Chapter Text
Eight months after the Veil
"Why love has to be so difficult?” Falon'Din asked, staring at the ceiling.
"I wonder that too. Often.” Lavellan said snarkily as she tried to find a position where she would not fall off bed, but could keep a bit of space between herself and her boyfriend's foul-smelling brother who had once again taken over their bed. She could put up with Falon'Din normally, mostly because she had to. Falon'Din always slept sprawled like a starfish, and now he was drunk, too. It meant she would wake at least three or four times during a night when one of his limbs accidentally hit her on face.
"What is it this time?” Dirthamen asked with divine patience.
"It's father.” Falon'Din said. "He still did not invite Viv to dinner."
"Maybe you just should give him time. Most families have hard time accepting relationships between different races--", Lavellan began.
"Give him time!” Falon'Din huffed. "He let you attend when you were nothing but a flayed skin made into armor!”
Lavellan opened her mouth, suddenly unable to find words.
"You should not have said that.” Dirthamen hissed to Falon'Din.
"And now even you are balking at me! You! Your girlfriend is good enough for father, even though she's just squatting here, and Viv has a palace of her own and she's the head of entire religious organisation. Nobody understands me. Nobody loves me. Except Viv, and you deny her love for me.", Falon'Din wailed. "I'm so lonely!"
"I think I'm going to sleep at Elgar’nan’s.", Lavellan said and took her pillow.
"There you see, brother. Women. They leave a man, and life becomes a valley of lonely tears.” Falon'Din said with seriousness brought by extensive amounts of wine.
"Yes. I can see that happening.” Dirthamen said dryly, pulling the covers up to his chin while he sulked.
Lavellan was yawning as she placed her hand against eluvian and stepped through, carrying her pillow under her arm. Fenedhis, she was tired. And more than a bit of upset about the armor thing. What had Dirthamen been thinking? She was not comfortable with a revelation she had been flayed and made into an armor. He should have told her. She shook her head as she crossed the short distance through Crossroads to mirror which led to Elgar’nan’s palace.
“Good evening, Senris.” she nodded to sentinel who stood waiting by the mirror when she stepped through. “Is Elgar’nan still up?”
“Yes. My lord would be pleased to see you, as always.” Senris told her, already opening the door towards library. He took her pillow with a practiced gesture and ushered her in.
Sometimes Lavellan felt like a fool when she ventured across Thedas wearing a nightgown and carrying a pillow like a da’len. But nobody ever asked any questions at Elgar’nan’s. He had given her a room in his palace soon after the Veil had gone down, explaining that she should consider it as her own.
“Sometimes one needs some space, no matter how loving the relationship.” he had said lightly. “And I know both I and Dirthamen would prefer you’d have it somewhere safe.”
Safe, of course, was relative term coming from a man who had originally invited her to dinner and then killed her in the bathroom. But Veil had changed that, like so many other things. After Lavellan had killed Solas and warned the three Evanuris in time for them to escape Solas’ trap, Elgar’nan had decided that she was the best thing which had ever happened to his son. The complete reversal of his attitude had been a bit baffling at first, but Dirthamen assured her it was genuine, and Elgar’nan had been on his very best behaviour ever since.
The gesture of giving her a space of her own had been very nice. Even though Lavellan liked Dirthamen’s house, it was still his, and filled with his things during centuries of his long life. Handwoven Dalish blankets would have looked stupid on a bed built with magic and black wood, even if Lavellan found them comforting when she felt homesick and missed her clan. But missing her family was a sorrow which couldn’t really be shared, even though Dirthamen tried to understand. The life in a Dalish clan, always running from humans, was so far from his experiences that he didn’t quite get it.
Lavellan mostly used her room when Falon’Din was being particularly insufferable. Like tonight. The nice, fluffy bed where nobody stank of cheap honeyed wine or made disturbing remarks had felt much more inviting than spending another sleepless night trying not to fall on the floor. It could have been bearable if Dirthamen would have slept in the middle. Or even if she could sleep in the middle. But no, Falon’Din always climbed between them and stayed there like a stubborn weed.
“You are up late, lethallan.” Elgar’nan greeted her. He was reading a book on the couch.
