Chapter Text
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Humbled, Elgar'nan went to the place where the sun was buried and spoke to him. Elgar'nan said he would release the sun if the sun promised to be gentle and to return to the earth each night.
~*~
Our Reflection
Deep, slow breaths wheeze through Rook’s raw throat, icy blue eyes focusing upon the now-dead flower creatures. Vibrant celadon blood leaks from the now-slain beasts, its colour seeping into the shallow waters that surround them. She clears her throat, back straightening and relaxed hands flipping sharpened scimitars back into their hilts.
“Damned things, sprouting up like weeds,” Davrin grumbles out loud behind Rook, his heavy feet stomping through the waters around him.
“They aren’t weeds, just magically corrupt creatures…” Bellara calls out to him, her voice wary with concern.
Rook hears her splashing around, too. She turns around to look at them both, unphased while unconsciously ensuring they are in sight within this clearing.
The Crow’s hands rest upon her hips, listening in on their conversation, yet she finds herself tuning them out to mere mumbles. Unable to break the sudden stillness around them. She scans the surrounding area, the shimmering of shallow waters leading to the shipwreck just over yonder, the cracked stone statue of the hand, and the floating rock formation amid this enchanting scenery.
“Anyways, I heard about…what was its name?” Davrin clicks his tongue in annoyance, shaking his head, unable to recall one of the thousands of artifacts Bellara spills over week by week.
“Oh! The Nadas Dirthalen! Is that the spirit you are referring to?” Bellara quips back in an excited chirp, wading her way through the water toward Davrin so she no longer has to raise her voice.
“Yes, did you ever get that head thing working?” The Grey Warden continues to inquire further into Bellara’s dealings.
"Erm—that's definitely one way to say it. It’s really tricky though and extremely fickle!” Bellara exclaims loudly.
Not wanting to interject just yet, Rook makes her way through the squishy earth to the mound adorned with the floating formation. The water’s current laps on its shallow shores in tandem with the warm breezes of Arlathan. A quick inhale lets her take in all Ruins Reach has to offer – filled with the fragrances of electricity, fresh pine, crisp cedars, and untouched earth.
Her gloved hands, tainted with Antivian oils, tuck back long strands of honeyed hair behind her long, pointy ears. Yet something pulls her to the sun. As her gaze rises to the sky, its subdued vibrancy of blues and whites indulges in its mere depth of the beyond.
“Elgara, lasa ghilan.” The words of old roll off of Rook’s tongue in a hushed prayer. It was a prayer she had said numerous times in the course of her young life, but had been unspoken for nine long years.
Upon looking up at the blinding sun, it felt as if she was meeting an old friend. Her head begins to lull, becoming heavy in its glorious trance, standing tall within its zenith high in the sky. She closes her eyes, allowing its gentle warmth to bless her very being.
The soft breeze drifts past her ears again, sounds becoming amplified. Chickadees sing melodies nearby, splashing of ancient water and the rustling of hundreds of trees, all whispering sweet nothings in a language that is losing itself to time. How tragic —
THUMP!
Rook’s thick, muscled thigh is rammed into by a sturdy squawking creature; beautiful blue eyes, fuzzy grey feathers, and a black beak come into blurry view.
“Hey, Assan! What are you doin', buddy?” A large, radiant smile crosses her once besmirched face. She bends over at the hips of the young griffin, hands interlacing themselves with his feathers. Her arms rock his head back and forth in a rhythmic motion, his wings flapping in unison. “Good boy, Assan, thank you.”
The Crows' strong arms wrap around Assan’s neck in a warm hug, gingerly ensuring she does not injure the young Griffin. Happiness fills her chest, then it spreads through her very core; the feeling of adoration resonates within her spirit.
The woman slowly stands, watching Assan chirp and fumble his way through the waters back to Davrin, who now is in a debate with Bellara over whether hearth cakes are better made on a skillet or griddle.
“I prefer griddle personally. My clan always paired it with cranberries.” Rook waves her arm over her head, making her way over to the two, the tranced happy smile persevering upon her face.
“See! Rook gets it! Its doughy texture and buttery crumble are amplified on the griddle, Bellara,” he remarks proudly, his silver-clad chest puffing out slightly. Davrin’s arm reaches out in the Crow’s direction.
Assan then almost full-speed head bumps Davrin’s leg for attention. With a sigh, he pets the Griffin's feathered head and attempts to listen to the Veil Watcher's counterpoint.
“I just fundamentally disagree!” Bellara exaggeratedly shakes her head. “How about this—we ask Lucanis and Harding to make them for us on both a griddle and skillet so all of us can make a unanimous decision?”
She crosses her arms in sassy triumph, a smirk cracking across her face.
Davrin just shakes his head, a smile forming across his lips and starts to walk towards the hill back in the direction of the Veil Jumpers camp and the Eluvian. Assan warbles loudly in Davrin’s wake.
Bellara nods to Rook, indicating it is time to go. She takes one last longing look at the forest before turning her back and making her way back onto dry land.
Might as well. We explored two ruins and killed how many demons and Venatori within the last how many hours? I think six or seven hours have passed. Time does fly when you're working hard.
Rook shakes her head in disbelief, and a few huffs of air breach through her mouth out into the crisp forest air. She then trudges up the steep hill through the ancient archways, carmine foliage cascading down around them almost akin to a natural tunnel of sorts.
