Chapter Text
Mearra Lavellan
Chapter One: Restless (Introduction)
Lavellan locked the door to her chambers behind her, bracing her back against it as she did. All she needed was some time to herself to breathe, just one moment where she could take the smiling Inquisitor mask off of her face and be somewhere that she felt a little less out of place. Only once in the privacy of her quarters, alone, did she feel she could let her guard down and her shoulders drop. She needed to get away from all the prying eyes full of questions that analyzed her every movement, word, and expression.
One wrong move would be all it takes to be knocked down and drowned in all of my mistakes.
She could still hear the loud laughter and bursts of banter from strangers and friends alike in the grand hall below where they rejoiced in Corypheus’ defeat. The well-earned celebration was a great success with everyone at Skyhold. Everything had been planned to the smallest detail by Josephine well in advance. As always, the ambassador seemed to have a plan for every situation tucked up her overly ruffled sleeves. Josephine even had backup arrangements in case they were defeated. Of course, that would have entailed far more packing and much less dancing, but approximately the same amount of alcohol.
Lavellan wished that she could have stayed with everyone and shared in their joy, but she couldn’t. The battle against Corypheus and the long trip back to Skyhold combined with the aching hole in her heart had drained her of her strength. She didn’t have enough energy left to last the night, much less uphold the facade of the hero they believed her to be: the unbowed, unflinching and undefeated Inquisitor Lavellan and ‘Herald of Andraste’.
I broke when told my face was marred by writing that deemed me a slave.
I allowed the markings of my people to be removed without question.
I flinched when he turned away, and now my heart feels defeated.
If she’d remained there any longer Varric or The Iron Bull would have noticed something was off in her movements. Cole would have started painting a verbal picture of her otherwise silent suffering as he pulled it from her mind, announcing it to the room without realizing the damage that he would have caused in doing so. The illusion the Inquisition had built of her as the beacon of hope would have crumbled to the floor in front of all of their guests. Even Josephine would have had trouble fixing the damage that that could have done. It was best for everyone that she left while spirits were still high and they were all too deep in their cups to notice her absence.
It didn’t help that the scent of some of the foods at the buffet below were making her stomach turn and she had no idea as to why. She should have been diving for the delicious frilly cakes and jumping at the opportunity to try a ham that tasted of despair. Instead, she gagged at the sights and scents of it all. Even the apple pie that the baker had made especially for her didn’t tempt her.
Her stomach was already protesting far too much for her to hold anything down that wasn’t liquid—not to mention that the idea of risking her bowels being let loose onto Vivienne’s gown was terrifying. She would never be able to live that down and Varric would surely put it in writing to ensure that the moment would never be forgotten. ‘Velour and Vomit-A Divine Story’. How many prayers would a person’s penance be for sullying the Divine raiments? Hmmm.
She could take away all of his quills and threaten to shoot him out of a trebuchet and he’d still find some way to get the story out there. She still wasn’t sure how the rest of Skyhold found out about her antics after Iron Bull had her join him for a drink in celebration after their first dragon kill, but she was pretty certain it was all Varric’s doing. “Think of it as doing my part in boosting the morale around here. It’s good for them to know that even her Inquisitorialness gets drunk once in awhile.” Thanks, Varric…
The last thing she wanted was to dampen the spirits of those around her. She didn’t want to answer the barrage of questions that would follow or see their pitying eyes either. She was a proud Dalish hunter, she didn’t need their pity. She just needed time to heal without being constantly fussed over. She wanted them to be happy, even if she wasn’t.
I should be relieved that we've won instead of feeling trapped and heartbroken like a love sick da’len. Foolishly pinning after a man that tossed her aside without a word goodbye.
I am better than this!
A piece of her had hoped coming to her quarters would give her some answers. Maybe he would be there waiting for her so he could explain everything, but as she walked up the steps and wandered around the room unconsciously searching for him, she could see he wasn't there. He hadn't come to clear her mind, to soothe her heart or to make things right. There wasn't even a letter to say farewell left on her desk or her bed. No, all she found was a cold and empty room instead.
“What we had was real.” she muttered under her breath disparagingly. “What we had is lost.”