“I just wanted to ask you something before I go to sleep.” Lavellan began carefully, sitting on the opposite end. “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course I won’t.”, Elgar’nan replied, putting his book down. “Ask away.”
“Tonight Falon’Din said that when I first came here, I was nothing but a flayed skin. Made into armor.” Lavellan said uncomfortably. “Would you know if it is... true?”
“It is true.” Elgar’nan said. “It was not very successful family dinner, even though it was one of the more memorable ones. Dirthamen had just tried to lie to me how he didn’t have a lover, and then he was suddenly puking all over the table when Ghilan’nain’s new armor prototype was brought in.”
Lavellan’s expression was still uneasy and far too serious to Elgar’nan’s liking, so he added:
“Only recognisable part was the belt made from your hair.”
“Ah.” Lavellan relaxed minimally. “That doesn’t sound too upsetting. I thought it would be something far worse.”
“Why would you think that?” Elgar’nan queried.
“Because... I don’t think Dirthamen could have been a king, or a god, without seeing and making some extremely unsavoury choices. I had a spymaster in Inquisition. Nobody can’t work in that profession without hardening considerably. And his temple was the one with creepy statues and dismembered high priest.” Lavellan said. “I have hard time making those two images match. Dirthamen as I know him and him as he must have been. I thought he would tell me if something made him upset. Not scolding Falon’Din for blurting it out while drunk.”
She looked a bit too quiet, and Elgar’nan cursed inwardly. But he didn’t let it show, and smiled instead:
“This is still new to him, lethallan.” he said gently. “He simply worries about upsetting you. And you are upset, are you not?”
“Yes.” Lavellan admitted reluctantly. “I don’t like hearing about things I can’t remember.”
“I have a copy of Dirthamen’s report somewhere here.” Elgar’nan offered. “You could read it, make things clear to yourself, and then forget about the whole thing. Maybe at breakfast?”
“It would be good.” Lavellan said, looking relieved. She stood up, and as she walked past Elgar’nan, she bent to kiss his brow.
“Thank you, Elgar’nan.”
“I’ve told a dozen times you may call me father. You are my favourite of all prospective daughter-in-laws my sons have brought home.”
“I’ve understood that the number of those is exactly one.” Lavellan noted with a quick grin.
“Quality before quantity, dear girl. You’re still my favourite.” Elgar’nan decreed. “Now go to sleep.”
“Good night, father.” she said with a smile, and left the room feeling much better.
As soon as she was gone, Elgar’nan fished a crystal from his pocket.
“Dirthamen?” he asked sharply.
“Yes? Is she fine?” his son didn’t sound happy at all. Someone was snoring loudly on the background.
“I need a downplayed version of report on Taken Shape-armor. I promised it to her next morning.”
There was short silence in the other end.
“Falon’Din should not have blurted it out like that.” Dirthamen said. “Was she upset?”
“Less than you think.” Elgar’nan told him. “But this is not how things are supposed to go between new lovers. She here and you there. I trust you know that, don’t you?”
“I do know that.” an annoyed edge appeared in his son’s voice. “I’ll put Deceit to work. He’ll deliver the report to your people before morning.”
“Good. I’ll send her back after breakfast.”
--
Lavellan put down the report.
“I don’t understand this.” she said with a frown. “All right, it’s gross to cut one’s body in separate parts and make an enchanted armor set, but the notes say I was already dead even before the process began. That would put Ghilan’nain behind Sylaise on yucky scale, and she plucked my nails out. Why would Dirthamen try to keep it secret when I’ve gotten through far worse things?”
“Because you died while he thought you were safe and sound at his house.” Elgar’nan said, handing her a bowl of blue mousse. “Here, dear. The cook made it especially for you.”
Lavellan took the offering eagerly.
“Will you finally agree to give me the recipe for this?” she asked as she started eating. “It’s delicious.”
“Of course not. I need to have my secrets.” Elgar’nan smiled. “But you can have some whenever you come to visit.”
“The flavour is unique. A bit like royal elfroot, a bit like dawn lotus petals... It’s almost magical.” Lavellan said with a pleased expression as she finished her portion.
“Fishing for information, daughter? I’m not telling.” Elgar’nan chuckled. “All you need to know that it’s good for you. An old family recipe. But you should go back home, now. I’ll see you on Saturday.”