The Crow stares at other two elves chatting amongst one another, their faces lighting up from how they both are inquiring about their respective livelihoods. An emptiness begins to swell within Rook and she finds herself unable to fully understand either of their worlds. Possibly Davrin’s more than Bellara’s due to her Crow background, but something disconnected her from the other two elves.
It felt as if at this very moment their worlds, lives, and spirits were miles apart, even if they were all Dalish and from their own respective clans. All sported their beloved vallaslin. All carried stories and lessons from their elders into their very own lives. But there was that same stomach-wrenching difference.
This is not the first time Rook felt this way – this empty knot within her core. She cannot fathom as to why. It’s on the tip of her tongue, unfortunately it has yet to be realized.
We all attended the Arlathven as children throughout our lives. Me only once, unfortunately. But Bellara and Davrin? How many times have they gone? Does Bellara still?
Rook slows her pace, watching Bellara and Davrin slowly gain distance from her. That emptiness continues to pool within the pit of her belly. It stretches with every step the pair take over the hill and out of her sight.
As seconds pass, darkness begins to slip in where light once seeped in.
"Andaran atish’an.” Suddenly a young girl's voice greets the Crow, not twenty or so feet behind her.
Glacier blue eyes widen and Rook’s blood runs ice cold. The cream-colored hair on the back of her neck and arms stands on end. Stomach dropping, nausea builds lactic acid within her throat, burning and churning into poison bile.
A loud metallic scraping noise whistles through the air as the smell of copper fills her nostrils.
Rook’s body is frozen in time; a million thoughts hold a frenzied race through her mind, they all clash into one final crescendo.
Look at her; ensure this is not true. She is waiting for you to acknowledge her.
The woman inhales sharply, supple eyelids close, preparing her very being for what she is about to witness. She slowly opens them as she forces her shoulders to move backward as well as her foot, cleats dragging across the gravel dirt in a slow grinding motion.
Once her eyes lay upon the being, it was a mere ten feet away.
She was adorned in thick leathers, fine linens the colors vibrant with red, gold and black in a roguish style.
Vomit shoots from Rook’s gut into her throat, burning it yet a second time.
“No, no no, no no.” Her teeth grit, the words escaping lips curled in a vicious snarl.
Rook shakes her head, her body beginning to tremble in fear. She cannot fathom what now lay in front of her; the consequences of what this means are unimaginable, or rather unescapable.
The teenage girl tilts her head innocently towards the woman, her honeyed hair braided back into two long pieces behind her head. Bright blue eyes stare into Rooks. Inky curls of thorn-like vallaslin adorn her youthful, toffee-colored face; her visage then glitches.
“Garas quenathra?” the Crow declares boldly to the ‘thing’ that now stands before her, the words echoing into the encroaching darkness.
“Whatever do you mean?” The young girl’s mouth curls into a wicked smirk. “You know who I am.” Crimson blood that now has been smeared across the left side of her face slowly drips off her sharp jawline. “You are…we.”
Fat droplets of blood plip onto the ground at the creature’s feet, impossibly loud in the eerie silence.
“You have a message, yes?” Rook seethes through her gritted teeth, anger filling her chest, hands tightening into fists of rage. “Speak now or forever, hold your peace.”
While Rook speaks, the girl lifts a slender hand. It slowly raises an ironbark blade to her lips, a long, pink tongue slithers out of her mouth. Gliding the bloodied blade across the limp wet muscle, she giggles wickedly.
“The All Father wishes to send us a message,” the girl coos, her body slowly leaning over closer, her crimson-covered boots repositioning themselves in the dirt. “He still loves us! He is proud of us and our work together.” She purrs once lavish thoughts to the woman, her golden eyebrows furrow together in fake innocence. “Our Lord merely wishes us to whisper to him while we bask within his glory, to think of him while we strike our vengeful blades into our enemies,”
The Crow cracks and finds herself laughing unceremoniously at the pure insanity in front of her. Blinking away hysteric tears, the same weak smile holds fast upon her thin lips. Hands now strong from rigorous training and time rub her smiling face.
“Are you fucking serious?” Incredulity thickens her accent and she shakes with barely suppressed mirth.
Bent at the waist, Rook’s hands grip her knees as her chest heaves with frenzied glee. Loose blonde hair falls from behind sharp ears as the woman’s head shakes back and forth.
“It would displease him to see us in such a weak state!” The girl-figure’s eyes narrow and her voice raises to a near shout. “What are you doing? Why are you laughing?!”
“I vowed when the Keeper sold me to never kill for or praise the All-Father again." Rook spits upon the ground and glowers at the shade of her younger self. “Never again will I serve him for what he’s done to not only our people but this world!” Her voice lifts to an infuriated roar, anger sparking within her belly and filling her very veins with incinerating fire. “What he did to me!”
“That is in the past! You must understand!” Rook’s younger reflection starts to shriek, black blood begins to pour from her nose and mouth as she spits it at Rook.
It pools within her eyes, she blinks, it coats the once blue and white contrast with inky darkness. Her knees giving out, the weight of her body flopping to the ground beginning to convulse, gargled yelps are the only thing that can be made out from its demonic mouth.
The Crow’s eyes burn hot with white fire at the bloodied girl, her lips forming into a snarl again. “Fen'Harel ma halam.” Her head tilts in annoyance peering away from this ‘shade’, its sound slowly fading away as does the darkness around her.
Returning to the present, Rook gazes down the peaceful trail she just was in, calming light shines down from above trickling in from thousands of different cracks in the tree’s and thick foliage.