One thing that truly sucks about "Cryptozoologists" (as someone who is very into cryptozoology) is that they will use Native American myths as a reference of proof for their unverifiable speculation, and then when actual Ndns say "Hey, no, that doesn't quite add up. It doesn't match our perception of this entity...you know, our entity." they will have the audacity to simply shrug their shoulders and say that either:
1) Natives probably just didn't completely understand what we were looking at or
2) That we are simply interpreting our own myths incorrectly.
Like, let that sink in.
Ndns are being told on the daily by kevlar-wearing-gun-toting-edge-lords that we don't understand our own myths or were too "primitive" to grasp the "complexities" of our own entities.
When Camina returns from her visit with Sera and Dagna, something is wrong. Lucanis cannot quite put his finger on what it is, but it feels as though something fragile has broken the moment he wasn't looking. It sets Spite on edge, and it makes him want to jump up from the table, pull her into his arms, and demand answers. He has to know what's going on, what has happened. He finds himself filled with an awful sort of dread, and it keeps him seated. He feels helpless and a little unsure. He's positive that if she just looks his way, just meets his eye, he'll be able to figure out what is happening here. What is wrong.
But she won't look at him. Why won't she look at him?
"We need to get to the Necropolis," Camina says, voice strained.
It's the last thing he expected. "What?"
Neve wants more answers than that. He can feel the anger radiating off her. "You learned something. What is it? What happened?"
Camina shakes her head. "I'll explain on the way."
Neve looks like she wants to argue, but instead she just nods in exasperation. "Okay."
Camina turns to Sera and Dagna, who do not look surprised at their plans for a speedy exit; they, too, look profoundly disturbed.
"Thank you for your assistance. We really appreciate your help."
"Anything to help find Scout Harding, yeah?" Sera replies.
Dagna nods beside her, watching Camina with careful eyes. "Keep us updated, maybe? You know how to reach us!"
Camina's smile is forced, and then they're off, back through the city and to the eluvian. They've done this enough times to know that if Camina isn't willing to talk here, that she won't want to until the Crossroads at least. Sometimes, they'd wait her out all the way to the Lighthouse before she finally put the words together, finally let them in on whatever she's learned or discovered.
He didn't use to resent it, the way she wanted to shoulder every burden herself. He just feels as though he's earned better from her by now. She's not alone in this, and she needs to talk to them. Still, he waits until they're through the eluvian, back in the relative safety and emptiness of the Crossroads before he presses.
She's walking a bit ahead of him and Neve, so he falls into step beside her. "I think Neve is going to explode if you keep whatever lead you got to yourself much longer."
But Camina continues to refuse to meet his eye. "I fucked up."
"What are you talking about?" Neve demands. "Rook, what happened?"
"I was hearing voices, did Bellara tell you?" Camina asks, coming to a stop, looking at Neve, but not at him. Why won't she look at him?
Neve nods. "She did."
Camina twists her hands. "I was hearing my name. Over and over and over again. I thought it was Solas….I went to see him…in the Fade. He told me it wasn't him and gave me a spell to close off whatever it was…."
"What does this have to do with the dwarven contact you met with?"
Camina grimaces, begins pacing. "Everything apparently. You should have seen him, absolutely devastated by the loss of his powers, the connection to the stone. He didn't hear Lace…didn't know anything about her or Valta. But he had been hearing something…over and over and over again. Can you guess what it was?"
The only thing that would get Camina this worked up. That would have her this upset. "He was hearing your name, too."
Neve glances at him. "How is that even possible?"
"You're asking me?"
Camina's pacing continues. "I'm so fucking stupid. I trusted Solas, again. I should have kept looking into the voices instead of simply banishing them. I cannot believe she was reaching out to me…and I…"
Spite is trying to intercept her path, keeps looking at him with frustration, as if he should be doing more. "Rook!"
"We don't know it was Harding," he warns.
Neve sighs. "But what else could it be? Why…why did you cut the voices off? That doesn't seem like you."
The pacing comes to a stop. Camina stands there a little defeated. "I…." She glances at him for the very first time, and then quickly away. "It was a mistake…" In that moment, he sees it, the guilt overflowing in her eyes. "One that I hope Emmrich can undo. Let's go."
Something in his gut twists. He'd been surprised, too, at her willingness to let go of the mystery, to put it aside. But then, of course, it had come just days after Treviso. He was still reeling with the newfound sense of freedom, the untethered promise of it all, still smarting from Illario's abandonment. And he realizes now what he didn't see then, everything Camina isn't saying: she'd done it for him.
