in Emprise du Lion.

--

Imshael rules in the Suledin Keep. The demon calls himself a spirit of choice and entertains Lavellan lavishly, offering her a fine meal in the middle of blighted keep.
"You are a woman to speak to my heart, Herald.", he says. "You made a choice and lived with consequences. But a life is not limited to one choice only."
"I am the Herald of Corypheus.", she replies, not hungry.
"But you could be more than that.", Imshael tells her. "I can offer you choices."
Lavellan thinks of her skin, so filled with patterns of white scars that the original color is all but disappeared at places. She thinks of window misted by her breath and the marks of her palms pressed against it. She thinks how the smooth the black marble of Dumat's altar feels. She remembers the sight of her friends running from her, but the memory has only two runners now. And for the shortest moment, she thinks of a cup of water offered in kindness.
"I belong to Elder One. Nobody else would choose me now.", she says, telling the truth.
"The Inquisition is making a camp in Sahrnia.", Imshael says. "You could go back. Or you can swim across Judicael's Crossing, subdue a dragon, and return to your master. It is your choice."

Lavellan watches them from the distance. She shadows their steps unseen, wrapped in old magic and the green swirls of the anchor in her hand. Cassandra leads them, the fiery eye of Inquisition shining on her breastplate. She looks weary, much older than Lavellan remembers. It is hard to think it has only been a year. Iron Bull and Solas follow her, with a pale boy Lavellan does not know. She thinks she saw him when the battle began at Haven, but she is not sure.

They are clearly bothered by the never ending song of red lyrium, but Lavellan is not. She is like Samson in that regard; red lyrium does not affect her. Sometimes she wished that it would. It would make things easier.
She watches them talk, banter with each other, and it only makes her feel worse. Would they take her back if they knew? With Venatori, she has power. She is feared, respected. She is the Herald of Elder One, a shadowy figure who dares to approach him when nobody else can. She is the only person allowed to come to Shrine of Dumat. Calpernia is not. Samson is not. Only her. If - when she returns with a dragon, she will be rewarded with eternal life. The Elder One has promised.
If she goes back now, they will see something else. They will give her to Leliana to be interrogated. They will see her scars. They will know a blighted darkspawn god had her and she praised his name when he came inside her. They will know her shame, and her trials, and the fact that she is nothing but a rattus without Corypheus. They will abandon her just like they did before, and no god will come to save her.
Lavellan knows she is not a Dalish. She has been bent, broken, enslaved. She has failed all her oaths. She is not sure if she is still an elf. It is hard to say. She no longer feels cold, and in Suledin Keep, she accidentally walked into brazier because fire does not touch her. Calpernia says proudly that the temple of Pride made Lavellan nearly indestructible. Her success made Elder One pleased, but it is much harder to draw her blood, now.

She still stands on a ledge, watching the party below trekking around the spires of red lyrium when the pale boy speaks.
"She hurts so bad that she can't even feel it anymore. She thinks herself a sharpened weapon, a sword without guard, but she cuts herself more than she cuts others. She is frightened, because she does not want to be immortal. Not to stand by his side forever. He is not her god."
"What are you talking about?" Cassandra asks.
"The Herald watching you.", the boy answers. "She wishes she could come to you, but her pride is stopping her. And the memory of your betrayal. May Dread Wolf take you! May Elgar'nan burn the flesh off your bones! I pray Dirthamen rips off your tongues for false promises of friendship!"
Solas is looking around now, and Cassandra gasps. Lavellan panics, and turns around so fast that pebbles fall down from the ledge and roll down the slope. She runs as fast as she can, heading towards river, and throws herself into water. The water is freezing, and blocks of ice float in the river, but she doesn't feel it. Her panic overwhelms her. She almost did it. She almost betrayed her master.

She crosses the river and does not stop until she is safely on the other side of broken bridge at Judicael's Crossing. The Inquisition is heading towards Sulevin Keep, they will not look for her here. And there is a dragon in the top of old ruins.

