Riot recently flew LoL creators in to showcase some new developments. Necrit, a creator who attended the event, was able to get confirmation on what's going on with Noxus.
Timeline
By the time Mel arrives in Rokrund (Noxus) as we see in the "Bite Marks" cinematic, Swain is the new Grand General of Noxus, but Swain has NOT formed the Trifarix council yet. (The "Mel is Guile" theory is back on!)
Another thing that was cleared up in the cinematic was the nature of Katarina's job. Sure we know she was sent to kill a man, but who was he and why did he need to be killed?
It turns out that the masked man Katarina killed was meant to be the "host" that Vladimir mentioned in the "A Dark Gambit" cinematic. That means that LeBlanc wanted that dude seen above to become the host body for one of the darkin, a corrupted god warrior, soul weapons.
That's not all of course, because it turns out it was Swain who sent Katarina to kill LeBlanc's host like many of us assumed, it was Vladimir! Even better, there's proof!
For Katarina's bio for her Masque of the Black Rose skin, she's given her assignment via unsigned letter. Within it was a drawing of the target's (host) mask, soon after the Bite Marks cinematic premiered, Riot Twitter released this art with the following caption:
"You should know by now, darling: There are no coincidences in Noxus 🩸"
This room belongs to Vladimir. You can tell not just by his trademark "Darling" used in the caption, but by the vials of blood, the green jeweled crest (for Camavor?) he wears in the cinematics, and the metal claws the metal claws give it away.
More importantly, in the foreground is a sketch of the masked man Katarina was tasked to kill. In fact, it was almost certainly the exact sketch sent to Katarina for her mission.
Now that data mined lore tip that goes:
"Even the best-laid plans can be foiled by two-faced hemomancer. That's why LeBlanc always has a back-up plan".
is a lot more clear.
What Does Any of This Mean?
The story hasn't officially started, but the lines are already being drawn. LeBlanc and Vladimir's centuries' long partnership (frenemy-hood?) has reached a key break because of the darkin plot. LeBlanc has more major enemies than friends now. Vladimir's now a rogue element that likely still has plans for Mel and his "kingdom".
Whatever Vladimir's actual plans are they almost certainly run counter to Swain's own designs. Right now Vladimir has Katarina, a future key ally of Swain's (and a daughter figure I think) in his service, and they've both clearly set their sights on Mel. It's a scramble for Noxus' most emotionally orphaned heiresses to rule!
Sidenote: It's really funny to go back and watch those cinematics and understand all the effort Vladimir went through to stop LeBlanc from going through with a bad idea, and lobby for his idea to get Mel, all for LeBlanc to double down and pull out a back up. She's gonna start twenty apocalypses to stop the Mordekaiser one even if it kills them all. I adore their dynamic so much!
Samir takes exception when the captain of the guard disparages Thatch's pointed ears.
~ 2.4k words under the cut 🗡️💕
From Sam's prompt list- @softcloudystars 🌟 💜
see tags for any tw's; chapter directory here
[minors dni]
Samir's heavy hand settles on the small of my back as we approach the looming silhouette of the abandoned watchtower. The air is thick with the scent of damp stone and distant rain. His fingers press firmly against my warm cloak—a possessive habit he’s picked up since we’ve become partners.
"So," he rumbles, his voice a low vibration against my ear as he leans in. "A personal summons from the Crown." His thumb strokes a slow, deliberate circle against my spine. "Care to explain how a half-elf from the Lowest Ward ends up on a first-name basis with royalty?" His tone is deceptively casual.
The wind picks up, whistling through the crumbling stone arches of the tower ahead. I can smell the metallic hint of coming rain in the air. His question makes me bristle even though I expected it, "No… not really."
"That's not how this works, little thief." His breath ghosts over my ear, warm and teasing. "You don't get to keep secrets from me. Not when they involve royal messengers coming to my hideout."
I sigh, realizing he won't let up until I explain the situation. "Fine. The prince and I… we were rather friendly with each other a few years back. Before I started making a name for myself in the Low Ward."
Samir's smirk sharpens into something more intrigued as the rain slicks his dark hair against his forehead, “Friendly? You and the prince?”
I fold my arms defensively, sensing where this is going. “Yes… friendly! Is that so hard to believe?”
"Friendly," he muses again, voice dripping with amusement. "A half-elf thief and a prince. That's a story I'd pay to hear."
“Yeah…? How much you got on you?” I duck under the awning of an old building as the sky opens up, pelting the city with cold rain.
Samir follows me, his broad frame crowding me underneath the small canopy. Droplets roll down the sharp angles of his face as he leans in, “Heh– I can definitely make it worth your while.”