What had she said? That it was time to move on? He knows her well enough to know how she sees this. She believes she has traded once again, done what she believed was right, and set it upon the altar of her love and friendship and been found wanting again. He only remembers seeing her this torn up with guilt after Minrathous, after the dragon, after saving Treviso. He hadn't known her well then, hadn't seen all the cracks he does now.
If Neve wasn't here, he'd fight against the guilt, the blame, the weight dragging her down, but not here, not right now. She won't thank him for it, isn't ready to hear it anyway. She needs to feel like she's doing something, like she's righting this perceived wrong. He falls back, lets Neve walk beside her, questioning her all the while. He only half-listens as Camina recounts for Neve every detail, everything that the contact had told her. Neve had been onto something reaching out to others with Harding's power.
"So, he couldn't feel Harding…but he could feel the presence of the others? Does that mean Valta was the only one with the power to reach out, to speak to them? Perhaps because she came before?" Neve asks the questions almost more to herself than to either of them.
"I think we should reach out to Kal-Sharok….perhaps Stalgard would be willing to ask their Oracle…or….maybe they'll let us talk to her…" Camina's words seem lost, like she has to fight to voice them at all.
"Should I go get Taash?" he asks. He has nothing to contribute to the theory and the magic and everything Camina and Neve need to sift through with Emmrich. He knows that. He'd also do anything to escape this heavy feeling in his chest, the distance between him and Camina. Perhaps if he leaves, everything will be fine upon his return.
Camina and Neve's steps falter, and they look at each other. Camina shakes her head. "I don't know."
Neve sighs. "It might not be anything. I don't want to get their hopes up for nothing…Would you want to know?"
He thinks of the time Camina was trapped, stuck in Solas's prison. He'd been so defeated, so unwilling to accept even a glimpse of hope. He'd rejected every bit of news, every scrap outright…and he'd been wrong. So very wrong. "Yes," he says at last, looking directly at Camina.
There's a sorrow in Camina's eyes when they meet his. "Go."
So he does.
***
There is little comfort in the familiarity of the Necropolis, in the wisps that bob and weave and follow Camina as she rushes from the eluvian towards Emmrich and Willow's townhouse, Neve hot on her heels. She'd scribbled a note to Stalgard, handed it off to a Veil Jumper, and then stepped through the eluvian without looking back.
Harding is alive. Harding is alive. Harding is alive.
It had been Harding who had been reaching for her. She's not sure how it's possible, but she knows it. And it feels as if somehow the guilt of it all will swallow her alive. Harding was trying to reach her, and she cut her off. It had been simpler, easier to just believe Solas this time…that there was nothing more than lingering effects of his blood magic. Part of her wants to believe that he lied to her again, that this is another trick, but what would the point of that be now? It hadn't felt right, but it had felt easy, and she thought she'd earned that. She's a selfish fool.
Emmrich and Willow's townhouse comes into view, and she bursts through the iron gate and rushes up the steps, pounding on the door. It's late in the Necropolis, much too late for a polite call, but this is an emergency, and she has to fix this now.
When the door opens, it is to Emmrich in his dressing gown, and Willow glaring out at the street from around him. The annoyance vanishes when they see her and Neve on the stoop.
"My dear Rook, whatever is the matter?" Emmrich asks.
"I need you to undo the spell, the one Solas gave me," she says without preamble or explanation.
Emmrich opens the door, beckoning her inside. "Undo it…? Oh, and Neve too. Lovely to see you, my dear."
"You too, Emmrich. I apologize for the late hour," Neve says. "It's…well..."
Only once the door closes behind them does Camina manage the words. "I think Harding's alive."
Emmrich stares at her and then glances at Neve.
"It's a working theory," Neve replies.
"We need some tea," Emmrich says. "Why don't you start at the beginning, Rook?"
Emmrich and Willow already know all of this, but she starts at the beginning. The voices in the Crossroads, the whispers of her name. She tells them about the interruption in Arlathan, the warning in Treviso, meeting with Solas, being wrong. Again.
"The lyrium here…in the Necropolis…." Camina says. "What if it's her, too? We need to talk to Vorgoth. Right now!"
Willow has taken the seat beside her, places a hand on hers. "Cam, it's okay to take a breath for a moment. It sounds like you've been running around all day."
She presses away from the table, begins pacing the kitchen. "Harding is alive! Did you not hear me?"
Three pairs of pitying looks. "We don't know that," Neve says.