 --

They fly to southwest from the Dales, searching for the Mythal's altar in the wilds. Her master has told her that the ritual is of elven origin, and performing it in a place of power will help them to locate the temple.

The Elder One is waiting for her when she arrives with the dragon. It is clear that Imshael has tattled what she did at Emprise du Lion. But he is not angry.
"You chose me.", the Elder One says like it was never in doubt. "Your proper place is at my side."
"Yes.", Lavellan says, kneeling at her designated spot. She has finished the preparations like the Elder One instructed. She is ready.
Calpernia ties up her hair so it won't be on the way. She will assist in the ritual. The Venatori are standing in the half circle around her and the dragon, who lays down on the grass, subdued and beaten. Mythal's statue, an old and weather-worn dragon, watches over them in silence.

The dragon's name is Hivernal. It understood when Lavellan spoke elvish to it on the journey from Emprise du Lion. It is beautiful predator, scales shining blue and grey. She feels bad for it.

"The ritual will split your soul in two.", the Elder One says. "As long as the dragon lives, you cannot be destroyed. You can leap into other bodies even if your current one is destroyed."
He turns to watch the others around them.
"Let it be known that the Elder One is a god who remembers those who serve him, and rewards them for their service like nobody else in the memory of mankind."
"We will begin now."

Oh, please Elgar'nan kill him make him stop make them burn--

Her screaming is heard throughout the Fade.

--

She is certain that she is no longer an elf. One cannot be an elf with only half of her soul. It is a good thing, because they have found Mythal's temple in the Arbor Wilds, and it is not empty. The temple is guarded by elves who speak the language of ancients and fight without fear. They ambush their troops, melt into shadows again and emanate the magic Lavellan knows too well. It feels like Corypheus' orb. The Elder One has ordered her to wear the golden armor of Arcane Warrior to draw attention away from Calpernia. It sparks a special hate or disdain in their attackers, she doesn't know which is true, but they seem to be drawn to Lavellan, ignoring Calpernia. Inquisition is on their heels, their spies slowing them down on every turn, but they press on. The moment of his apotheosis is near.

Samson leads the attack, but the Elder One has chosen Calpernia to be the vessel for the knowledge of Vir'Abelasan. She has spent all these weeks in preparation, and Lavellan is angry. She is angry about the golden armor she wishes to forget, and she is angry about the Well of Sorrows, and it is not right she is killing her own people. As they get closer to temple gates and she cuts down yet another sentinel, her anger spills over.

"It is my birthright!", she yells at Elder One. "It is my legacy! I have spent my whole life studying the heritage of my People. I should be the vessel. I've always been your vessel in all things. I have been loyal, I have given everything to serve you. You can't give Vir'Abelasan away to shemlen! She is just a vulture descending on the ruins of lost empire, with no respect for Mythal or any of them."

His rebuttal is swift and merciless. She is not beloved servant now, a favored vessel like before, but an enemy. Lavellan would never have thought there has been love in the way he wielded the orb or sacrificial knife before, but it must have been so, because this time, there is none.

She tells Hivernal to fly far, far away. Go somewhere safe, where there is no shemlen or Elder One.

--

She learns that the ritual worked. She cannot die. She no longer has voice to beg Falon'Din's blessing, and her god abandons her. He says she is ungrateful and worthless rattus, who has been given much, and it was a mistake to think she was loyal.

Samson's eyes look pitying when he pushes the bloody mess of her body inside the golden armor.
"Tie her to a tree.", the Elder One says. "We will honor her rattus legacy, after Fen'Harel and the tree. She can wait there for her gods."

--

Her gods do not find her. They don't exist. But Solas does.

He thinks she is a temple guardian. The armor is the same, after all. She hears the voices of the rest of them nearby. Cassandra, pale boy, and the Tevinter Altus called Dorian Pavus. Lavellan might have met him, in the dark future she no longer bothers to think about. It used to horrify her before Haven, but many things have changed after Haven. Alternative future is nothing compared to her present moment.

