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By all rights, it’s the last place Rook would have gone alone. Isana Negat was an ancient Dwarven outpost on the side of a mountain exposed to the elements, desolated by Darkspawn and war. The perfect cocktail of everything they hated about travelling.
With everything they learned, it felt awkward for them to be there. They were an elf, walking on the bodies of the Titans their ancestral gods drove mad. It was important to the Dwarves, even if most would never know exactly how much. More than that, it was important to Harding.
Rook was never good with grief. They were a Crow. Death wasn’t just an inevitability, it was a constant. It happened often and fast to people you hated and loved. There was never time for grief. Death was literally just part of the job.
Harding was different. She didn’t wait for an order. She found an opening and opened fire. She did it because she believed in it.
She died a hero.
It was more than Rook would ever credit themself with. They did what they did because they didn’t have options otherwise.
They shook the thoughts right out of their head and continued up the mountain trail, up to the grand entry to Isana Negat. There were stone platforms that looked off the mountain’s edge. It seemed an appropriate place to sit, even if the cold from the stone leeched the heat right out of their body.
Rook pulled the lyrium dagger from their belt. The weapon that ended an ancient war and created the blight. That slayed the Gods. That returned the Eternal Hymn to the young Dwarven Scout. They turned the blade in their hand. “Well, Harding… I’m here. It’s been… Well. It’s been longer than it should have. Sorry. Things got busy. Everyone went home. They miss you though. I promise you that.”
“It’s so fucking cold here,” they chuckled, wiping tears from their eyes. “They’re building statues of you in Fereldan, you know. Maybe they’ll leave cheese offerings. That’s a thing you Southerners do, right?”
Uh huh, under the full moon when it’s the most cheese-like.
“Harding?” Rook looked around quickly. They saw nothing, hearing only the howl of the wind as it whipped through the mountains. “Gods, I’m losing it. This was a mistake.”
You’re doing great. Just breathe.
“Harding! Where are you?” They jumped to their feet and looked around. The sound was close, but there was nowhere to hide. Their own voice bounced around the peaks and valleys, echoing in the distance. There was nothing. They frowned and sat down, closing their eyes. “Right. Breathe.”
Harding had to remind them a lot when they first signed on with Varric. They were fine when they were moving. Even as much as they hated being outside, Rook was as focused and worked as hard as they ever did. It was the still moments in the middle of the night when the panic attacks would happen. They were used to pushing through them alone. But out in the wild where nothing was comforting or familiar, she was there, reminding them to breathe, telling stories until they could let go.
“Well,” they said, eyes closed tightly, hand gripping the hilt of the dagger, “I’m breathing.”
Are you though?
“Alright—” they nearly argued before they felt a cold hardness wrap around them. Stone arms, etchings looking like an archer’s gloves, embracing them from behind. The stone wasn’t as cold as the platform they sat on, a deep warmth making its way through the stone. “Harding?”
Hey, Rook.
Rook tried to turn around, and the stones fell away into a pile.
Stop moving! This is hard.
“Okay, okay.” They took a deep breath and settled as best they could, sitting on the platform. “So. Um. You’re alive! This is great!”
Not exactly.
“Then I’m hallucinating? It wouldn’t be the first time.”
No. No, I’m real. But I’m not alive. Not like you are.
“Well. That’s complicated.”
Tell me about it.
“I should bring everyone. Gods, they’ll be so happy—”
No! You can’t. I can’t talk to just anyone. I can talk to you! And Valta. And sometimes, I can talk to the dwarves of Kal-sharok. It’s tricky.
“What do you mean, just me? I’m nobody.”
So was I when we started. Now I’m this… and You’re. Well, You’re special. We’ve both been touched by our ancestors’ magic. And right now, you’re holding the last artifact that was both.
“When you say it, it sounds like a gift and not a huge pain in the ass.”
It’s still that.
They chuckled. Tears were flowing freely down their face, freezing in the mountain air. “I miss you. Everyone does.”
I know. I miss you all too. I can’t talk for much longer. Like I said, it’s tricky. I’m still learning.
“Right,” they said, wiping their face dry again. “Sorry. Could I tell them?”
Could I stop you?
“Probably not.”
You’re doing fine, Rook. You’ll be fine. Everyone will.
“Thank you. I mean it.”
Stop it. Go make your cheese offering.
“Will do. I’ll come back.”
I know you will.
“Do you mind if I wait a bit longer?”
Not at all. Here, I’ll give you something to hug.
A stone pillar jutted out of the ground, close enough that it grazed against their armor.
“HARDING!”
Sorry! I told you it’s tricky!
They laughed and hugged the pillar, feeling ridiculous as well as relieved. There was a long moment where they leaned on it, before finally pulling away.
Good. Now get out of here before I knock you down the mountain.
“Yes, ma’am.” They stood up, dusting the gravel off of their leathers. “It was an honor knowing you.”
Only the wind howled in response.