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The longest night of the year. The Winter Solstice.
The long dark had come upon them, as it did every year, standing in stark contrast to the long, hot summers in Rivain. The winters were… cool but bearable, wet, rainy, dreary. The days grew shorter by seconds, minutes, hours, until the long dark came and all the world was thrust into what felt like eternal night.
The Solstice was observed by many seers, who, like all those sensitive to the veil, could feel the relative thinness of it on this particular date. The longest night, where the fade was nearest to that of the mundane. The dual nature of their reality was more apparent than ever; spirits pressed, some even passed through to bring tidings of the dead. Playing out memories, recollections, reflections of feelings, thoughts, whole battles lost and won.
Seer Rowan was holding rites that night, beneath a field of glittering stars; the whole of the universe peering down and observing the little people feigning comprehension of its untold mysteries.
Taash had elected to attend. Riven had not.
With the Solstice, the blackness that seemed to know no end, there came an understanding that, though life was cyclical in nature; all things would come to an end in the darkness. So many people they had known had been swallowed up by it, walking headlong and willing forward into the lapping shores of inky blackness that extended beyond even the realm of spirits.
Grief; old wounds reopened. Ragged, bloody, raw and weeping. The darkness frayed their edges.
Talking was hard. Remembering was harder. Recollecting those hurts in speech? Nigh on impossible between the elf and the qunari. They both felt it, the heaviness in the air as the sun set, and the moons rose, and all the light seemed to drain from the world like so much blood let from an ailing body. The malady was death incurable. And they were the remnant bones, dry, chafed by desolate winds, left to wonder what could have been; the wasted potential of any given life.
“I’m going to the rites.” Taash said over a painfully quiet supper. Memories hung heavy in the air thick as humid clouds.
Riven pushed their food around on their plate; roast, seasoned extra spicy for Taash, with mashed sweet potato and fried greens. It was a good, hearty meal, but neither of them were particularly hungry on this night. Not while the long dark loomed just beyond the windows and doors, threatening at the thresholds save for the guttering candles that held the blackness at bay.
“Okay,” They said. And they raised their silver eyes to meet Taash’s insistent verdant stare. They were missing their mother tonight, Riven knew. Seer Rowan would likely be able to recall a memory of her from the fade, something to ease the pain of the loss. But there was no easing Riven’s grief, their guilt, their darkness apparent.
“You should come.” I would like to be accompanied .
Riven worked their jaw, grinding their teeth, “... I can’t.” I prefer to spend nights like this alone.
“Okay.” I wish you would think of someone other than yourself.
“... Okay .” I’m sorry.
Taash rose stiffly from the table at the same time as Riven, who gathered their plates; food mostly untouched, and carried them to the sink for washing. By the time they were through cleaning, Taash was out the door; into the dying light. And so the long dark began in perfect solitude for Riven; a solitude that only served to recall more painful memories to contend with in the dark.
They poured themself a glass of something bitter, amber, burning on the tongue and hot in the chest. And settled into bed to pretend to read one of Varric’s old, lesser known serials. They read the same sentence a half dozen times, comprehending none of it, before they made a sound of small disgust and slammed the book shut, dropping it haphazardly on the floor beside the bed.
Tipping their head back, they gulped down every drop of their poison, almost gagging on the last swallow.
“Shit,” They cursed, shaking their head, feeling the inferno in their chest stoke with the added fuel. They wanted to curse, to break shit, to hurt something until all of the latent anger was released from their belly.
Anger; that as the first thing they were forced to confront as the longest night carried on painfully around them like the blackest, coldest waters of a rushing river.
It was anger at the past, mourning for something lost; or perhaps it was something they had never possessed to begin with. A childhood. Loving parents. A safe place to lay a small, frightened head at night. Years of uncertainty; food insecurity; bullying at the hands of the larger, crueler, human children. Knife ear. Freak .
They recalled their father’s open palm and closed fist like others might recall a mother’s kiss.
Riven poured another glass of whiskey and started a fire in the hearth.