"Revas ar.", she whispers. Free me.
"Of course.", Solas says quickly and his magic burns through the ropes. It is old. She never noticed how old it felt before Haven, but she did not know much.
She falls on her knees, her limbs unable to support her. She forces herself to move, and starts slowly crawling forwards. She reaches with her magic and calls Hivernal. The other half of herself.
Solas looks at her with pity in his eyes and takes a small bottle from his backpack, uncorking it and placing it on the ground next to her.
"Stay quiet. I will hide you until your brothers and sisters can come for you.", he says in elvish. He is kind and worried, not sharp and distant like when she was Dalish. He casts a spell - a misdirection hex with series of illusions laid over one another, she thinks - and then hurries away, returning to his companions.
Lavellan takes the potion in her broken hand and swallows it as well as she can. Some of it falls to ground, but it cannot be helped. She slumps on the ground and closes her eyes.

--

Hivernal comes to her eventually. The dragon grabs her body between it's jaws and carries her away like she was a dragonling.

She wakes up much later in a village full of Avvar. They are awed by Lavellan's connection to dragon and the mark on her hand.

They ask her if she is a god, and she answers that a true god does not need to prove herself.

 --

The Avvar nurse her back to health. Lavellan has plenty of time to think when she lays in the cabin and waits her body to repair itself. It happens much faster than the Avvar expect. Her body resists the damage done to it, and she knows the spells Elder One used to command his, to retain functions of humanity it had when he was nothing but a Tevinter magister. Lavellan has no taint and no red lyrium, making her flesh easier to command.

When she is well enough to walk around the hold, she finds more shards. Although there is no oculara, Lavellan is attuned to the whispering they make. After spending months seeking for them, how could she not be?

She collects the shards, and finds a door where they fit. Behind it there is a coffin which gives her yet another touch of frost upon her bones. She is strong enough now to walk through Hivernal's icy blast without harm. And on the opposite wall, there is a veilfire rune, which gives her the answer she has sought for all her life. The final truth.

"There are no gods. There is only the subject and the object, the actor and the acted upon. Those with will to earn dominance over others gain title not by nature but by deed. I am Geldauran, and I refuse those who would exert will upon me. Let Andruil's bow crack, let June's fire grow cold. Let them build temples and lure the faithful with promises. Their pride will consume them, and I, forgotten, will claim power of my own, apart from them until I strike in mastery."

--

Lavellan does not know how the battle in Korcari Wilds has ended. But when she is well enough, she says farewells to Avvar and returns one place where it all started. Haven.

--

The two Inquisition scouts watching over the Breach do not recognize her. They let her be after she says that someone dear to her perished in the attack against Haven, and she has come to pay her respects. It is not a lie. She says that she has heard the Inquisition is fighting against Corypheus in south, and the older scouts tells Inquisition has been victorious.

She walks around the shattered remains of wooden cabins. There is a memorial for soldiers who perished in attack, and it mentions "Herald of Andraste" who closed the Breach, but not her name. The memorial stands next to Chantry, which makes her smile sour. She has been forgotten.

Her steps take her to place where the trebuchet was. She stands on the very spot where she once stood and watched her friends run to safety. Lavellan knows she was not the first unwilling sacrifice in history of Thedas, and is unlikely to be the last, but it does matter. It matters because it happened to her. There is no gods she could trust. Nobody else will save her except herself.

--

She camps near the temple ruins and waits. She knows the Elder One, she knows his nature. If he has failed to attain the Well of Sorrows, he has nothing left. Without Lavellan, he cannot bring forth the Nightmare from the Fade, and without Lavellan, the Inquisition cannot do a thing if he decides to open the Breach again. They will certainly try, she thinks.