I snicker at him. He’s such a big flirt sometimes. “Okay, fine… I got myself into some trouble outside the city and decided the safest place to hide was the Uppest Ward. Turns out, the palace was too tempting a target for me to resist. I ended up getting caught boosting some fancy jewelry from the prince’s bedchamber… and we just sort of hit it off!”
The rain drums harder against the awning above, the sound nearly drowning out his low chuckle. "Of course you did," he murmurs. "Little thief gets caught red-handed, and instead of tossing you in the dungeons, the prince decides you're friends."
“I can be very charming when I need to be,” I shrug dismissively. “And he was very nice… and the food at the palace was to die for! It wasn’t so bad until it became dreadfully boring.”
"Charming," he echoes, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that what you call it when you flutter those pretty gray eyes and giggle like a nervous schoolboy?"
I level my gaze at his rude comment, “See…? This is why I don’t tell you anything! You just act like a jerk…!”
Samir barks out a loud laugh, “Hah! Guess I’m not as well-mannered as your darling prince.”
“Whatever.” I turn my back to him, wishing the rain would let up so I could get some space between us. “At least I have discerning tastes. You stick your tongue into anything that’s breathing…!”
“Careful,” Samir's fingers dig into my hips suddenly, spinning me back around to face him beneath the cramped awning. “Keep running that clever mouth and I’ll remind you how much you love it when I’m a jerk.”
The rain finally lets up enough so I can huff and stomp away from him without getting soaked. As we near the old watchtower, I recognize a sturdy looking human dressed exactly as one would if they didn’t want to be recognized. I lower my voice as I slink into the shadows of a nearby alley, “That’s him… the captain of the royal guard!”
Samir's grip tightens on my hip as we crouch in the shadowed alley. His fingers press into the softness of my waist as he studies the disguised captain with suspicion. "Captain of the royal guard, hm?" His voice is a low rumble, laced with skepticism. "That’s who your prince sends to meet with a pair of wanted criminals? This could be a trap."
“I don’t think so….” I study the man as he paces in an agitated fashion outside the watchtower. “I know him. He’s Captain Callahan and he’s terribly loyal to the prince. I don’t see why he’d bother with us if Edrick didn’t personally request my help.”
"Callahan," he repeats, his dark eyes flickering between me and the captain, assessing. "And you trust him?"
“No, he hates me… never liked me hanging about the palace.” I shift slightly under Samir's scrutiny, the damp fabric of my tunic sticking uncomfortably to my skin. "But I trust the prince."
"Of course you do," his breath is hot against my ear. "Trusting the pretty prince who lets you steal from him. Real smart.”
I shove him hard enough to make him take a step back, “Quit acting like such an ass…! This isn’t some elaborate trap to catch me… the prince needs my help!”
"You’re the one who said the captain hates you." His dark eyes narrow as he studies Callahan's pacing form, the captain's disguised cloak fluttering in the damp breeze. “We should wait and see if anyone else arrives.”
“Gods, you’re such a worrier…!” The only thing worse than dealing with Samir’s insults is when he makes me wait around. “It isn’t an ambush… and I’ll prove it!”
“Thatch–!!” Samir’s arm snaps out to grab me but it’s too late. I’m light enough on my feet to dodge his grip and start shimmying up a gutter still slick with rainwater.
“Quit fussing at me… I’ll be back in a jiffy!” My hands fumble slightly on the slick metal as I hoist myself higher up the building, finding a convenient yet rather slim ledge. It lips around the corner and provides an excellent vantage point to observe Callahan.
“You reckless little idiot!!
Samir's growl echoes through the alley as I scramble higher, my boots slipping on the wet stone. The ledge is narrow, barely wide enough for my toes, but it gives me a perfect view of the captain below. The burly guard keeps glancing at the sky, muttering under his breath as he shifts his weight impatiently.
From this angle, I can see the faint glint of a royal insignia pinned discreetly beneath his cloak—Edrick's personal sigil. That settles it!
I start to head back, excited to share my findings with Samir (and rub his face in it) when suddenly my foot slips! “SHIT–!!”
Samir's dark eyes widen as my boot skids off the slick ledge, sending me tumbling backward. His reflexes are lightning-fast—muscled arms shoot out to catch me, but the momentum sends us crashing into a stack of rain-soaked crates. Wood splinters beneath me. Samir lets out a pained grunt as my elbow jabs into his ribs.
His grip tightens around me like iron as he growls angrily, "You insufferable little—"
“What in the seven hells is going on?!!” Callahan marches over to us, his face a mask of professional outrage. His eyes scan over Samir and land first on my pointed ears and finally on my flushed face. “You! The prince’s former pest! Of course you would be the one to instantly blow my cover!”
Before I know it, I’m getting roughly hauled inside the old watchtower as the two gruff men berate me.