They sat in an armchair, facing the dancing flames as they licked their way up the chimney. It was going to be one of those nights. A fighting sort of night. A night to dance with the demons, pirouetting from one bitter, drunken memory to the next.
And what night was more fitting than this one? Where the darkness stretched out seemingly endless to supply plenty of room for these recollections to unfold.
Riven’s lips curled, twitching.
They wished they could’ve killed the old man themself. In fact, they might’ve had the bitter old codger not worked up a drinking debt so great he was forced to sell off his oldest, most troublesome child to the first magister to show an inkling of interest. And it was hardly a loss to the old man, who hated how his child was different. How they resisted the demarcations of their assigned gender.
Riven sipped the fire, taste buds revolting less and less with each draw.
The magister hadn’t been the worst thing in the world. Better than living in the underbelly of Minrathous begging for scraps in Docktown by day, fearing the fist by night.
He never touched, though he did leer on occasion. He had taken great pride in his elvhen stock; and Riven was used most often as a serving… girl. The word was bitter, in their mind. They drank again. Remembering with sickness swirling in their gut the scraps of clothing the magister would make them wear while he entertained his guests with so many examples of fine, elvhen beauty.
They had already hated their body before that, before human eyes made those pieces of them that felt wrong and hollow into objects of shame as well.
But no one ever touched… so they supposed they were meant to be grateful.
By the time the Shadow Dragon’s liberated them, Riven was fourteen.
The darkness in their soul was real and present and all consuming by then. It had been Tarquin’s kindness that had drawn them back from the edge. And the potions and tinctures of his attending mage that soothed the barbed wire battlefield of Riven’s mind.
For years after that everything had slowly improved. Riven had transitioned from she to they . They had found family amidst the Shadow Dragons. Belonging like they had never known before. They worked to free slaves, to take down blood mages and corrupt magisters. They found meaning like that which they had never known.
And then Varric had found them on the eve of their twenty-fifth birthday. A quarter century under their belt.
And the whole world changed.
Riven’s expression soured as they recalled Solas’ deception. Varric’s death at the Dread Wolf’s hands. The loss of Weisshaupt. Harding. Fucking Harding .
Riven shouted, launching their glass tumblr into the brick face of the hearth so it shattered into a spray of alcohol and a crystalline downpour of glass shards.
The elf stood, drunk, head spinning as tears coursed down their cheeks.
Outside the long dark loomed, laying over the world like a thick, cool, oppressive blanket.
How far away the dawn seemed.
Riven slumped, sobbing, just as Taash passed over the threshold like a horned angel sent from the Maker himself.
They didn’t so much as pause as they took in the scene before them; the broken glass; Riven on the floor; the bottle of whiskey half empty on the table. They strode forward and gathered the elf into their arms before Riven could muster any sort of drunken complaint.
“This is why I wanted you with me. You’re messy.”
“I’m a mess,” Riven echoed thoughtlessly, finger curling into the front of Taash’s shirt.
“No. Just messy.” Taash chastised softly as they carried the whimpering elf into their bathing room.
The centerpiece of the space was a large, deep tub; constructed specifically to fit the both of them. Taash turned the water on with their free hand, and then carefully lowered Riven to their feet.
The elf stumbled forward instantly, drunkenly, hiccuping on a sob, “I just want this night to end.”
Taash touched their cheek, and Riven nuzzled into their big, warm hand, “Longest night, Riv. We’ve got hours to go.”
Taash began to gently remove Riven’s clothing, folding each piece neatly and setting it on a rung backed chair beside the tub. Once they were naked, Taash lifted them and set them down in the tub, where warm water was beginning to pool.
Riven, drunk, wide eyed, feeling particularly small and helpless, placed two hands on the rim of the tub and peered up at Taash, “How long?”
Taash, now naked themself, lowered their big body into the tub opposite the elf. “Hours.”
Riven blinked and leaned back, faucet over their left shoulder.
“It was a nice ceremony.” Taash said.
Riven’s head lolled, and then they tipped their chin over the side of the tub and promptly vomited up all the whiskey they had imbibed.
Taash pushed their hair out of their face.
“...thanks.”
“Riven.”
“Wha?”
“Talk to me.”