She is much happier now when she has only half of a soul. The half which remains is detached and reasonable, although it is partial to draconic, predatory instincts. Lavellan is not a friend of Elder One, but no friend to Inquisition. She is not an enemy of Elder One, and no enemy to Inquisition. She loves her enemies and hates her friends, hates her enemies and loves her friends.
She considers herself a guest of honor in battle to come.

When the Breach opens on the sky, the little hairs on Lavellan's neck rise up. The orb is calling to her. She has writhed under it's torturous power so many times that it feels like an old friend, now. Lavellan decides this is the first bell and sneaks into temple ruins. The Elder One has arrived alone. A grave mistake. The Inquisition arrives and their numbers are small, too. When Corypheus rips the temple off the ground, only Cassandra, Solas and the pale boy manage to get the lift. She watches them to fight the Elder One, until both sides summon their own dragons. The Inquisition has a red one. It isn't nearly as beautiful as Hivernal, Lavellan thinks. She leans on her staff and waits for the battle unfold. The Inquisition dragon manages to hurt the red lyrium one, but then it crashes on the ground, while Elder One's beast lands in front of Cassandra.

The fashionable ones wait until the second bell, Florianne always said. Lavellan decides the Inquisition can fight the red lyrium dragon alone. Meanwhile, she will face Corypheus, who has fled to upper level.

--

When the red lyrium dragon dies, the battle of two immortals turns it's tide to Lavellan's favor.

She hears the steps running up the stairs and towards them, but Corypheus is already beaten. He, like all gods she has ever prayed, proves to be false in the end.
"Dumat! The ancient ones! If you exist, if you ever truly existed, aid me now!", the Elder One pleads.
Lavellan opens her palm and calls forth the prize she has bought with her blood and pain. The orb of destruction flies to anchor in her hand, and she thinks it is like a meeting of two lovers who have been separated from each other. They fit together perfectly. The orb seems to be pleased, because it changes colors. It glows green, now, instead of angry red. She calls Hivernal to come.

The Elder One falls on his knees, defeated. Lavellan hums with the song of orb, and feels calm, happy for first time since she left to Conclave. She is rudely interrupted by members of Inquisition, who have finally reached the top of the stairs.
"Who are you?", Cassandra shouts, holding her sword.
"Give the orb to me.", Solas demands. He sounds like he thinks she would obey. A fool.
"Who am I? Forgotten One.", Lavellan tells them. It is a good joke. They should laugh.
"It is true.", the pale boy says.
Hivernal lands on the stone floor, shouting a challenge at the Inquisition. Lavellan pays them no mind, cradling the orb like a baby. She slips the orb under her armor where it beats in time with her heart, and Solas starts to run towards her.
Lavellan lifts up her palm again, and opens a rift between them. The Inquisition is on the other side, while she is on the other side with Hivernal.
"Herald.", Cassandra's eyes grow wide.
"Herald of Andraste, Herald of Corypheus. The one you forgot.", she says, not trying to hide bitterness in her voice.
"We searched for you.", Cassandra claims. Lavellan thinks she is lying. Shems lie.
"Not hard enough.", she says and mounts Hivernal.

This time, she runs and they stay behind in Haven. Buried in stone instead of snow, but it's much the same thing.

--

Lavellan quite likes her new home. She closed the Breach so nobody can come and bother her. The city was black when she arrived, but she has been burning the taint off, and gold is slowly starting to come out underneath.

She sits on the vacant throne and pets Hivernal's head. Now she is the god, who does not answer.