"I do! What other explanation could there be? Can you undo the spell, make it so I can hear her again?"
Emmrich frowns. "There's nothing to undo, Rook. All that spell did was amplify your resonance with the Fade. I could no more undo it than pluck out a single instrument from an orchestral swell."
She can feel the tears coming. "So…what? There's nothing to be done? I just…cut out our best chances of hearing her…finding her…and I can't undo it?"
Will looks at Emmrich. "Isn't there anything we can do?"
Emmrich sighs. "If Harding was reaching through the Fade, perhaps a sort of adjusted seance? There are…other things we could try."
Neve nods. "Good. I need some time with this Venatori book anyway. Mind if I stick around?"
"You are most welcome here, always," Emmrich replies.
Camina nods, pleased to hear there's something to do, things to try at the very least. "While you work, I'll go find Vorgoth."
Will shakes her head. "You'll do no such thing. I'll go, you get some rest."
"I can't sleep. Not right now."
Will steps close. "You came here for help, so let us help. I know you want this solved right now, but if your friend really is out there, she's been waiting a long time. Take a breath."
She's not sure how to explain how heavy the weight of this revelation is, how she's not sure how to breathe around it. She feels that every moment she does nothing, that somehow she is still failing, that Harding is slipping further out of reach. Will is right; it's been over a year since she watched Harding die, what's another day, another few hours?
"I'll be here."
***
The Hall of Valor is just as loud and raucous as Lucanis remembers. He likes the Lords, their friendliness, and informality. The humid air and smell of the sea remind him of Treviso. It's nice too to go somewhere he is recognized. Here, he is a member of Rook's team instead of a Crow or an abomination. It's easy to ask if anyone's seen Taash as he enters through the eluvian, and he's directed up the ramshackle tower to the best arena viewing area.
As he scales the steps, one of the Lords accompanies him, gets Isabella's attention. The leader of the Lords is reclined on a salvaged chaise, wearing only the barest scraps of fabric and too many feathers in her hat. She smiles when she sees him raises a cup of something that smells sweet and strong. "Oh, hello there, you're looking a bit more broody than usual. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
A quick glance around the group gathered here tells him that Taash isn't among them. "I'm looking for Taash. I need to speak with them."
There's cheering coming from the arena, and Isabella smiles. "I'm afraid that they're a little busy."
He sees them then, axes in hand, fighting what looks to be a group of other qunari down in the arena. "I can wait."
"Sure, you could. But they're the main event this evening, fighting all night long." She gives him an appraising glance and smiles. "I could slot you in ahead of the next fight, though, if you're willing to get a little dirty in the arena."
He has little interest in fighting Taash, but if he's being honest, they'll probably want a fight after he breaks this news. It'll be that or tears; there's not really any in between. He thinks he'd prefer the fight. "Fine."
"Splendid!" Isabella grins. "You remember the way, or do you need an escort…"
He responds by diving into the arena. Taash is just about finished up with the qunari, and the Lords do love a spectacle. Spite even pops out the wings, so they float gracefully down to the ground without even needing to roll the landing.
Taash is pulling their axe out of the last qunari and grins, blood spattered across their face and arms. "Hey," they nod, taking in the cheers with a cocky grin. "You here to fight?"
He shrugs. "I'm here with news that couldn't wait. Isabella said you were busy all night, and this was the best way to talk to you."
Taash shrugs and rolls out their shoulders. "Well, she's not wrong. What news? Is Rook okay? She's not here with you, is she?"
There's no good way to do this. No good way to break something like this except to come right out and say it. He steps close, keeping his voice low. "Taash, Rook thinks Harding might be alive."
He watches the words hit, watches them process what he's said. What it means. Taash glares at him. "The fuck did you just say?"
Camina would have found a better way to do this. He raises his hands, sinks into a ready position. "If it'd make you feel better to hit me, you're welcome to try."
They scream, throwing down their axes and rushing at him. He's ready for it, knows they need the fight to burn out some of their rage.
The fight is wild and angry and ugly, lacking the sort of spectacle the Lords enjoy, he knows. Lucanis does a good job blocking most of the blows, gets a few solid hits in himself, but takes one right in the chin, splitting his lip. He and Spite are much faster than Taash, but they've got reach and raw, angry power behind every swing of their fists. It's not exactly different from any time they sparred in the Lighthouse, but back then, they'd worried about hurting one another, sidelining each other ahead of real work. There is no such tempering now. He finds he welcomes it, the simplicity of the fight, the clarity of the pain. It's a hell of a lot better to do this than to think about the way Camina wouldn't look at him, watching her pull away, eaten alive with guilt she won't share with him.