Taash leaned forward and shut off the water as it neared the rim of the tub.
“Long ass night.”
Taash snorted, “Elaborate.”
“Hold me?”
Taash leaned forward and pulled the elf to their chest, crushing them in their arms. Water sloshed out of the tub, thinning out the vomit on the floor. Riven shuddered at the proximity, the feel of skin on skin beneath the water’s steaming surface. The qunari pressed their mouth against Riven’s crown.
“It’s… I dunno, I’m drunk, Taash.”
“Try.” Taash commanded softly into their hair.
Riven blinked, sniffed, and let the rising steam sober them some before they tried to speak again.
“The solstice… we didn’t celebrate in Tevinter. But I knew when the nights got longer, dad would come home drunk sooner.”
They felt Taash stiffen at the mention of their father. They knew all the sordid details already.
“It’s hard not to remember on a night like this,” Riven continued. “All the old stuff. The baggage. All the people who should be here who aren’t. Because I guess tonight is as close to death as we get until the real thing comes.”
Taash nodded thoughtfully.
“It’s hard not to remember,” Riven mumbled. “Even when you want to forget.”
And even though their breath was sour, and they tasted of top shelf whiskey, Taash tilted Riven’s head back and kissed them hotly on the mouth, sighing into their lips.
When they parted,Taash held the elf’s stare, “I can’t take away the hurt. I can’t kill your bitch dad. But I do know that the darkness always ends. I know for a fact that the sun is gonna rise in the morning. It always does. Every time.”
Tears brimming, Riven kissed the corner of their mouth, “Promise?”
“Yeah. Even when Tama died. Sun came up.”
Taash lifted a bar of soap, and lathered it between their big hands. They massaged the suds into Riven’s arms and shoulders and flat chest. Letting their fingers trace along the snake tattoos that covered the elf head to toe.
Riven’s eyes fluttered shut and, suddenly, as the candles guttered against the shadows, they were beset by an old, old memory. They remembered being small, holding their mother’s hand as they crowded with hundreds of other poor and destitute into the courtyard of a Chantry.
The words were more of a sensation than an audible recollection;
S hadows fall
And hope has fled
Steel your heart
The dawn will come
The night is long
And the path is dark
Look to the sky
For one day soon
The dawn will come
They must’ve been humming along to the hymn, because Taash’s hands paused as they shampooed the elf’s scalp.
“Singing?”
“Remembering.”
Taash washed the suds from their hair, then pulled them into another, longer, hungrier kiss.
Riven leaned into it, feeling more sober. More possessed of themself.
“Did Rowan channel any memories of your mother?” Riven asked between lazy kisses.
Taash’s expression fell slightly, “No.”
Riven hummed in apology, then kissed the qunari again, settling into their lap. The water was cooling around them, but neither of them seemed to notice as Taash’s had drifted downward, feeling along Riven’s tattooed body and between their thighs.
They didn’t know much sleep that night, napping only briefly between rounds of lovemaking.
They found themselves in one such lull, with Riven sprawled across Taash’s chest, catching their breath, wiping the sweat from their forehead. When the first hint of pale light kissed across the distant horizon.
Taash noticed it first; the fading stars, the sinking moons.
“Hey.” They sat up, tugging on a pair of loose fitting trousers. “C’mere, Riv.”
Riven pulled on Taash’s shirt, which hung about them like a nightgown, and the pair stepped outside into the cool air, gooseflesh rising across Riven’s skin. Taash hoisted them up, snuggling the little elf into their chest, and moving to sit cross legged on the cliff edge on which their home was balanced. Below them the sea sucked at the sands, black as midnight, but on the horizon, the sky bled violet, then pink, the orange as the first sliver of the sun’s disk began to peer over the endless sea.
Riven exhaled at the beauty of the sunrise, at the way the star’s radiance seemed to chase off the darkness, the fear, the memories that had held them so firmly in their grasp the night previous.
“You promised…” Riven whispered in awe.
Taash pressed a kiss to the corner of their jaw, “I’m not a liar.”
They watched the sun rise, banishing the long dark for another year.
The dawn had come.