Chapter Text

The silence of Golden City breaks one day, when Lavellan sits on her throne and does not listen the pleas of mankind below. The creature disturbing her silence annoys her at first, but when Lavellan recognizes him for what he is, she starts to laugh. To think that she once was a little da'len who was told that Fen'Harel takes little girls who were picky eaters, that Fen'Harel takes little girls who ventured too far from the camp, and Fen'Harel takes little girls who weren't afraid of the dark. Her childhood fear is nothing but a haughty bald elf who wears a white sweater with green trousers and stares at her with annoyance. Lavellan finds it hysterical to think that she once was genuinely afraid of this sorry creature in front of her, before she learned that only those gods who wanted to answer were worth of her fear.
"What do you do with all those little girls?", she asks, her voice barely containing her mirth.
"What girls?", Solas asks.
"My grandmother used to threaten me with you. Fen'Harel takes the girls who don't eat their vegetables. Those who venture too far from the camp, and those who are not afraid of the dark."
"You are mistaken, Lavellan.", he replies, with slight curve on his mouth. "Only one of your grandmother's warnings is true. The Dalish have forgotten much."

He tries to steal the orb, of course. She expects nothing less from him. Lavellan enjoys watching his shocked face when he realizes that for all his might and all his knowledge, the Orb of Destruction does not come to him. His expression is worth of getting stung by his magic. Not that she felt much of it. Fen'Harel's wrath was almost disappointing experience. Maybe it only works on elves, Lavellan wonders idly. It would make sense. She doesn't consider herself having much in common with elves.
Brushing dust from her clothes, she notices that at least she is bleeding. A bit. One point for Lord of Nightmares for that. Ten points for Lavellan for outwitting the Trickster. She settles comfortably on her throne and opens her palm. The orb purrs like pleased cat as it flies to her.
"One point for passable attempt, Solas. Should I call you Solas or Fen'Harel? Which one you prefer?", she asks as she tells him the results.
"Solas.", he says before he flees.

On his second attempt, he tries to appeal to her heritage. Solas speaks about plight and enslavement of elves, and how much they have lost. He tells her what elves could become, what would happen if she only gave him the orb. Lavellan is well entertained, because he is a marvelous liar.
"I don't think myself as an elf.", she says as he finishes. "And if I were one, I would be of wrong kind."
"What do you mean?", Solas asks. He is curious, she can tell.
"When I was a Herald of Andraste, you didn't hide how much you disdain the Dalish. I was easy sacrifice for you when the Elder One came. But when you thought I was a temple guardian, you were kind and worried. They are your people, the people you want to help. Not those living in the woods or in alienages.", Lavellan said, satisfied.
He doesn't deny it. He is not a fool. Solas tries another approach instead. Honesty. Lavellan likes how clever he is. Honesty is always the best lie.
"It is true.", he says, shrugging. "But if the elvhen were brought back, our race as a whole would profit. We could bring back the old magic and immortality."
"This time you don't get any points at all.", Lavellan tells him coolly. "Or maybe minus two. You get one point for entertaining lies, but lose one point for giving me the clues I needed to see through them. You lose another point for talking about 'our race' after we have already established that there is no such thing. And you lose second point for trying to lure me with immortality. It is one thing I have never wanted."
"Interesting.", he says, cocking his head slightly on side before he leaves.

He skulks around her dreams, trying to find out how her mind works. Lavellan can tell. But there is nothing for him to find except his own frustration. He is angry when he comes to her for third time.
"How can your dreams be like that?", Solas demands, his hands pressed into fists on his sides. "It's like seeing a Tranquil in the Fade! There is nothing! Every time I come here you sit on the throne, and when you dream, you sit on the throne, and there is nothing but silence and emptiness around you."
"Why does it bother you so much?", she asks.
"People dream of things they want. They dream of things they have lost, and people they love. All dreams are built on emotions. In nightmare, there is fear, and warmth in happy dreams. In your dreams, there is nothing."
"I thought a wolf with six eyes would see better.", Lavellan says. "But you get three points."
"For what?", Solas asks.
"One should not be expected to explain self-evident details.", Lavellan replies, annoyed. "I am not a god who answers."

He appears in her dream next time she falls asleep.
"I know the answer now.", he says, smug and pleased. "You dream of nothing, because you want that. You want silence, and you want emptiness."
"Soon you can start giving your own points.", Lavellan says, and banishes him.