“Dareth shiral, father.” Lavellan gave a quick kiss on his cheek and left.
Her steps were light and she was ready to wrangle Falon’Din out of her bed. The colours in the Crossroads seemed brighter than usual, and Lavellan felt invigorated. She suspected that it might have something to do with Elgar’nan’s special desserts. No matter how hard she tried, she still had not been able to figure out the recipe, and it bugged her. Lavellan was busy trying to dissect the slightly sour, pleasant flavour when she suddenly heard a voice shouting to her. A dead man’s voice.
“Duck, vhenan.” Solas commanded, and Lavellan threw herself on the ground without thinking.
As her knees hit the coloured stones, she heard the sound of arrow whistling above her. Oh, damn. Lavellan was wearing nothing but a nightshirt, and pillow under her arm was not what a girl needed in an ambush. Instinctively, she cast a barrier, and started crawling towards the nearest eluvian. Lavellan was planning to take cover behind it, assess the situation and—
“Oh, by Dread Wolf’s balls!” Lavellan screamed when the mirror closest to her rippled, and something big and hairy came through. It was a wolf, but somehow wrong, twisted. It was followed by another, and then another. The first one lifted its snout towards the sky, stood on two legs like a man, and howled.
“Please stop cursing like that.” Solas’ voice in her ears was unhappy.
“You are dead! Shut up and stop speaking inside my head!” Lavellan wanted to tear her hair. Why these things kept happening to her?
Another arrow whistled through the air, and this time, it grazed her arm. Lavellan yelped, whirling around to see where it came from. She caught a glimpse of somebody tall behind another mirror near Elgar’nan’s. The stranger wore long, tattered robes and blank mask carved from wood, and there was a bow in his hands. She thought she saw a glimpse of striped high heel as the assailant began to run for his life.
For a second, she was relieved and more than a bit surprised for sudden disappearance of her attacker, but when Lavellan heard the paws hitting the pavement, she realized she had forgotten something very important. The wolves.
“They are not normal wolves. Or even shapeshifters.” Solas pondered. “Do they have spikes on their back, vhenan?”
“How in the Void would I know?” Lavellan shrieked as she ran as fast as she could. She felt something snapping at her heels, and she threw her pillow away, casting a Mind Blast to push back her enemies.
“Look.”
“If I look, I lose speed.” Lavellan pointed out, her breath coming ragged. “Dirthamen will never forgive me if I get eaten by wolves. He doesn’t care which species.”
“Ah, Dirthamen.” Solas’ voice was neutral. So neutral that Lavellan could almost see the disapproval written all over his familiar face.
“Yes! I know you disapprove. I can hear it. But let me tell you something, Solas, I don’t care whether you accept or not, because I’m happy, and I’ve moved on—“
Lavellan had just turned around the corner to left. Dirthamen’s mirror was in the end of the row, normally a quiet five minute walk from Elgar’nan’s, but it was not going to happen this time.
“The wolves don’t have spikes.” Lavellan said.
“How do you know if you didn’t look?”
“There are seven wolves around his mirror. And one of them is standing on two legs, wearing torn trousers.”
“Werewolves.” Solas said grimly. “Don’t let them bite you, vhenan.”
“How I’m supposed to keep that from happening?” Lavellan demanded. She looked behind her, where the group of five was starting to recover from mind blast. The group in front of her had seen her, and the two-legged one was pointing a hairy paw towards her, making series of odd noises and growls. They made no sense to her, but apparently the wolves understood, because they charged towards her.
Lavellan threw a wall of fire between her and the wolves coming from front, but the creatures didn’t act like normal wolves would have. They jumped over the wall of flames. Two of them fell short, and when their fur caught fire, they rolled on the ground like a human would do to smother flames. Lavellan stared at them. She had no weapons, no armor, and no proper fighting spells thanks to sheer unluckiness of being a specialized Veil Manipulator, aka Rift Mage, in a world without the Veil. Making up her mind, Lavellan ran to nearest eluvian, even though she didn’t know where it lead.
“Tell me the master password. Now.” she demanded from the voice inside her mind. “I know that Dirthamen’s people have been changing them, but you surely have a master password which would take longer to crack than seven months.”
