Chapter Text
Rook dragged herself forward towards Solas' dagger, not thinking about Harding, not thinking about Neve, just fighting step by step against the Fade tear seeming to grow from the dead god's wound. She must remove the dagger from Ghilan'nain's chest where Lucanis' fatal blow had left it, or the Veil could fall right here on Tearstone Island. The consequences were unthinkable, and Rook was unstoppable. She reached the dagger and pulled on it.
With a flash, all the colour drained from the world, leaving Ghilan'nain pale and lifeless, lying at her feet. She turned around. A body lay on the ground, and it was one she recognised.
"Lucanis? Lucanis!" Rook called, rushing to where he lay. Her mind knew it couldn't possibly be him but her eyes disagreed. It can't be, she thought. He can't be dead! She reached out and turned his face towards her, as her worst fears lay waiting for a final confirmation.
Wait… Varric? Her mind tried and failed to make sense of what she was seeing, then she heard a very familiar voice. Was that… Solas?
She saw a flash of him, then another. He was there, in the Fade with her and even though what she saw made little sense, it still somehow felt real. Too real to just be a dream this time. He circled her as a wolf would its prey, his words cold barbs pricking at her conscience. But she felt something more from him too, something hidden. Avarice? His fingers curled reflexively towards the dagger.
"Are you not proud?" Solas asked.
Don't listen, she told herself, it's just more lies from the God himself! But did she feel pride at having defeated a god? Solas had warned her there would be costs and consequences to fighting gods. Had she ignored the costs and only seen the victory?
Varric blurred back to Lucanis, her friend frozen in death and turned to stone as she watched.
Far too many paid far too high a price, and for what? Your shameful pride. The thoughts stung, cold and sharp in her chest and she began to fall, crushed beneath the weight of her disappointment in herself.
More voices, louder now, forcing her to face the consequences of her decisions as she fell. Neve and the devastation of Minrathous, Antoine, Evka and the massacre of the Wardens at Weisshaupt. Then she saw her lost companions rise from the stone as monuments, just as the dagger caught on a ledge, halting her fall right at their feet. Right where Solas was waiting with words to weave threads of doubts through her mind, until doubts were all she had.
Rook could only look up at him in sadness and confusion, desperately trying to hold on. "Solas."
Of course only gods could possibly win this battle, she thought to herself. Your best was never going to be good enough against them. How could you save everyone, when you can't even save yourself? The self-doubt hit her as the statues of her companions collapsed onto her, flinging her again into free-fall. She plummeted deep into the Fade as she clawed the air wildly, trying to slow her descent.
Then they were there.
In her head. The voices, their voices, all around her, her companions and friends Harding, Neve, Bellara, Taash, Davrin — even Emmrich, her love. Their voices twisted into stark reminders of just how bitterly she'd disappointed them. Through their disgust she heard her own worthlessness. She'd failed to keep her promises, failed to protect them.
"You failed us all."
The harshness of Emmrich's voice struck her hardest, his words cruel and bitter. Rook coughed, choking back a sob.
She crashed downward through an eluvian, fracturing it into shards of glass, their sharpness a mirror of the words that had pierced deeply, cutting her heart to ribbons. She gripped the lyrium dagger tightly as it sparked veilfire, dragging across the memory of buildings as she frantically tried to halt her fall. Then the dagger bit into the very Fade itself and held tight, leaving Rook dangling from one arm above the endlessness of the Fade below her.
But Solas was there, his words relentless, a calculated unravelling of her trust in herself, her companions, her abilities, her self-worth.
Her shoulder strained, teeth gritted with the effort, but something kept dragging her downwards, until it had become unbearable. She looked down to see what it was, and saw them. All those she'd lost, those she'd failed, clinging to her arm and dangling helplessly above the endless Fade. The weight of their expectations upon her had turned them to stone. They'd depended on her to protect them, to save them. She'd let them down, all of them. Even Varric.
Varric.
She'd let him down and now all she could do was follow.
"Your work is done," said Solas, reaching for the dagger, his words a ritual quelling of the last embers of her hope.
She let the dagger go and fell.