She sighed as she walked alone in her lavish and over-sized room, decorated in a style that reflected next to nothing of herself. “Her” Inquisitor blade hung above the fireplace, a blade only used for ceremonies or when there was an execution to be done by her hand. The blade wasn't even truly hers, it was the Inquisition’s. It was just another prop placed in her palm to help shape her into the symbol of what she was supposed to represent. A piece that never felt quite right when she held it.
The only things marking the room as hers were the weapon and armor racks with her gear, along with a few relics she'd collected during her travels. Regardless, the Orlesian style overwhelmed everything else and there was little, if anything, that would indicate that it was a Dalish elf that slept there at all.
Her hand reached out quickly to steady herself, grabbing the balcony railing as a sudden bout of nausea brought her mind back to the present, causing her to lose balance in the process. She didn't even remember stepping outside. When did I wander out here?
If she still felt nauseous in the morning, she’d have to ask her servant to fetch Adan. He didn't treat anyone but her and he was the only healer she let near her when she had the choice, despite the fact he was as prickly as a porcupine. She’d trusted him since Haven and she knew he secretly liked ensuring that his old patient was alright. Not to mention they’d saved each other’s lives in the past, that in itself made them close.
That was assuming he'd be in any condition to. Last she saw of him, he was taking Iron Bull up on the ‘Dragon Piss Challenge’. Most people that dared didn't get up from that until very late the next evening, nursing a headache described as feeling as if a dragon had stomped on their head, picked them up, and then flung them into a mountainside. Those symptoms were for seasoned drinkers. Those that weren't would rather wish for a month straight of Cullen’s most gruesome training exercises over going through that hangover ever again.
The freezing cold air was biting at her skin and the railing was like ice to the touch, causing her to pull her hand back almost instantly. Goosebumps prickled along her flesh as she shivered against the cold. She wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to retain some warmth before returning to her room and closing the balcony’s glass doors to shut out the cold. Lavellan grabbed her robe off the back of her desk’s chair and slipped it over her shoulders, shielding herself from the constant chill that permeated the place and desperately trying to regain some sense of warmth. Only an Avvar or Fereldan born could sleep here without freezing half to death.
The Inquisitor had been born closer to Wycome where the weather was warmer. Lavellan still occasionally struggled against the cold in the mountainside and whoever had designed her chambers hadn't considered how impossible it would be to warm it with just one fireplace. Maybe I can convince some kind mage to place heat runes along the floor boards...
Her eyes scanned over the stacks of paperwork that had piled up on her desk while she was out in the field. Her fingers flipped through them idly while she reached for an empty cup and then settled herself into her chair, ready to reach for a pitcher of water she had nearby.
She froze as she caught the scent of a drink she never remembered pouring coming from the glass. An aromatic steam coming from the cup, now warm to the touch.
“Cole?...”
“That is my name.” His voice came from her bed’s general direction.
Once hearing his voice, she allowed herself to take a sip. “Thank you, this tastes lovely.”
“You like cider. It smells nice and brings memories.” He sat at the edge of her bed. His feet interlocked as he tapped his heels along the baseboards.
She smiled, bringing the cup to her mouth and appreciating the smell of spiced apple cider before taking a sip and enjoying the warmth of the cup as she cradled it in her hands.
“Why aren't you celebrating with the others?” She tapped the rim of the glass with her nails as she looked over to him. Was it all too much for him with so many people in one place?
“They don't need me. You scream while they whisper.” His fingers gripped into the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as if he’d felt physical pain for a brief moment.
“I'm alright, Cole. Really. You should be celebrating with them instead of being here with me. Enjoy yourself.” Please, go.
His head tilted to the side and his eyes stared at the floor. “Avoid the questions, queries, prying. Could we have fixed it if we tried? Would they see weakness if I cried?”
She sighed deeply and took a long drink of the cider he had brought her, leaving the glass only half full as she put it back down on the desk a bit too firmly. The remaining liquid sloshed about a moment before it settled.
“You don't have to be alone. I could help you forget. Fix the hurt, pluck out the pain.” He sounded almost pleading.