“But this one leads to Tarasyl’an Tel’as, and—“
“The password, Solas!” Lavellan threw another mind blast at the werewolves. “Skyhold is better than being eaten by wolves, no matter what has happened to it.”
“Fen’Harel enansal.” Solas muttered.
“Oh, by the lost Dales. And you blamed the others for pretending to be gods?” Lavellan shook her head in disgust. “Fen’Harel’s blessings. Fen’Harel enansal.”
The surface of mirror changed to fluid, and Lavellan threw herself through just when werewolf’s jaws caught the edge of her nightgown, ripping ugly hole to the fabric.
--
When Lavellan stumbled through the mirror, hitting her knees again, she understood something was very wrong with Skyhold. The room was in ruins, with broken furniture littering the floor. There was no light except for a single torch of veilfire, and she heard Dorian’s shaking voice:
“If you think you can seduce me and cut my throat, ghost, I assure you: I still don’t like women.”
“Dorian?” Lavellan asked uncertainly.
“Do not come closer.” Dorian replied. “I still have magic left, and you can’t fool me with dead woman’s face. I’ve seen through your tricks, and you will not have me, Skyhold. Not like you had others.”
Lavellan stood up very slowly, brushing her bruised knees and adjusting her nightgown. There was an odd sound coming from another room, and what little she could see of Dorian’s face, was worrying. His face was pale and sweaty, and his eyeliner was running. Dorian would never let anyone see him like that.
“I know it’s a long story, Dorian, but it’s me.”, Lavellan said, her explanation sounding feeble in her own ears. “I... had trouble getting death stick. The Well of Sorrows. It’s complicated.”
Dorian stared at her.
“You held me while Cassandra hacked the chains.” Lavellan said miserably. “You shouted: “Don’t you dare to die on me”. And then you started to cry, and your makeup got shoddy. I tried to ask you why you cried, but you couldn’t hear me. Cole said it was because I died.”
She held her arms tightly around herself, rubbing them. It was eerily cold in the room, and her skin was getting chicken bumps. Her arm was still bleeding, and she grimaced as she touched the sore spot.
“Did you happen to have a handkerchief?” she asked tentatively from Dorian. “I’m afraid I didn’t stock up for this. I was coming from my father-in-law’s and heading home when I got ambushed by mysterious archer and a group of werewolves.”
“You are bleeding.” Dorian said, looking bewildered. “There is blood on the floor. Go stand against the wall.”
“All right.” Lavellan said uncertainly. She took a few steps backwards and watched Dorian approaching the small stain on the floor.
“If you try anything, ghost, I’ll make you regret it.”, Dorian warned as he knelt on one knee and touched the blood with his fingertips. He raised his hand up, smelling it, and rubbed his fingers together before rushing towards Lavellan.
“Ouch! Dorian, what are you—“, Lavellan was suddenly crushed against mage’s chest.
“I will never forgive you for dying.” Dorian said, hugging her so tightly that it hurt. “I hate you for doing that to me. But you are alive. You are somehow alive, thank the Maker. Ghosts don’t bleed.”
Over his shoulder, Lavellan saw a glimpse of a shadow on the eluvian, and suddenly the mirror broke.
“Fasta vass.” Dorian cursed, taking her hand. “Run!”
Skyhold was not like she remembered. Not at all. Lavellan had seen a glimpse of garden, but it was full of dead, withered plants. There was something pooled on the gazebo floor, but Dorian had pulled her towards the war room corridor before she could make out what it was.
They stood in the war room corridor. Dorian’s back was against the wall, and he was keeping eye on war room door with nervous expression.
“It might be best if we did not go there.” he said steadily. “I made that mistake when I arrived here, and I don’t care to repeat it.”
“What has happened here?” Lavellan asked.
“When the Veil fell, something went awry here. I got a worrying letter from Cassandra. There were disappearances. Strange voices. Blood in odd places. She tried to be calm, and reasonable, but the people were freaking out. And then… nothing.” Dorian replied.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. I wrote back twice, but received no word from Skyhold. When my contacts told that nobody had entered or left the fortress after the Veil, I decided I had to investigate in person. I’ve been here for two weeks and the truth is… I don’t know what happened to people here, but I think the fortress is haunted.” Dorian whispered. “I brought four people with me. Good, experienced mercenaries. They are all dead, killed by Skyhold, and I can’t get out.”
