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Gray mist swirled around her, settling clammy dew on her cheeks and hands. Beads of it slid down to gather at her chin. She wiped it away, unsettled.
Stone rose up out of the mist, half-recognized, messy sketches of the Grand Necropolis yawning before her. But this was not the Grand Necropolis she knew; though it was ever changing, ever mutable, it still always felt familiar in the sweet-musty scent of the grave, the preternatural stillness, the sense of vastness far beyond mortal ken. This place she was in now felt like a tarnished reflection. She traversed the wending trails in cautious confusion, feeling hemmed in. Constrained.
”This isn’t home,” Liesl muttered to herself. “It’s the Fade.”
But if it was the Fade, why did she feel so uneasy? She had long ago mastered herself and her dreams, and hungry spirits held no dominion over her: she knew who she was, and what she was about. There was nothing to fear here.
Except she knew better.
Varric’s voice came behind her, kind and caring, proud and warm. “Hey there, kid.”
”You’re gone now,” she whispered, blinking back sudden tears. “I let you go. I understand everything.”
”You sure about that?”
The fear choked her, made it hard to breathe. She couldn’t be back in Solas’ prison. She’d fought her way through. She’d been called home. But she couldn’t remember how she had escaped — if she had escaped — and cold dread staggered her heart. With a great effort she turned to face him.
Varric chuckled, shaking his head. He stood before her with an easy smile, Bianca on his back, hands on his hips. The mist billowed around him as his smile drooped. “I’m sorry, Rook. We messed up. We tried though, didn’t we? Wish I could write it all down.” He sounded so tired.
Then Varric shifted in the fog, his shape smaller, slighter. Familiar red hair blazed through the mist. Harding gave her a sad look.
“You’re here,” she said. “Gosh, I wish you weren’t. It’s not a nice place to be.”
”Harding, I’m sorry —“
Harding waved a gloved hand at her, shrugging. “You made a choice, and so did I. I knew that this was part of the deal! I think you did, too.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s so chilly here. No one told me it was going to be so cold.”
Liesl dashed away tears with the back of her hand. She wouldn’t cry. This wasn’t real. Was it?
Harding sighed. “I just wish my Ma was going to be all right. With all this, you know?”
”I’ll tell her how brave you were,” Liesl said fiercely.
Harding gave her a sad smile. “But how are you going to do that, Rook, when you’re trapped here?”
No. She had to get out. Had to escape. She turned and ran the other direction, nearly running into another figure.
It was Solas. Not the brash young warrior of the Crossroads, nor the wise tactician speaking into her mind. He was Wisdom made Pride, his eyes cold and sharp and calculating. The Dread Wolf drew nearer and even through the mist, she could see the bruises mottling his face, the mouthful of blood staining his teeth.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” Solas said, raising the lyrium dagger. Before she could arm herself or reach for her magic the dagger was beneath her chin, pressing against her pulse. “But the Veil falls now. It must.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I regret you will not see what will become.”
The dagger nicked her throat, and the world went blue, then white.
—
“Rook! Liesl! Wake up!” Hands on her shoulders, a voice in the dark, a shower of violet feathers. She blinked, shaking, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Lucanis was beside her, candles flickering behind him, Spite’s wings gone once more. She knew this place. It was Varric’s room… no. It was the Lighthouse infirmary.
She scrambled up to a sitting position and stared at Lucanis for a long and terrible moment, her chest heaving. Was this real? Was this the prison? Would Lucanis vanish, just another trick? She clapped a hand to her throat, but there was no wound.
Her head throbbed. She buried her face in her hands, overwhelmed. The cot sank and shifted as Lucanis sat down beside her.
”Oh, Rook, Rook, Rook.” He murmured her name like a prayer, voice raw and cracking, and then his arms were around her. He pulled her in close, holding her tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He was warm and solid.
She took a deep breath. He smelled of stale coffee and sweat, elfroot, a hint of injury. Injury. She — she remembered —
“We did it,” she mumbled. “Didn’t we?”
“We did,” Lucanis said softly, lifting his head. He brushed away the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes with the pad of his thumb. “We won. But you were hurt. Do you remember?”
The battle with Elgar’nan, a blow to the head, running on sheer willpower. Pleading with Solas with her head pounding, Lucanis holding her steady as the dizziness worsened. A flash of light as the Veil mended and stabilized. The others, some injured, but all alive. It was coming back to her in bits and pieces.
”I remember,” she said. “But I — I thought I —“ She shivered, bowing her head. “I thought he’d trapped me again in the Fade. That he was going to tear the Veil down. I saw Solas — and Harding — Varric —“
She raised her head, looking over at the cot that still held Varric’s folded jacket, the shattered remnants of Bianca. He was still gone. It had only been a dream, not an echo, not a spirit, not a trap.
”I’m sorry. They’re gone. But you’re awake now,” Lucanis said. “You’re safe.”
But the fear still lingered. She pulled back from him and he reluctantly released her from the embrace. She turned her gaze from Varric’s bed — no, it had never been his bed — and stared into Lucanis’ worried face, seeing him more clearly now.
A large bruise stained one cheek. There was a bloodied split in his swollen lip. The shadows beneath his reddened eyes were deep and dark, and his hair was tangled, nearly snarled. Clearly he had not left her side since Minrathous or attended to his own injuries.
”Are you all right?” Liesl asked, resting her hand on his chest, against his rumpled waistcoat.
”Told him to rest. Heal. I would guard you. Wouldn’t listen!” Spite growled, a violet aura flickering around Lucanis’ body for an instant.
“He’s stubborn, that’s for sure,” Liesl agreed, almost smiling. Spite laughed.
Lucanis shook his head, the flicker of Spite dissipating once more. “I am fine,” he said. She touched the bruise on his cheek and he winced slightly. “Mostly fine. It’s of little concern. We were all more worried about you. Emmrich and Bellara did what they could, but there were many injured, and supplies were low. This?” He gestured to his face. “Is nothing.”
She nodded, her head aching with the motion, and grimaced. He brushed the hair back from her forehead, peering concernedly at her eyes.
”Rook, you should not be up yet. You must rest,” Lucanis said.
But if she rested, the Fade awaited her. Harding, Varric, they might be there again, the fears and griefs she’d barely had a chance to name before she’d had to return to the fight. She couldn’t face them, not yet.
Not alone.
”Tell me I’m here,” she breathed, desperate to believe him. “Please, Lucanis. Tell me I’m here.”
His dark eyes were too bright, glittering in the candlelight. “Oh, Liesl.” He stroked her hair, her cheek, and drew her into a shaky kiss. “You are here with me, I promise. I love you.”
She kissed him back, sinking against him until they lay entangled on the narrow cot, pressed tightly against each other. She could feel his hands, the rise of his chest, the jut of his hips, the way his legs fit in with hers. The way he fit with her.
“I believe you, Lucanis. I love you.” And she did, in a way that felt realer than real, a rich and deep love unbound by Fade or dream. She could feel him against her, smell the familiar scent of his hair and skin, hear his breathing. She knew he spoke the truth. She breathed deeply, safe in his arms.
I’m here. I’m here.
We’re here.