“I need to be stronger, Cole. I can't have you fixing it by having me—”
He interrupted her. “Want to forget without forgetting. Let it go, without regretting.” His brows furrowed in confusion and his eyes looked up to meet hers. “But you can't regret what you forget.”
She rubbed the bridge of her nose while trying to stay patient. He was trying to help. Unlike the others, he couldn't help his prying, it was as natural to him as breathing was to her.
“Cole...I learn nothing from erasing the painful memories of my past.” How ironic it would be if I did. ‘While trying to recover the forgotten history of her people, Inquisitor Lavellan can’t even remember her own’.
“What do you learn from keeping them?” He sat there looking at her for awhile as she waited patiently for him to find the answer. “How to bend but not break. How not to repeat the same mistake.” His face lit up with the realization before it sunk into sadness. “...you want me to stay away...” His shoulders slumped and his eyes trailed downward.
“Yes, but only for a little while.” Her chest tightened as she heard the hurt in his voice.
“Do I have to go far?” His eyes and tone filled with worry.
She pushed her chair back and walked over to him to put her hand on his shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze.
“You can stay at Skyhold, Cole. I just...I can't have you close by until I am steady. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” He pushed himself off of the bed slowly, being careful not to step into her as he made his way silently towards the stairwell. Her hand slipped from his shoulder and fell to her side as he moved away.
The spirit paused just at the top of the steps. His eyes blank as they looked down to the door below.
“She doesn't know that she could keep it. There would be help were she to seek it.”
Lavellan closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, trying to think of what Compassion could be talking about this time. When she opened her eyes and mouth to ask him to explain, he had already gone. With a sigh, she returned to her desk. Her questions would have to wait for another time.
There was only so much one could do when hiding in their room to keep their mind distracted. The piles of paperwork on her desk would have to do— she’d put them off long enough. At least they could keep her occupied until she could no longer hold her head up and then slip away into exhaustion-driven, dreamless sleep.
It was late by the time she was done reading through all the reports. Skyhold had quieted down and only stragglers were still wandering about drunkenly while making their way back to their or someone else’s bed.
Sleep was calling her, clawing at the edges of her consciousness and weighing down her eyelids. Though it didn’t tempt her as easily as it once had now that she slept alone. Her dreams were hollow shells of what they once were. Where once they were a work of art, shared with another, now they were simply faded pictures on a worn page, leaving her with nothing but disappointment.
She could almost sense Solas behind her. The feel of his lips pressing against her neck, soft and sensual. His hand drifting down her body as if to map her every curve. His voice beckoned her to join him in her bed or in the Fade. “Come, ma’vhenan. The Inquisition will endure while you rest.
He is gone and I am alone.
Surrounded by soldiers and cold stone.
She clenched her eyes shut, pushing back the memories of him from her mind as she carefully placed brick by broken brick around her harrowed heart. She wouldn't let his ghost haunt her any longer; after all, he had said that their emotional entanglement benefited neither of them. Leaving his memory behind could only make her stronger. Provided that she could.
~~~
Lavellan crawled her way back into bed. She glared at the tray of food her servant had left on the bedside table as if it had done her some great injustice, her hands absentmindedly caressing her stomach as she rolled onto her back. The fresh taste of bile lingered on her tongue as she slammed the silver lid back down onto the platter with a loud clang, covering up the meal that was causing her such offence. She would have to tell her Mila to stop bringing her eggs. The mere sight of them was making her stomach flip about like a fish out of water.
Their smell had propelled her to rush for her dweomered bedpan to empty the contents of her stomach with a force that would have even frightened Iron Bull. Thankfully the dweomer caused the pan to be self cleaning and she did not have to endure the smell of vomit for long.
She would have to thank Dagna once again for her ingenuity in regards to her wash basin, bedpan, and bathtub. They had saved the servants much hardship in regards to carrying pails full of water or refuse up and down the many flights of stairs that led to her room. At least she would never have to worry about having underdeveloped calves.
It was Dagna that first discovered that Skyhold was riddled with magical runes for various practical purposes and with Vivienne’s assistance, they found means to replicate them as best they could to suit the Inquisition’s needs. Whomever took residence there before had no qualms of using magic or dwarven-like ingenuity to make their lives more comfortable, much to Vivienne’s delight.