“You haven’t changed a bit, have you??! Sneaking around and completely disregarding the rules!!”
“You stupid little menace!! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?!!”
“I should have known better than to let the prince trust a half-breed!”
“You’re lucky we’re not back at my hideout or I’d— WAIT!” Samir stops snarling at me and ominously turns to Callahan. His voice becomes gravel as soon as the slur is uttered, “What did you just call him?!”
The captain sniffs haughtily as he draws himself up to his full height. He’s nearly as big as Samir and just as formidable. “I told Prince Edrick that knife-ears can’t be trusted! Especially this one. He was always skulking about the palace, stealing all manner of things!”
I raise an accusing finger, ready to defend myself when Samir pulls me against him in an almost defensive gesture. His voice is dangerously calm. “Disparage his race one more time, Captain… and my dagger will find a new home in your ribs.”
Callahan seems poised to draw his own blade for but a moment before he reconsiders. Not even a highly trained captain of the guard stands a chance against Samir the Shadow, especially without back up. Besides, there are more pressing matters. “Very well. I’m not here to bring him in. The prince has personally requested the half-elf’s assistance.”
Samir's arm tightens around my waist. His dark eyes never leave Captain Callahan's face, his entire body coiled like a spring. "His majesty wants his help? After that insult? The prince should have sent someone with better manners."
Callahan's jaw tightens, his hand twitching near the hilt of his sword before he forces it to relax. “The prince is being framed for the murder of his father.”
“The king??” My jaw drops in surprise. “Edrick would never have done such a thing!”
Callahan's eyes narrow, his distaste for me barely concealed. "The prince believes you have particular skills that might uncover the truth. Something about your ability to….”
He trails off, gesturing vaguely at me with a gloved hand, clearly uncomfortable with whatever Edrick has revealed. "To charm your way into stealing anything."
“Charm?!” Samir lets out a sharp, incredulous laugh, the sound echoing in the damp, stone-walled room. His finger begins to trace slow, deliberate circles around my pointed ear, a gesture that feels both protective and proprietary. “Oh, he’s charming alright.”
I stiffen at the sensation and try to swat his hand away, “Ah! Stop that…! I am charming…!”
Samir's low chuckle vibrates through me as his single finger continues making lazy circles around the delicate shell of my ear. "Oh, I'm well aware," he murmurs. "You're charming enough to steal a king's ransom and still make the prince beg for your help. It's infuriating."
Captain Callahan clears his throat sharply, his impatience evident. "Enough. We have good reason to believe the chancellor is involved."
I struggle against Samir, who continues to keep me pinned against him. Giggles start to form in my chest as his single finger teases my poor ear. “Hahaha… yeah, enough!! He’s trying to tell us who we need to investigate…!”
Samir doesn't stop his tormenting touch, instead bringing his other hand up to trap my chin gently, forcing me to look at Callahan. "He can talk while I do this," he rumbles, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. "The captain doesn’t like your pointed ears? Maybe he’ll appreciate them more when he sees how pink they can turn."
Captain Callahan's expression tightens further, his gloved hand clenching at his side. "The chancellor has been seen meeting with known conspirators in the dead of night," he continues, his tone clipped and official, though his eyes flicker with unease every time Samir's fingers trace my ear. "He's also been moving large sums of gold—untraceable, unaccounted for."
“Hahahahaha…. Samir!!!” I twist my neck as his dips inside my ear, wiggling just enough that the actual sound of his scritching tickles me. My enchanting laughter starts to echo softly throughout the old watchtower.
Samir's smirk only widens as my melodic noises fill the damp, stone-walled chamber. His voice is a low, rumbling whisper against my ear. "There it is. That sound… the one that charms both princes and assassins alike."
Captain Callahan shifts uncomfortably, his polished armor creaking as he takes a deliberate step back. "Control your… companion," he says stiffly, his gaze averted from the intimate display.
Samir's fingers pause their teasing, but he doesn't release me. His dark gaze fixes on Callahan, a challenge simmering in his eyes. "The prince wants our help? Then ask. Properly. None of this veiled insult and stiff-lipped command. Ask him with respect."
Callahan looks as if he's bitten into something sour. The silence stretches, thick with tension, broken only by the distant patter of rain against the tower's narrow windows. Finally, he lets out a sharp, irritated breath.
"Fine." The word is forced. He meets my eyes with obvious reluctance. "The prince needs your help, thief. Can he count on you?"
Before I can answer, Samir’s finger starts playing with my ear again, this time wiggling against the sensitive point at the top. Bright laughter escapes my lips, “Hahahahahahahahaha….. SAMIR!!”
