Lace Harding hears from Rook Thorne that there's very likely to be an archdemon at Weisshaupt. Lead Scout Harding, formerly of the Inquisition, who was there at Adamant Fortress. Who spent enough time with what remained of the Grey Wardens after to read between the lines.
She knows.
She knows why it has to be specifically a Grey Wardens who kills an archdemon. She knows what happens to them after.
"It doesn't have to be you, though. Right?" She tries to catch Rook's eye but Rook is refusing to look at her. "I mean, we'll be at Weisshaupt. There'll be hundreds of other Wardens."
But Rook's hand twitches at her hip, and Lace understands. The dagger that hangs there, that never leaves Rook's side for long. The dagger that drew the singular attention and wrath of Ghilan'nain directly down on her head during the dragon attack. It saved a city, and maybe it'll save an ancient fortress.
But at what cost?
"No." Lace grabs Rook's hand, forces her to at least face her, even if she won't meet her eye. "It can't be you. The fight's nowhere near over and we need you."
She cannot lose another friend to this mess. She can't. If she has to move every stone in that fortress, she is not losing another friend to this mess. Not with so much still unsaid between them.
"We need you," she repeats.
Rook's eyes carry the faintest shimmer as she smiles brightly. "What for, if not for this?"
Lace isn't sure which is worse - that Rook doesn't expect an answer, or that Lace has one, but can't seem to force it past the lump in her throat.