“You can’t get out?”
“No.”, Dorian said grimly. “Every time I try to get near the gates, something happens. Last time one of my men decided to run for it, he simply disappeared, and later I saw him hanged from the gate trellis.”
Lavellan remembered the broken eluvian, and felt cold shivers running across her spine.
“Oh, damn.” she shook her head.
“On a bright side, this seems to work like a horror story.” Dorian said with fake cheer. “I’ve stayed alive by adhering to few basic rules. If there is eerie music, I go another way. If I hear strange noises, I never investigate. I never look at any mirrors, because ghost would look back from it. Since you aren’t handsome man, we won’t having sex which would get us killed, and…”
“Dorian.”, Lavellan said gloomily. “Have you noted what I’m wearing?”
She lifted the lacy hem of her white nightshirt between her fingers and thrusted it at Dorian.
“Oh, dear.” Dorian said. “For both of our sakes, I hope you are a virgin. Because in horror literature, innocent girls wearing white survive to confront the Evil One and break the curse. Preferably in time to save their handsome platonic friends before they die. The second trope isn’t nearly as positive.”
“What is it about?” Lavellan asked suspiciously.
“The woman wearing white becomes a sacrificial victim.” Dorian admitted.
“How surprising.” Lavellan said sarcastically.
There was melody coming through the thick door leading to main hall.
“If we are going to get out from here without using the gate, I know a way.” Lavellan said, holding the palm of her hand on the wood. “First time when I ventured to Undercroft, I stepped on a loose tile or something, and I fell through the floor. There was a cavern below, with a very strange rabbit wearing a hat, and a narrow path leading down the mountain.”
“Don’t you remember what I said? If there is music, you never go towards it. Ever.” Dorian scolded her.
“Yes, but there are no other ways to Undercroft. Unless it has been changed?” Lavellan asked.
“We should at least go to Vivienne’s balcony and see what is going on in the hall before opening that door.” Dorian said.
“That is reasonable.” Lavellan admitted. “Besides, I think—“
The door opened with a creaking noise, entirely on its own accord, and Dorian’s torch went out.
Lavellan’s elven eyes were far sharper in the darkness than his. Her voice was very steady when she looked towards the hall and said:
“Dorian. Close your eyes and think of happy thoughts. This is just like the Fear Demon in the Fade. We are going to walk through the hall and think happy thoughts.”
“This is the most deranged plan I’ve ever heard.” Dorian said as he held his eyes closed and took a step forwards, holding Lavellan’s hand. He felt something cold pressing against his barrier.
“It will work.” Lavellan replied. “I put up a barrier when yours fail, and we will talk about happy things and you keep your eyes closed as we walk across the hall. Emotions are strong in a world without Veil; ours must be stronger than the fear of those who died here.”
“And what about you?” Dorian asked.
“I will lead you. I see better in the dark.” Lavellan said simply.
“I meant about your emotions.”
“I’ve died too often to be afraid of death. Think of Iron Bull, Dorian.” Lavellan advised as she started to walk, pulling him with her. “Do you remember that time at Emerald Graves when he started asking how often you polished your staff? Or when you asked if he would prefer you bound and leashed because you are a mage, and he said that he’d buy you a dinner first?”
“He was horrible.” Dorian sniffed, but there was no real edge on his voice. “After you died, I bought this nice villa near the border…”
Lavellan swallowed, willing to keep her heart steady as she saw the countless shades filling the Inquisition hall. They were mostly formless, and she couldn’t quite make out any familiar faces. The one standing near the library door looked a bit like Cassandra, but she couldn’t tell for certain unless she went closer. One of them, a headless woman, was holding a writing pad, and Lavellan looked at another direction. She focused on Dorian’s voice and walked them past the dais, where a bloody, short cloak with fur lining was thrown over a throne. It looked like Cullen’s.