"Is that how you ask for help from the one person in this city who might actually save your prince?" Samir's low chuckle rumbles against my back, his finger never stilling their devilish wiggling at the tip of my ear. “My half-elf thief deserves both your respect and admiration. Pay him a compliment… or your prince can twist in the wind for all I care.”
Callahan's jaw tightens, his eyes flashing with irritation, but the weight of his duty wins out. He looks increasingly uncomfortable as my lilting giggles ring out, almost like he’s fighting back his own smile. "Very well. Your… elven features are… striking," he bites out the words. "A mark of your unique heritage."
"Better." Samir hums approvingly, the sound vibrating through me. He finally stops his infernal tickling and grabs my arm, dragging me towards the exit. “Tell your prince we’ll be in touch.”
“You maniac…!!” I sputter as Samir nudges me towards the warped door, “Honestly… tormenting me like that in front of the bloody captain!! Are you insane??!”
“And that was just one finger.” Samir chuckles as he smirks down at me with an infuriating amount of amusement. “Consider it a preview for what’ll happen tonight.”
Seven Sentence Sunday Chapter 4 of The Lone Ranger
Thanks for the tags @emsprovisions @annoyingcloudearthquake @heartstringsduet @nisbanisba!!
Here's a snippet from Chapter 4 of The Lone Ranger. Chapter 4 has now been posted and can be found HERE!!
Sam’s climb into his truck is slow, his back is screaming now, cussing him out for not staying in the hospital and getting prescribed pain medication. He tosses the trail cam into the passenger seat, and throws his hat down on top of it before settling into the driver's seat. He takes a second to breathe, closing his eyes and letting his head rest against the back of the seat. He takes a couple deep breaths that really don’t help things. Why does it have to hurt so fucking bad?
His moment of peace and quiet doesn’t last long and gets interrupted by his phone ringing. He lets out a groan and digs in his pocket for it. Chief Jones’ name is lighting up his screen.
“Go for Campbell,” Sam says, answering the phone, his voice a little more hoarse than it should be. The four wheeler ride was definitely better than walking, but it was still rough.
“Where are you?” she demands. She sounds stressed and even a little angry. “I’ve been trying to reach you for over an hour.”
“Doin some good ol’ fashioned detective work,” Sam replies, glancing over at his passenger seat. That camera better have something usable on it.
“Well you need to be at the hospital. Like yesterday.”
“Did something happen? Is Reyes okay?” Sam asks, straightening up in his seat, a new wave of concern coming over him.
“Yes and no.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There was a shooting.”
“What?!”
“Someone took a shot at him through his room’s window. They missed him, but got a nurse. Your presence here would be greatly appreciated, Ranger.”
“But he’s not hit?”
“No,” Jones replies. “He’s fine– or as fine as he has been.”
“On my way,” Sam promises, and hangs up. They’re taking shots at him through hospital windows now? He puts his truck in drive and switches on the lights. If it happened an hour ago, he probably doesn’t need to be running with his lights and sirens on, but he doesn’t care. He needs to get there.
Camina paces Emmrich's office. She's visited Emmrich and Willow's home on many occasions, but she hasn't spent much time in this room. In the few hours since her arrival in the Necropolis, she feels she's memorized every object in it. There are the jeweled skulls, the ritual chalices, a myriad of bones and charts, and, of course, plenty of books lining the shelves.
"Rook, you do know what they say about watched pots, don't you?" Emmrich says from his desk. He's not even looking up from the books he has spread ahead of him. His voice is not unkind, but there is a tiredness in it.
She has her own pile of books, has been doing research herself, but the nervous energy had become too much. She sinks down onto the nearby chaise guiltily. "Sorry."
"Have you considered going home and getting some rest?" Emmrich asks.
Now that she's sitting, she can feel the exhaustion catch up to her, like hitting a physical wall. "No. Perhaps once Will returns…or…we find something. Have a plan."
Emmrich's gaze finds hers, filled with careful concern. "If Lace really is out there, I don't believe she'd want you to feel this way, Rook. In fact, I think she'd be rather upset to know how much you're blaming yourself."
Camina shakes her head. "If she's alive, she's been out there for over a year, and we've done nothing."
"That's not true," Emmrich replies. "You have done quite a lot. She'd be glad to know it."
She doesn't want the absolution he's offering. "Would she also be glad to know I trusted Solas again…cost her months and months?"
If Emmrich has a response for that, he's interrupted by the opening of the door, of Will and Manfred entering the office. "Well, Vorgoth has been harder to track down than anticipated. I had to settle for leaving a note with Myrna. Any progress here?"
Emmrich rises, brushes a kiss against Will's cheek. "I'm afraid not."
"Perhaps some rest and clearer heads? I've already gotten the guest room made up for Neve."
"We can't stop now," Camina protests.
