#rial lavellan

[canticle-of-apotheosis]

The memories looked different on the other side.

When he asked what I was like before the Anchor; when he said that I showed a Wisdom he had not seen since his most ancient memories of the Fade.

I understood now the things he could not say.

He feared I was his creation, a fragment of his own magic broken from the orb when it touched my mortal hand.

In this I took unexpected pride: his love for me was so complete he could not distinguish between us.

He called me his heart.

[canticle-of-apotheosis]

Varric shut me out.

I was not his Hawke, and he could not be made to listen.

Perhaps it was the red lyrium idol—he’d kept a fragment of it all these years. I could not rule out that it whispered to him as it had to Bartrand, to Meredith.

Or that’s what I told myself, when the news came.

That he was drawn to that idol with the sure pull of a magnet. Of magic. Of the Stone calling to its child. That nothing could have stood between him and that da…

I flattered myself to think things might have gone differently if I had been given the chance, but Varric had never intended to let me try.

He remembered what happened to Cole, and knew exactly whose side I would take in matters of spirits and the fade. Whatever love there was between us, when it was clear that I would not help him, Varric set out to replace me.

To find someone just like me, but not me.

He went so far as the Grand Necropolis, to the same Mortalitasi that once sent Viuus Anaxas to train me, and found another necromancer. Another elf. One so far removed from The People that the Dread Wolf’s name would carry no weight.

Someone with all of my expertise, but none of my experience.

A rookie.

And now he was gone.

(next)

[canticle-of-apotheosis]

(previous)

I wished I could have screamed as I had once in Halamshiral, when it felt like nothing I touched would stay whole. But that well had run dry.

I told Varric we could not confront Solas empty handed—he would not upend a decade of planning because someone else objected to the price.

Everyone chafed to hear me say it, but Solas stood every inch a god. He took no council, answered no prayer. He created the world as we knew it—and believed in his right to unmake it as well. Only another god could challenge that.

The problem wasn’t that my advice was unsound, but that it wasn’t Solas on Varric’s mind.

It was Anders.

Whatever Varric said in those final moments, his words were meant for the healer, not a general still at war. One could not appeal to Justice when speaking to Pride.

One could not even appeal to Love, and god knew that I tried.

Varric never stood a chance.

It was Harding, then, who wrote, her words crisp as a printing press, nearly embossed with the force of writing so slow. So careful. So furious.

“For what it’s worth, I think it was an accident.”

She meant to console me—as if there were crimes that even I could not forgive. It was sweet to know she thought so highly of me, however wrong she might be.

(next)

[canticle-of-apotheosis]

“Flemeth is dead.”

Whatever I had been about to say dried up on my tongue, and the world swam.

Dead.

Ten years I had searched for Asha’bellanar, with no hope to sway Solas other than to petition Mythal—the woman he had called the best of them.

I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, and swallowed against the rising panic. There were few mages powerful enough to harm Flemeth, much less slay her—the Hero of Ferelden had done it once, at Morrigan's urging, but she had been reborn on Sundermount.

She would not, as I had been told, die easily.

Morrigan had the desire, and the power, but not the will; not since the vir'abelasan.

“How?” I finally managed, unable to string together a better question.

"I fear you will not like the answer, Rial Lavellan."

She spoke with a deliberate slowness, invoking my name as if it were relevant. Some weight pressed down on my chest, squeezing my heart, pushing the air from my lungs. Oh.

"Don't—"

"Twas the Dread Wolf."

For a moment I stood before him still, my left hand mangled in the magic of the anchor, his bitter laugh in my ear when he spoke of Mythal's death, the punishment it deserved.

The punishment he deserved.

He'd kissed me with her blood on his hands, and I'd been none the wiser.

"Dry your eyes, Inquisitor. She went to him willing enough."

I said nothing, but fixed my eyes on hers, and something in her softened.

"I shall put it this way instead: Mythal gave Flemeth, and the old crone's power, to the Wolf without a fight. And, for her part, my mother did not resist."

This she said quite amicably, as if it would answer all of my questions rather than raise a thousand more.

[canticle-of-apotheosis]

In my canon world state, just before the final battle in Minrathous, there were so many necromancers crammed in the room, almost in a sort of lineage: Emmrich Volkarin who (in part) trained Dorian Pavus, who (in part) trained Lavellan (Dorian gifts the Inquisitor "Mortalitasi: For the Living, the Dead” if you specialize in necromancy), then Myrna and her presumed protege—Rook.

I think this is even funnier if Emmrich is a lich, because can you imagine Dorian’s perspective—running into your old professor and he’s an immortal skeleton with the most unbelievable drip.

[canticle-of-apotheosis]

(previous)

Rook seemed small, even for an elf, with pallid skin and shadows gathered under lyrium blue eyes. Her mud dark hair fell lank, a shroud that had not been cut in many years.

Harding told me she’d been found by the undead of the Necropolis as an infant and raised among the Mortalitasi—which explained a lot, including the necrotic miasma that churned around her, and a tattoo, the color of dried blood, that stretched across her chest and sternum like an autopsy incision, peeking through the Antivan silk of her blouse.

She also wore, in the same dull hue, what looked like an approximation of vallaslin—two thin lines that split her chin, mouth, and nose before blossoming across her forehead. The effect was striking, though no Dalish would mistake her for their own.

“Andaran atish’an.”

The words tumbled from her, unfamiliar and poorly rehearsed.

“Anetha ara.” My reply was reflexive, but not what followed. “I wish we could be meeting without our gods threatening to blight the world.”

I didn’t care whether she heard the accusation or not.

Morrigan reached for me then, palming the air in gesture of steady calm. “A blight that spreads wider with each passing heartbeat.”

She held my gaze for a moment, like a mother, like a Keeper, like a god. Chastened, I returned to our script.

“Morrigan and Harding have told me about what you have accomplished since taking over for Varric.”

She beamed, unpained at the reminder, unbothered at how those accomplishments had fallen all too neatly into her lap: the dagger, the Crossroads, the Lighthouse.

I understood Corypheus then, and what a wretched thing I must have been to him—hapless, helpless, and wielding power stolen from a god.

But I would play The Game; Morrigan needed Rook for the task ahead.

“You’ve put together an impressive team, and you’ve got the best chance—maybe the only chance—to stop Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain.”

This much was true, but from my vantage I could see the pattern that Rook could not: Solas, placing his most powerful treasures like bait in a trap, letting someone else dirty their hands without ever having to ask.

That those tools, that task, fell to Rook while Solas stood untouchable in the fade seemed less a failure of his plan than its very design.

So too my freedom to act, and command Skyhold once more. It was no coincidence the Blight could not reach the place where the sky had been held back.

[canticle-of-apotheosis]

-SLAMS MY WAY INTO THE ASK BOX- A BIRDIE TOLD ME YOU WERE WRITING A SEQUEL, YES PLEASE. It's youuuu!!! I obsessed over your story throughout my gameplay in 2014!!! Your story is the only reason Inquisition is one of the only games i've ever completed! It's been ages so I thought you disappeared, but here you are!! AAAHHHHH!!!-cough- ugh....i'm so happy, yes hello i'm a fan

maaaaaaaaaybe. XD

I’m amazed whatever I wrote could be such a part of your own understanding of the story, thanks so much for that.

I have been working on…not a sequel really, but more like an assortment of reactions as Rial processes the events of the DLCs, which change her pretty proundly. Life’s kinda fuckin’ me up right now, but when things settle down I do hope to start posting again. Thank you for the encouragement. It means a ton.

[deedala]

AU where Pira and Rial (@canticle-of-apotheosis) exist together and got into shenanigans as babyteens~