Chapter Text

There is a curious mirror in Golden City. It gives Lavellan much amusement, so she does not visit it often. The Orb of Destruction likes the mirror, too. In the proximity of mirror her orb sparkles vibrant green, and purrs like a cat. Even though Lavellan dislikes all kinds of sounds, she and the orb are old companions. Sometimes one must make concessions, and the fact that orb likes her better annoys Solas enormously. In fact, it seems to annoy Solas so much that he has stopped coming. It’s been almost two years since she met anyone, she thinks, well pleased. So she is willing to spend few minutes listening. And the voices are amusing.

“Who is there? Let us out, or I will tear you apart!” a man’s furious roar echoes in her silent realm. Lavellan snickers.
“I already told you.” she says patiently. “I don’t believe you can do it, so I’m not going to bother.”
She hears muffled yelling behind the mirror, followed by sharp words, and smiles.

“We could make you a god.” a young, female voice promises sweetly. “You could live forever.”
“Why is it that people always promise me the very things I don’t want?” Lavellan asks theoretically and turns to leave, because the mirror is getting boring.
There are hurried negotiations behind the mirror, and a new voice speaks.
“We could give you what you truly want.” man’s warm voice promises. “If you let me out, I would give you nothing.”
“Interesting.” Lavellan notes, and indeed, she feels something stirring inside her.
“We would steal your destiny from you.” another, very similar voice offers. “We would take everything you have.”
“How would you do that?” Lavellan asks.
“It is a secret you must trade for. I told you I would give you nothing.” the first voice chuckles, and Lavellan smiles.
“You are a clever one, unlike Fen’Harel. You get five points for not falling into obvious trap. I think I like talking with you.” she adds with appreciation.
The whispers behind mirror go silent the instant she says it.
“If you let me out, we will never talk again like this. I would take your words, too.” the second voice whispers sweetly behind the black mirror.
Lavellan reaches towards mirror with her anchored hand, and the green glow reflects from dark surface, but she pulls her hand back and turns away, shaken.

She flees through the city, away from the mirror. She flees to safety of her lonely throne, where Hivernal waits, radiant in her blue-green glory. Lavellan sits on stone, clutching the orb so hard that the carved surface cuts her palm. But she holds tighter, terrified with understanding that this is something she cannot outrun.

A spark of desire has woken in her heart, and she wants nothing. She wants her destiny stolen, and her words taken from her, and she never wants to talk again with voices behind the mirror.

Lavellan howls.  