The look Will gives her is long-suffering and full of pity. "Cam, we're not stopping. Just taking a break. Going without sleep makes us sloppy, makes things cost more time. You need rest."
"You can. I won't be able to sleep. Is it alright if I still work?"
Will looks like she wants to argue, but Emmrich replies first, "Of course."
Then there is a knock from the front door. Camina feels a rush of hope. "Vorgoth?"
Emmrich lets out a tired laugh. "We're very popular this evening, my darling."
Will sighs. "Apparently."
Camina follows them down the stairs and to the front door. It is not Vorgoth at the door; instead, it's Taash and Lucanis, both looking worse for wear. Taash is sporting a black eye, and Lucanis's lip is split. He's also moving somewhat gingerly as he crosses the threshold.
"What the fuck happened to the two of you?" Camina demands, rushing down the last few stairs.
"Quillback," Taashs shrugs.
At the same time, Lucanis says, "We fought each other at the Hall of Valor."
Taash looks at Lucanis in annoyance. "Wow, rolled right over on that one, didn't you?"
Lucanis shakes his head. "I was never going to lie to her."
"Well, duh, I would've kicked your ass, again," Taash admits.
Lucanis looks offended. "Again? It was a draw."
"Well, there will be no fighting in my house," Will says firmly. "Now come inside, you're letting the wisps in."
Taash nods in Camina's direction. "Good to see everyone! Neve here too?"
"In the kitchen!" Neve's voice calls.
Taash skirts around her. "You're going to want to have all the big feelings talk, which is fine. But…maybe later?"
Honestly, if Taash and Lucanis beating the shit out of each other is the worst that comes from telling Taash about Harding, she'll take it. She holds up both hands. "No rush on the big feelings talk."
Taash looks relieved and pats her arm as she heads for the kitchen. Camina turns her attention to Lucanis. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," he replies, glancing away from her. "Any progress? Emmrich, were you able to undo the spell?"
"I'm afraid not. We're still working, though; we'll find a solution," Emmrich replies.
Camina sighs. "We've got a lot of avenues to sift through."
"You'll find something," Lucanis replies, rather flatly. "You always do."
Will shoos both her and Lucanis towards the door. "Lucanis, take her home. Make her sleep, or I'll spike her tea myself."
"I thought you said I could stay," Camina asks, unable to keep the frustration from permeating every word.
"That was before Taash arrived. I don't have enough beds or couches here. We all need sleep, so the Volkarin Residence is now closed for the evening. That door will remain locked until at least nine a.m.," Will says.
Camina rolls her eyes. "Lucanis could pick that lock in an instant."
Will raises an eyebrow. "But he won't."
"I will not."
She liked it better when Will and Lucanis didn't gang up on her. "You're both the worst."
Will pulls her into an unexpected hug. It is only then that she realizes just how heavy this is. Her eyes burn as tears gather, and she wills them away as she sinks into the embrace of her friend. As Will pulls back, she says, "This problem will still be here in the morning. And all of us will help you with it. Okay?"
She believes that, and she knows it's no use arguing. "Nine a.m.?"
Will rolls her eyes. "Go home, Cam."
"We'll see you in the morning," Emmrich trills.
Lucanis holds out his hand to her, looks a little unsure if she's going to take it, but she does. Of course, she does. And then they head out into the Necropolis. It is only due to a lifetime in this place that she can discern the dark gloom of the sky as being more early morning than late evening. The wisps are active as ever, darting about and trailing in their wake. They encounter few souls as they walk.
"So I take it Taash took the news about as well as to be expected?" Camina asks. Their apartment isn't far, just a few blocks east of here. It's a familiar path these days.
Lucanis sighs. "I prefer fists to tears. We owe Isabela, though, kind of ruined her fight night."
"How?"
He shrugs, then looks like he regrets the movement. "Taash was supposed to be fighting all evening, and ours…lacked spectacle."
Usually, Lucanis loves a good fight; is nothing but spectacle with his twists and spins and fancy footwork. He fights like a dancer; it's mesmerizing to watch. If this wasn't like that…well, that means he didn't want it to be. It means he wanted it ugly and painful. She's still finding it hard to look at him, knowing all she knows, knowing it's her fault. Another to add to the pile.
When they enter their apartment, it is as they left it just two days ago. It feels as though they've been away for longer. "You going to let me heal you?" she asks.
Lucanis shakes his head and strides into the kitchen. "The Lords gave me a potion. I'm fine. Are you hungry? I haven't eaten, and I doubt you've stopped long enough."
Even after the day they've had, the first thing he tries to do is take care of her. It's too much. "Lucanis-"
He's already in the kitchen, already peeling off his gloves, shedding the outer layer of his armor, and depositing it on the nearest chair. He glances back at her. "What?"