She pushed her fears away from her mind, thinking of simple things. Easy memories. Like sunlight shining through the window when she had woken up this morning, the pleasant feeling of newly aired, clean sheets against her skin. The walk across Crossroads, and marvelling at colours painting the sky. The feeling of excitement fluttering in her belly when she climbed to observatory and saw him standing there on his familiar spot. A soft smile made Lavellan’s lips curve upwards. She thought of him, his easy flirtation, the faint smiles which were true ones, how it felt to wake up in the middle of the night and crawl a bit closer just to feel him next to her. Or sometimes he woke up, and pulled her close to ward off dreams he didn’t like. Sleep, gaidhalas, he muttered with voice thick with sleep, and held his hand over her heart.
“Gaidhalas?” Solas snorted, breaking Lavellan’s concentration. “And this is what you chose to betray me for. Puppy love.”
Lavellan flinched, her pleasant barrier of good feelings suddenly vanishing, and the ghosts around them seemed to sense the change. They turned to face her, and Lavellan saw there were no eyes. Just empty spaces which burned with green flames. And there was a ghost of large, horned man standing at the door leading towards the Undercroft. His features were too misty to tell if he had an eyepatch or not, but he held a two-handed axe.
“Solas.”, Lavellan said strictly. “You will stop sneaking into my mind. You and the rest of the dead priests will keep their mouths shut, or I will banish you.”
“Whom you are talking to? Solas?” Dorian asked, opening his eyes. His gaze stopped at the qunari ghost, and his whole body started to shake.
“Kadan?” he asked in small voice, and Lavellan thought her heart was going to break when the ghost lifted a fist to its chest. Its mouth moved, but no sound came out.
“Kadan.”, Dorian said again, falling to his knees. The crowd of ghosts came closer, and Lavellan felt the freezing cold biting her skin. It was numbing, and she pulled Dorian’s hand.
“Dorian.”, she said. “We must go.”
Dorian didn’t answer. He looked at the ghost blocking their way, and his lower lip trembled. Then Lavellan saw the first tear falling along his nose. Dorian let out a shuddering breath, which turned into a desperate sob.
“Stop it!” Lavellan yanked his hand. “You can’t know if it’s true. You told this place is playing with us. Stand up, Dorian. Stand up!”
He was slumped on the ground, unresponsive, and the ghosts were already close enough to make goose bumps appear on her skin. The large, horned one was moving too. It held the large axe in its hands, and the same eerie green fire burned in the eyeholes.
“Pavus, STAND UP!” Lavellan roared from the top of her lungs. She pulled him up with strength fuelled by panic and took a Fade step. The spell took them through the qunari ghost, and Lavellan thought she was going to suffocate as she drew the damp, misty air into her lungs.
Her spell exhausted, they ended up standing next to armor stand in the Undercroft. The ghosts were pouring through the doors, now, like a mist filled with angry green flames, and Lavellan saw the different weapons lined neatly across the walls starting to make twitchy moves.
“This is not good.” Dorian said, staring at the weapons rack. “I’m too beautiful to die.”
Lavellan was furiously stomping on the floor, trying to find the right spot.
“Do you know if they fixed the hole?” she asked from Dorian with desperation.
“I don’t know!” Dorian said, raising up a wall of ice when the first axe got freed from the weapon rack and started to fly towards them. Lavellan heard a thunk after thunk as the weapons hit the ice, sinking deep.
“This is the last time I’m going to sleep at his father’s place.” Lavellan said, feeling the panic rising inside her.
“Wait. You mentioned something about father-in-law. Have you gotten married? Can dead people get married?”
“Elves don’t marry, you ignorant magister. It’s called bonding. And I’m not. It’s more like a committed relationship, or a shemlen engagement. Or it would be, if I didn’t keep dying all the time.” Lavellan retreated hastily as a ghosts started to close on them.
“You mean this happens often? You two met after you died?” Dorian frowned. “Who in his right mind would fall in love with a dead woman?”
Lavellan was trying to think of a clever retort, when Dorian stumbled on the moist rocks. She glimpsed the most ridiculous boots under his robes, and her eyes widened as she saw a striped high heel for the second time within a day. But she had no time to react, because Dorian had lost his balance and he was falling backwards in the waterfall, pulling Lavellan with him. The last thing she saw were the ghosts standing on the edge and looking as they fell.