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Niamh unleashed the power of the anchor one last time to seal the rift, grimacing slightly at the sensation racing through her veins. She swiped at the demon blood on her cheek and nodded. They were getting quite proficient at this. Only Dorian was injured and that was just a small scorch mark on his arm from the rage demon. Nothing a potion couldn’t fix.
Niamh shook her head to clear her thoughts. It never failed. She still thought of Solas whenever she closed a rift. He had been there the first time and he had shown her the way. Now he was gone without a trace. She squared her shoulders and forced herself to focus on the present. Self pity out in the Exalted Plains could get you killed.
“Grip too tight. Urgent. Why does he look so angry? Green light reflected in his eyes…..Quickly! Before more come through!”
“That’s enough Cole.”, she said too sternly, and turned away, blinking back tears. Damn him. Why did she bring him along anymore? His presence was a constant reminder of what she had lost even when he wasn’t poking around in her thoughts.
“I think that’s enough for today, Freckles. This looks like a good place to set up camp.”, Varric spoke softly. Niamh knew he was worried about her, that they were all worried about her, but she couldn’t talk about it, not yet. And if she pushed them all a little too hard each day in order to keep herself busy, well, she was still the Inquisitor and there was more than enough work to do.
She nodded silently, not meeting his eyes and walked over to the nearby stream to wash her face and try to regain her composure. The cold water shocked her. She rose feeling a little more collected and turned to find Cole standing behind her waiting.
“I’m sorry. I only want to help. Why won’t you let me take your pain away?” Cole, the spirit of compassion that only ever wanted to help, couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hold onto these feelings. Why anyone would hold onto pain as tightly as Niamh was holding this hurt.
“You can’t fix this Cole.” She heard herself echoing Solas’ words and stalked away before he could reply.
She wandered back the way they had come, into the ancient elven ruins, trying to distract herself. She stumbled over a half buried stone tablet covered with the writing of her ancestors. Solas had taught her more about her past than she’d ever learned at the feet of her clan’s elders so she was able to make out most of the text carved into the stone. When she came upon a word she didn’t know her first thought was to ask Solas to help her translate. She choked back a sob and whispered her mantra, the mantra he had given her after ending their love affair. Harden your heart. Harden your heart. It never worked. The tears still came and this time she couldn’t hold them back. Blinded by tears, she reached out a hand to steady herself on one of the nearby wolf statues that seemed to be everywhere in this part of the world. She struggled to regain her composure while her thoughts continued to betray her, conjuring his smile, his touch, and his sorrow as he spoke the words that closed the door between them. She struggled for air around the knot in her throat.
Suddenly, she felt a strong arm around her shaking shoulders, pulling her into a comforting embrace. She tried to pull away, but Dorian held her tight, encircling her in his arms and whispering into her hair, “There, there. Varric’s cooking isn’t that bad.” She choked and sputtered over a laugh even as the tears flowed down her cheeks and she buried her face in his chest and let him comfort her as only her dear friend could. There was no judgment from the man, only concern.
His soothing voice and comforting embrace soon allowed her to regain her composure. With one last shuddering breath she dashed the tears from her eyes and looked up at him gratefully. “Thank you, Dorian.” She smiled weakly as he kissed her on the forehead before holding her at arm’s length.
“We need to get you cleaned up a bit before you return to camp. We can’t have the Herald of Andraste walking around with swollen, tear stained eyes.” He smiled gently at her and waved his hand over her face letting his magic return her to a more presentable state. For a brief moment, she saw Solas removing her Valasslin, but she refused to fall apart again tonight. At least not before she made it to her tent.
When they returned to camp, she managed to find a smile for her companions and muster some enthusiasm over the ancient elven tablet she had recovered. As she passed it around the campfire, Varric murmured appreciatively while giving her sidelong glances, unable to hide his concern. Cole perched nearby watching silently. Dorian passed her a bowl of stew and a bottle of some rotgut Warden spirits they had recovered earlier.
She drank deeply from the bottle letting the liquid burn her throat and warm her belly, but shook her head and waved the stew away. “Not hungry”, she muttered, again refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. She took another long swig, passed the bottle to Varric and declared she was turning in for the night.
Her tent was no refuge, but tonight it was the lesser of two evils, allowing her to escape from the worried looks her companions kept throwing her way. She was well aware the state she was in . It didn’t help to see that reflected in her friend’s eyes.
Scene
As Niamh struggled out of her robes and crawled into her bedroll, she let exhaustion claim her and she slept and the dreams came.
You don’t face down an ancient Tevinter magister darkspawn and his horde of minions, drink from the Vir’Abelasan, walk physically through the Fade - twice, travel the Eluvians of the ancient elves, or survive the blast that destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes and opened the breach in the sky without having dreams.
But, tonight the dreams were different. There was the taste of honeysuckle and cinnamon in the air and she found herself in the Fade. She turned at the sound of shouting and saw herself along with Cassandra, Varric and Solas fighting demons near a rift. Niamh looked around a moment before she realized this was where she closed the first rift. Of course, she was thinking about this earlier.
As she approached herself, her perspective shifted just as Solas grabbed her wrist and, thrusting it toward the rift, shouted, “Quickly! Before more come through!”
She staggered, reliving the disorientation of using the anchor for the first time. She knew more about it’s origins now than she had then, but nothing beyond the fact that it had been bestowed upon her when she picked up the ancient elven orb, used by her people to focus magic somewhere in the dim and distant past.
This time, though, there were other things that assaulted her senses. The feeling of Solas’ long fingers wrapped around her wrist, a desperation in his eyes that frightened her, and underlying everything voices whispering just out of her hearing. The Well of Sorrows, she realized, was trying to get her attention.
...use the anchor...are the key…
Free them...
Niamh shifted in her sleep without waking. She strained in her dreaming state to hear the voices more clearly. She felt compelled and knew even in her sleep that the price must be paid.
“...It seems you are the key to our salvation.” She suddenly realized Solas was speaking to her. Was that what the voices meant, that she was the key. To what? Who did they want her to free?
Suddenly the scene before her faded away and she found herself in Solas’ arms, his lips hungry against her own. She kissed him back with all of the desire that he had left her holding. She held him tight against her breast, drinking him in, memorizing every detail. His warm breath mingling with her own, the feel of him in her arms, his tongue gently probing, then it was over and she was left looking into the face of the man she had loved and lost. As a tear slid down her cheek, he leaned in and whispered, “Wake up…”
She came to sitting in her tent, clutching the elven tablet she had recovered the night before. She stared at it, uncomprehending for a moment while she fought the urge to scream. And then, realization dawned. She could read it! Not just bits and pieces, but every word as if she had written it herself. And suddenly she knew what she had to do.
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