"You don't have to take care of me-"
He looks so very tired then, in their shared kitchen, his hands on his hips as he looks at her. "What else can I do, Camina?"
"What are you talking about?"
He shakes his head. "You won't talk to me, you'll hardly look my direction. You won't let me carry this with you, so what else can I do?"
"Carry what?"
Lucanis runs a hand down his face. "The guilt, Camina! If you're guilty of failing Harding, then the rest of us are too, but you're pushing everyone away. Including me. Have I not shown you that I'm with you? That I'll stand by your side no matter what?"
"This isn't about trust. It's just not yours to carry! I'm the one who made the choices…I trusted Solas, I let Emmrich do the spell, I stopped pushing! I gave up!"
Lucanis takes several careful steps towards her. "Why?"
She's sure he knows, but he's going to make her say it. He never crowds, but she feels as though she can't quite escape, like the walls of their kitchen are pressing in. He's right about the guilt, it feels like an undertow, dragging her down no matter how hard to tries to swim for shore. "Because I thought it was what you wanted."
He nods, looking entirely unsurprised. "And there it is. You didn't ask me, but you blame me for it."
"I don't blame you. I blame me. You'd just given up the title of First Talon…Treviso…and it felt like the least I could do to just…give us a chance to move the fuck on…but now…I feel like-" She doesn't want to say it, doesn't want to make it real by putting it into words. If it's just some tangled feeling in her chest, then it's just hers, and it can't hurt them or jeopardize this.
He waits her out, brown eyes soft in the glare of the kitchen light. She never used to spend much time in here, but he's made this space his own, filling up their kitchen with tools and utensils and food. These last few months, they've spent so many evenings here at the table, continuing her work or keeping him company while he makes dinner. So it feels so odd to see him so quietly devastated now in this space that has only been smiles and laughter. "I feel like I traded finding her for my own comfort. Our future for hers."
And she's made him complicit, ruined everything good they've built. The more rational part of her brain whispers that maybe it's not as bad as all that, but right now, in this moment, it feels like she's failed everyone.
He reaches for her, tenderly cradling her face. "You haven't traded anything, Camina. You didn't know. You still don't know."
She feels tears gathering in her eyes, tries to will them away and fails. "I shouldn't have-"
"Stop," he says, leaning his forehead against hers. "Guilt and regret will eat you alive if you let them. You're not alone in this, not anymore. I don't care if you push everyone else away, but not me, Camina. We mean more to each other than that."
And he's right. She's used to being the leader, in charge. Telling everyone what to do and keeping her cards close to her chest, but that's not what she is anymore. She's not saving the world, and they're not part of a team. Everyone trying to help her solve this problem are just here as friends who care about each other, not as specialists or experts…
"I'm sorry."
He pulls back enough to look her in the eye, thumbs catching the tears that spill over. "You've walked the rooms of my mind, and I'm not asking to do the same, but just give me a key…don't force me to stand outside and guess. I'm not going anywhere."
"I won't push you away," she promises.
"I love you, Camina," he says, and she feels it, true as the first time he said the words, but somehow they've become more, deeper, expanding with them.
"I love you, too," she says as she presses in, wraps her arms around him, head against his shoulder, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear.
He huffs a bit in discomfort, and she immediately tries to pull away, but he holds her fast. "I'm fine."
"You're really injured," she accuses, loosening her hold so she's barely touching him.
He chuckles. "Don't tell Taash."
She pulls back; this time, he lets her. "I can fix it."
His smile is soft, full of fondness. "I know you can."
***
Lucanis cooks breakfast in Emmrich and Willow's kitchen. He'd woken before Camina and gone grocery shopping at the markets within the Necropolis he likes best. He'd known she had been tired because, despite everything, she'd actually slept. After he'd done the shopping, he'd crawled back into bed and curled around her. She'd woken up slowly, in his arms, and begun speaking into the velvety darkness of their room. Determined, it seems, to do as he asked, to let him in, to let him see the cracks.
He knows he's guilty too, of putting off conversations, of hoping problems will simply vanish if ignored. As long as he's known Camina, she has always been carrying something, holding more weight than is truly her share. It's one thing he loves so much about her, but it also breaks his heart to know just how much she'd shoulder alone. He's not asking her not to carry the world, just let him share the load.
And she seems better for it this morning. Less anxious, certainly less frustrated. She's turned her attention away from undoing Solas's spell and instead seeing if there's a way to use the lyrium that appeared in the Necropolis to communicate back to Harding. There's a more hopeful air in the townhouse this morning. And there's something about having their friends gathered around working on a problem and him cooking away for them that feels both welcome and nostalgic.