Chapter Text

Reason for Solas’ absence becomes clear, when green flames begin to lick Lavellan’s arm and the mark flares. She understands that Fen’Harel has shot yet another slow arrow, bowstring released even before Lavellan faced the Elder One in shemlen temple.
“Four points.” she concedes to smug-looking Solas when he appears one day. Mark has spread upwards, and now her left arm is burning green all way to shoulder. The flames spark and crack,   and Hivernal watches her from distance, the black dragon-eyes mournful. Lavellan regrets that she no longer can hold her other half, because her fingers are losing their shape, and she is not entirely certain if there are fingers under the green fire. But the orb is happy. It sits on her lap, purring, basking in the glow of her destruction.
“Why only four?” Solas asks, and makes a fist.
Her mark begins to spread. Lavellan notices green flames running upwards from her shoulder to her neck and curling around her neck, but she just shakes her head with annoyance. Too late, too little.
“I won’t die.” Lavellan said, looking down on her nose at Solas who stands confidently in front of Lavellan’s throne.
“When did I ever say I would save you?” Solas asks gleefully. “Your body may dissolve, but your spirit will live on. You are the catalyst. The Veil will come down, and the world will be set right again.”
“The Veil will come down?” Lavellan frowns.
She does not like the sound of this. The Veil is absolutely necessary. It keeps her on one side and everyone else on other. She would prefer if it kept Solas away as well, but the bald wolf seems to be one unfortunate exception to Veil’s wonderful capabilities of warding everyone away.
“Oh, yes.” Solas assures. He begins to stride back and forth, enthusiastic and beaming with pride.
“Everything will be as it was. The world will be filled with magic and feeling, the great monuments of People rebuil—“
“Feeling?” Lavellan repeats, aghast.
“Yes! The Veil stole everything from the People, even themselves. It was like waking up in a world filled with Tranquil creatures. But everyone will be fixed, returned to their proper state. Even you.” Solas smiles with eager benevolence. Lavellan remembers that look on the Elder One’s face when he split her soul in two for immortality, gifting her the very thing she did not want. A chill settles deep in her bones.
“No.”, a whimper escapes her mouth before her words dissolve in green, and Lavellan can feel the Veil trembling around her. And then she does the same mistake again, the one she always does in her weakest moment. Her battered and burned faith surfaces, and she wails like a child afraid.
“Falon’Din, lethanavir, lead me to my rest.” she sobs the words of her childhood prayer in panic while green tears run along her face. She would run, but she can’t feel her legs. The orb is happy. The foci flies in circles around her head, mocking her wordlessly. It has waited for her final destruction for a long time, and now it sides with the Dread Wolf. Betrayer.
“Lavellan.”, Solas says in reproaching voice. “Can’t you see I am helping you?”
“I want nothing.” she wails in desperation, and then Hivernal acts.

The blue-green dragon roars, swinging its great tail. The impact sends Solas flying against the once-grand mosaic of Elgar’nan, and Hivernal grabs Lavellan with her teeth. The dragon takes flight, rising above Golden City. Hivernal’s jaws bite deep, but the mark bites deeper; Lavellan feels the hot blood of her twin soul dripping on her.

The dragon flies, and the Dread Wolf howls, chasing them throughout the city. He looks like monstrous creature Lavellan’s grandmother always warned her about; a giant beast with too many red eyes and dripping fangs. There is a crystal arch, forcing Hivernal to drop height, and the Dread Wolf jumps jaws agape. Hivernal screams when she is hurt, and Lavellan’s panic gives way to scorching hate.
“How dare you!” she screams in rage. “You hurt my twin soul, you fucking egg! You will not hurt her, and you will not fix me.”

Because Hivernal is her – the less broken part of her, Lavellan often thinks – and she is Hivernal, they know what has to be done. With tearful kiss, filled with green flames, Lavellan says farewell to her other half and sends Hivernal away.

There are slow breaths coming from behind the mirror.
“Wake up!” Lavellan snaps and kicks the mirror. Her body is slowly disintegrating under the green, but she still has enough presence for this. If it happens fast. The Dread Wolf is not here just yet.
“I will let you out if you swear to give me nothing. The Dread Wolf is coming. You can give him whatever you want, but nothing for me.”
The second voice, who promised to take everything from her, is first to answer.
“Yes.”
Lavellan does not wait for others to wake up. She throws herself against the mirror, and surface lights up just like the rifts used to do when she was the Herald of Andraste. Before she was betrayed and forgotten and cast away. But this is far better than any rift. There is a sound of breaking glass, and the man with dark hair and pale hands is first to run out. Others follow, and they trample Lavellan under their feet as they flee their prison. The green is gone now, but the gift of Corypheus holds true; she is not dead. Her left hand is gone, burned away. Solas did not even manage to disintegrate her. Pitiful.

But she does not care about any of it. The howls of Dread Wolf are entirely different now, and Lavellan smiles as she pushes herself up. The orb has fallen on the ground. It has blood on it, and few hairs of black fur.
“You should have known better than side with him.” Lavellan says coldly to orb. “You know I don’t do feelings.”
She holds the orb in her remaining hand unforgivingly, and pulls enough power to transport herself to her rightful throne. It is a good place to watch how her childhood gods give Fen’Harel everything he never wanted.