Eventually, Isabella calls a draw, and he and Taash are ushered out of the arena to the sounds of only slight applause and plenty of booing. He's not sure how long they were fighting, but it was certainly long enough to have lost everyone's attention. He's pretty sure he overhears something about a quillback being announced as they both limp into the healer's tent outside the arena.
Lucanis clutches his side and breathes shallowly, feels like Taash managed to bruise his ribs. It's been a long time since he's been this injured. He sits heavily on a cot while one of the Lords' healers pushes a healing potion into his hand. He knocks it back immediately, ignoring the burn in the back of his throat that tells him it's been laced with something alcoholic. Only the Lords.
"Either of you got anything more serious than surface injuries?" the healer asks.
"Nah," Taash grunts. "Thanks, Soraya."
Soraya glances at both of them. "You couldn't at least have tried to make it look good?"
"Not that kind of fight," Taash replies, mostly unbothered.
Soraya shrugs and leaves them alone in the tent.
"Sorry about your lip," Taash says.
He runs his tongue across it. It hurts, but the healing potion has already started working. It'll be swollen for a day or two, nothing more. His ribs still hurt, but breathing feels a bit better, too. "I've had worse. Sorry about your eye."
Taash's skin is already purpling where one of his wings had caught their face. "I've had worse," they say, smiling a little. "Why's Rook not here breaking the news? Why'd she send you?"
"I volunteered. Neve and Camina went to the Necropolis to see Emmrich…did Camina tell you she was hearing voices?"
Taash nods. "Yeah…I mean…I was too…in the Crossroads. Shit's weird. That's what I told her."
"Are you still hearing things?"
Taash shakes their head. "Nah. Wait…does she think…"
"She met with a dwarf in Jader who had powers like Harding's….you know how Valta was able to communicate with her? We thought…maybe the others might be able to sense her if she was still alive? Apparently, he heard someone saying Rook's name over and over."
"That's vashedan. She's not alive, Lucanis. She wouldn't just…she'd have come found me…she'd…" He sees Taash faltering, the doubt creeping in. "Neve said she hadn't found anything."
"Until now."
Taash paces, tossing their braid angrily. "That's…you're sure?"
He sighs. "I'm sure that Camina is…that she wouldn't have us telling you this unless there was something, some hope."
Taash sits down, heavily. He is reminded of those first few fragile months after Harding's death, the way the grief seemed to weigh them down, seemed to forcibly drag them too far to reach.
"Fuck."
"Well, I hope the two of you are pleased with yourselves. I had to get them to send a quillback in and offer up a round of drinks to keep the crowd from rioting," Isabella says, striding into the tent and glaring at them both, but he sees the concern behind the flippant complaint.
Taash's forearms rest on their knees, and they don't bother looking up. "Sorry. I..uh…need to go for a bit."
"Please don't tell me you need my dragon hunter to kill any more gods or blighted dragons. I think I've had quite enough of world-ending problems."
"It's nothing like that," Taash says, voice not offering much comfort. "Just personal stuff."
Isabella glances his way, clearly wanting more information, but if Taash isn't saying, neither is he. "I'll get them back soon," he says.
Isabella nods. "Good. And when you do, you owe me a better fight. One that doesn't lose me money, preferably."
After she leaves, Taash sighs. "Rook's gonna kick our asses. Let's go."
"What are the chances we convince her we ran into trouble in the Crossroads?"
Taash lets out a joyless laugh. "Slim, these days. Maybe we mention the quillback, instead?"
He has no real intention of lying to Camina, but he's happy to play along with Taash. "You're not faster than a quillback?"
Taash glares in his direction. "What'd it do to you? Sit on you?"
Now that's just insulting. "I'm a professional, Taash."
The ribbing continues, and he lets it. Seeing it for what it is: an obfuscation, a distraction. He can't say he blames them.
I'm really enjoying all these new hooked wayfinder/moaui fanfics and with the increase of shippers I hope it brings back/hypes up previous writers who started back in 2016 to continue their works. To name a few I would really love to see again
Seeing Eye to Eye by Kittykat1026
Black Coffee and Bad Pickup lines by sophxec (bra_inrot)
It's been almost two whole years since I started subjecting my moots to nonstop Society of the Snow content. And no, I do not intend to stop anytime soon! Thank you all for sticking around 🫶