"Whatever you're making smells good," Neve says from the kitchen table. She's still hard at work on cracking the Venatori book; she has pages upon pages of notes spread out across the surface.
"It's quiche, an Orlesian recipe, with my own adjustments," he says. Two kinds, in fact, to accommodate everyone's preferences. He's rather happy with how they're turning out. He's got fresh coffee, a platter full of fruit, and he's currently making pancakes with fresh blueberries and lemon zest.
"Fancy," she says absentmindedly. "Oh, that's it? Isn't it?" She begins furiously scribbling in her own notebook, a grin on her face.
"You broke the cipher?" he asks.
Neve's eyes a bright with victory. "I did. Now, I'll have to unpick it all, but I think I got it. Now we'll finally know what those Venatori were up to."
"Sounds like you're at a stopping point to get everyone for breakfast?" he asks.
Neve shoots him a long-suffering look. "Really?"
He smiles at her over his shoulder as he turns back to the stove to flip a pancake. "What? We need the table. And you need a break."
"I'm going to keep working while I eat, but I will go get everyone else," Neve says, carefully gathering her mess of papers to make room on the table.
He pulls the quiches out of the oven, turns to set them on the counter, and nearly has a heart attack when he discovers Vorgoth just…hovering there.
He very nearly dumps the quiche in his hands on the ground. "Por la sangre del Hacedor."
"GREETINGS," Vorgoth says.
He's beginning to understand why Camina gets so upset when he accidentally sneaks up on her. "Good morning, Vorgoth." He's proud of just how steady his voice sounds.
"THE SPIRITS NOTED YOUR AND DETERMINATION'S RETURN," Vorgoth says.
He's no longer terrified of….whatever it is Vorgoth is, but he still makes him uneasy. "Oh, that's good?"
He's saved from more cryptic conversation with the arrival of everyone else to the kitchen. He watches Willow happily greet Vorgoth with a hug that he's more surprised to see Vorgoth return than anything else. Camina is all business as soon as she sees him though.
"Glad you're here, Vorgoth. We need to talk about the lyrium."
The spot that Lucanis views as Vorgoth's head dips. "YES. YOUR NOTE SAID YOU HAD QUESTIONS."
"You said it was a message. You said there were whispers. Voices in the fade. What were they saying?"
"NOT A SINGLE VOICE, BUT MANY. NOT WORDS, BUT A SONG, A FEELING."
"Isatunoll?" Camina asks breathlessly.
Vorgoth shifts a little. "I KNOW NOT. IT HAS GONE QUIET."
"Gone quiet? What does that mean?" Camina asks.
"I ALSO BRING TIDINGS FROM THE VEIL JUMPERS. THEY WERE UNABLE TO DELIVER YOUR NOTE., THE ELUVIAN LEADING TO KAL-SHAROK'S OUTPOST HAS GONE DARK. THE WAY IS SHUT," Vorgoth holds out a small, folded note. He recognizes the writing as being Camina's hand.
"The eluvian? It's closed?"
Vorgoth's head dips. "PERHAPS THE VI'REVAS CAN STILL TAKE YOU THERE."
The kitchen is silent as everyone processes this new information, but it is Taash who speaks up first. "So, dwarves are losing their magic, the lyrium we found here isn't singing anymore, and Kal-Sharok is being weird? And we think…what? This is Harding?"
Neve steps close to them. "It's too much of a coincidence. It has to be connected…somehow."
"We have to go to Kal-Sharok," Camina says.
He doesn't disagree. "But first, breakfast?" he asks, gesturing at the kitchen island filled with food.
Willow smiles up at Vorgoth. "Would you like to join us?"
"THANK YOU FOR THE INVITATION, BUT THERE ARE MANY THINGS I MUST ATTEND TO THIS MORNING, GRAVE DAUGHTER."
Vorgoth drifts away, and Lucanis finds himself a little relieved by that. Everyone begins filling plates, complimenting him on the food, but Camina hangs back. He makes his way to her side, a hand sliding around her waist.
"It's going to be alright," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her hair.
She sags against him a little. "Everything feels like an emergency."
"It's not. You've never steered us wrong before, trust that."
The look she gives him tells him that she disagrees with that assessment. "Thank you for cooking."
"It's the least I can do, you're the ones all doing the hard work," Lucanis says. "Just tell me where to aim the knife."
For a moment, surrounded by their friends in the intimacy of Emmrich and Willow's small kitchen, everything feels just about right.
It doesn't last.
***
In the end, Emmrich and Willow remain behind in the Necropolis, unable to break away from their previous responsibilities, so Camina, Lucanis, Neve, and Taash head through the eluvian to the Crossroads. Neve has the Venatori book open, decoding it as they walk. She'd worked all through breakfast over it, too.
