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A hand reaches out toward Gareth as Varric’s voice fades behind him. He feels his feet climb the remaining steps towards the bright ball of white light, but he doesn’t remember making the decision to move. Voices filter through the strange portal, familiar and jumbled, a mix of panic and relief that overwhelms him. A strong hand - Emmrich’s maybe? - connects with his arm and closes tightly around his wrist. It feels heavier than anything else in this place, more solid and real and alive.
“Hold on, Rook!” The professor’s words break through his haze as his features become clearer. How long has it been since he was sent to this place? Days, weeks, years? He isn’t sure anymore, but their battle with Ghilan’nain feels like a lifetime ago to him now.
“Is it working?!”
“I don’t know, I can’t see!”
“Give ‘em room people.”
The voices of his friends and teammates spiral around him in a fog, but he keeps his eyes focused on the hand holding him. He brings his own hand up to Emmrich’s, grasping onto the mage with all the strength he can manage.
“I’ve got you.” Emmrich’s voice is calm and soothing as he begins to pull Gareth forward. The elf closes his eyes and lets himself be led toward the portal, a flash of bright white light engulfing him drowning out everything else…
…and then he is on his knees, the ground solid beneath him. He reaches down, his palm splayed out against the hard tile of the Lighthouse floor, and his brow furrows as something wet spots the tile by his hand. A sound escapes his lips, something between a sob and a howl, and then he is surrounded by several pairs of arms as Bellara, Emmrich and Taash pull him into their shared embrace. He remains limp in their arms, eyes still staring down at the floor until they finally release him and he crumbles to the ground once more.
“Give him some space.” Davrin’s voice calls out from somewhere further back in the room. “Who knows what he’s just been through.”
They pull back and he feels himself exhale, his shoulders falling slightly. He can hear shuffling and hushed whispers that he assumes are his friends trying to figure out how to fix his catatonic state. He ignores them all, his mind conjuring the images of the prison over and over again.
Harding. He had watched as Ghilan’nain struck her down, watched her fall limply into the blighted cavern as he struggled helplessly in the elven god’s grasp.
Neve. Anger flashed hot and red as his fists clenched against the tile. He wanted to believe she was still alive, that Elgar’nan had simply trapped her somewhere, that there would be a way to save her, but his heart didn’t believe it. He couldn’t bring himself to hope, not after everything, not after…
… Varric. Something shattered inside him as he thought of the man that had been a second father to him. Varric had been there through all of Gareth’s darkest moments and he felt both furious and stupid for not seeing the truth sooner. How had he not been able to see that the Varric that stood with him in the Lighthouse had not been his friend, his mentor, his teacher, but had instead been nothing more than blood magic - a tool used by the Dread Wolf to exploit a weakness within their ranks. He hated Solas for it, and he hated himself for believing it.
“Can you give us a moment?” A new voice, one that sounded vaguely familiar to him, echoed softly through the room, snapping him from his thoughts.
“Of course.” He heard Davrin respond before ushering the rest of the group out. Silence filled the chamber once more, the only sound the soft shuffle of footsteps that seemed to be drawing closer to him.
“I’m so sorry.” The voice was closer now, the shadows from their feet just encroaching on his field of vision. Why did that voice sound familiar? Where had he heard it before? It was strangely comforting to him, it felt safe but somehow - wrong? The figure stepped forward, falling to their knees in front of him. He felt two soft hands cup his cheeks, wiping away tears he hadn’t realized were falling before pressing their lips to the top of his head and wrapping him in a tight embrace.
“We’re here now.” A second voice, deeper and rougher than the first, spoke next and he flinched. That voice he knew. But that was impossible. He couldn’t be here. His head snapped up from the floor finally, seeking the source of the sound. He locked on to two deep, emerald green eyes that stared back at him, close cropped silver-white hair the same shade as his own framing features he hadn’t seen in years.
“ F-Father? ” Gareth stutters, disbelief clear on his features. The man looked at him now not with the hard glare and stern expression he had grown up with, but with care so intense Gareth felt so fragile he thought might break under the weight of it.
“Oh, Gareth.” The figure embracing him pushes back from him finally and he feels his heart stop.
“... Mom?! ” His voice brakes as tears begin to well in his eyes once more and suddenly he is nine years old again. Brilliant blue eyes, a bit more tired and with lines around the edges that hadn’t been there before. Deep, brown hair now streaked with gray that reaches past her shoulders. Round cheeks that are slightly gaunt, and a nose he recognizes from his own reflection.
“Hey, kiddo.” She says with a smile, her eyes watering as well. He throws his arms around her, collapsing against her chest and holding on tightly as if she might float away at any moment. She rubs small, soothing circles over his back, stopping only to press more feather light kisses into his hair and along his cheeks every few minutes.
For the first time since Solas’ botched ritual, Gareth stops, letting every emotion pour out of him from the safety of his mother’s arms. Everything from his past comes bubbling to the surface; a flood of grief and loss to span a lifetime mixing with the rage and hatred he feels for the Evanuris and their blighted armies. He lets it all out, finally free to feel his youth and inexperience threatening to overwhelm him. At some point, his father joins them, a strong hand gripping his shoulder and Gareth feels himself lean into his touch as well.
They stay that way, parents and child, reunited at long last, until Gareth has no tears left to cry and his voice has grown rough and hoarse. Begrudgingly, he lets his arms fall away from his parents and back to his sides and wipes the remaining tears from his face. He stands, straightening his shoulders and realizes that he is now as tall as his father. His mother steps forward to smooth out a wrinkle near his collar before stepping back with a sad smile. The three exchange glances, speaking volumes without any words passing their lips, before Gareth turns, running a hand through his hair. With one final glance over his shoulder he sets his face back into a hard line, ready to face his teammates and prepare for their final push against the gods.