The progress was slow, particularly since few mages knew how to enchant functional objects and Dagna only had so much time to spare, but the results were always highly rewarding and well appreciated. It took awhile to convince those more adverse to magic to agree, and they were always welcome to continue living without the comforts provided. It usually didn't take them long to lose their resolve and begin to embrace what wonders magic and engineering combined could bring.
“Ugh…” she groaned while she writhed around trying to find any sort of comfortable position until the twisted feeling in her stomach and head subsided. Her morning sickness typically only lasted for an hour or so, then she could get dressed and head downstairs as if nothing was amiss. Only a few more months and then this will be over.
Today she would have to meet with Leliana and Varric after her meeting that morning at the war table. They had arrangements that had to be made and soon. Much longer and it would be too late.
The rest of her advisors and companions had already been informed that she would be taking a leave of absence with the excuse that she needed a change of scenery, a well-deserved vacation. Josephine of course delighted in the idea, thinking that it would do the Inquisitor good and even handed her a list of locations she should visit while she was away.
Cullen was harder to convince. He was still uncomfortable with the fact that she’d asked him to allow her to leave with only a small contingency of Nightingales to escort her on her trip. It was due to Leliana’s coaxing that he eventually relented, although he made it clear he did not feel it was wise. Particularly since it seemed that the Inquisitor had been suffering from some sort of ‘illness’ as of late.
Thankfully, Cullen was not familiar enough with women to recognized the signs she tried to hide and Josephine was too preoccupied with the political affairs of the Inquisition to notice them. Only a handful knew the truth, and that is how it would have to remain.
Oh Cullen, if you had any idea. You would blush and apologize for an ‘illness’ that wasn't your fault. Then you’d turn into an over protective mabari, ensuring I got plenty of rest while treating me as if I were made of glass.
She grabbed a cloth from her bedside table and wiped the sweat from her brow and from around her neck. Why on earth did any woman in her right mind put herself through this sort of hell willingly? Her own mother had even subjected herself to it more than once. Ir abelas, Mamae…She winced, a pang of guilt punching her chest....Please, forgive me.
“Mix of past, present, pain and pride. If you keep it, you wouldn't have to hide.”
Her eyes turned towards the familiar voice. Of course he’d show up now.
It had been two months since she asked him to stay away and give her time. His parting words finally made sense to her. How did he know?
He must have decided he’d given her enough space and her time alone was up. He sat at the edge of her bed, looking hopeful.
The expectation in his eyes pulled at her pain and she had to look away. “Cole, you know I can’t.”
“You say words you don’t believe. Why?”
Her eyes stared at the ceiling instead of looking at the spirit of compassion. He sat close enough for her to touch but she pulled her hand away and pulled a pillow over her chest. One hand slipping beneath it while the other held it to her tightly. How could he understand that this was a cost she had to pay, an Inquisitor didn't have the option of running away.
“It’s too hard to explain. I just can’t do what you want. Not right now.” Her palm rested on her stomach, unconsciously moving her thumb back and forth in a soothing motion.
“You wish to let it go without remorse. To believe you chose the right course.” He looked down at her blankets and started to play with the fabric, tracing its pattern with his fingertips.
Was that it? Was she just running from something that would be a constant reminder of her foolishness, her mistake, and her heartbreak? Or was she doing what she felt was best for everyone? It didn't matter anymore. The decision was made. She pulled her hand away from her abdomen abruptly and shoved it into her hair instead.
“You’ll keep an eye on everyone for me while I’m gone?” She looked over to him, her eyes trailing over the brim of his over-sized hat before looking him in the eye.
“Always worried, watching, waiting, wondering— Yes.” He nodded.
“Thank you.” She smiled a small smile before she turned away and pulled her knees up to her chest and closed her eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to fall down her cheeks.
The faint smell of eggs slowly dissipated from the air and for that she was immensely grateful. With it gone, she fell easily back to sleep.
Cole was no longer there when she woke up, nor was the plate of eggs.
But an impatient and primly dressed ambassador was, hands at her hips. “You are late, Inquisitor.”
If you only knew...
~~~