Camina finds Strife within the Crossroads nexus, handing out orders and coordinating travel within the Crossroads like he was built for the bureaucracy of it all. He complains an awful lot about it, but Camina thinks that secretly Strife likes seeing the way the Veil Jumpers' numbers have blossomed, the safety of the roads, the power it's given the elves. Of everything Camina has done, this still feels like the one thing she did right in the mess of this world.
"Rook," he says as she approaches.
"Got a note saying that the Kal-Sharok eluvian went dark," she explains, voice low enough not to be overheard. There aren't a lot of secrets in the Crossroads, but a mirror going dark might be something Strife wants to keep on a need-to-know basis.
Strife seems unconcerned. "Mirror's locked, not broken. I wouldn't worry about it."
"I need to get there, speak with Stalgard. Can I use the Vi'Revas?" It galls her a little to ask to use something that is only Strife's and the Veil Jumpers' because she made it so. She could certainly have used the mirror without permission, but it seemed rude not to ask.
Strife gives her an assessing look. "They're allowed to lock their mirror, Rook."
He says it like she doesn't know, like she wasn't there when the rules were written. "May I please have access to the Vi'Revas?"
He sighs. "I suppose I should be flattered you asked first?"
"Is that a yes?"
"If they're mad you bypassed their lock, it's on you."
Fair enough. "Thank you."
As they walk away to catch a floating barge helmed by the Caretaker, Taash mutters, "Still grumpy."
Camina laughs. "Always. How are you doing? It's been a bit since I've seen you."
Taash shrugs. "Keeping busy with the Lords. With the Crossroads, there are more pirates on the seas than ever. Some of them are friendly with us, some of them we're working to thin their numbers."
"More piracy?"
Taash nods. "Oh yeah. You don't sneak shit in the Crossroads. The contraband goes the slow way. Which means you hit a ship, it's almost guaranteed to be more lucrative."
"Shit, I hadn't thought it would change the sea routes that way," Camina says, wondering about the consequences, the other unseen problems the Crossroads might have caused.
"Everything's always changing."
Camina looks up at her friend. "Yeah, how are you dealing with the most recent of those?"
Taash rolls their shoulders, mouth turned into a frown. "I don't know. Part of me hopes you're wrong and that we didn't spend the last year mourning her instead of looking for her right. But there's another part of me that can't help hoping…but if she is alive then…"
"We failed her," Camina finishes.
"I was going to say, if she's alive, why didn't she find us? Do more than speak to you. Why wasn't she reaching out to me instead? No offense."
"None taken." She refrains from asking about those times in the Crossroads, the voice that Taaash also admitted to hearing. Perhaps they've forgotten or pushed it aside. Maybe it's easier to leave it there.
Taash sighs. "It's just a hurt that I thought was finally healed up a bit, now it feels raw all over again."
"I'm sorry," Camina says.
"It's nice, at least, to have some of the gang back together," Taash says, glancing ahead at Lucanis and Neve who walk together, Neve still decoding the book as they walk, Lucanis offering help where he can.
Camina can't help but agree. "Yeah, it's awfully good to see you."
"Feel the same way," Taash smiles, and it feels genuine; it even feels a bit like it might be okay.
They enter the familiar mirror into the Lighthouse, and it's strange to walk inside and know it's not theirs anymore. They could go up the steps and into the library; she's sure that space hasn't changed that much, but she knows the rooms they claimed are gone or shifted, changing to suit their new occupants. Once, Camina had returned to the orphanage she'd called home as a child. The caretakers were different, the children too, the rooms were the same, though, the furniture too. She had found herself looking around every corner, as though she might find the little ghost of her past self, hiding around a corner. The eluvian room feels just the same, and she's almost sure that if she crests the stairs and walks out into the courtyard, Harding will be waiting for them.
But she doesn't turn, doesn't go up the stairs, doesn't wade into the twilight world above them. Instead, she bends and tunes the Vi'Revas to Kal-Sharok, or near it at least. It'll be a hike, and they're all dressed for snow, heavy cloaks and sturdy boots. The surface of the mirror ripples, and then it's all snow and mountains and dwarven columns as they step through.
Camina has been to the outpost near Kal-Sharok a handful of times in the last year. With the use of the Crossroads, Kal-Sharok seized the chance to trade and expand its reach. They've seemed especially eager to establish trade and good relations, specifically to spite Orzammar. The meetings with Stalgard had always been pleasant, if a little tinged with guilt.
Today, the trade post that has sprung up near the mirror is empty, stalls cleared out. The mountain wind howls, and there is no one here.
"So…this is…bad, right?" Taash says.
Camina pulls her cloak closer as a gust of wind disturbs the settled snow. "Where is everyone?"
