#this version of thedas is rory's own

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 14 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M (for language) Warnings: Bereavement, canon-typical injury and violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Answers

The knock sounded very small in the bustle of Haven, so small that Rory wasn't entirely sure it could be heard inside the cabin. But evidently it was, because it got an answer.

"Who is it?"

"It's Rory," she called, hugging herself against the chill. "The healer. May I come in?"

"The door's not locked."

Her hand rose automatically to push, but she stilled herself, recalling a few times in her own past when an unlocked door did not mean she wanted company. She'd just scolded a room full of important people for failing to respect Kaaras' needs. Now was not the time to be a hypocrite.

"That's no reason to just barge in and disrupt your privacy," she told the door in front of her, aware that she was garnering more than a few curious glances. "I can just go away, if you'd rather be alone."

"No, it's ... it's fine," he called from inside. "You can come in."

With a clear invitation, she pushed open the door, stepping inside to close it behind her. The cabin was exactly as she remembered it from the game, with the added aroma of the pelts on the walls and the smoky fire in the hearth. Kaaras was sitting on the bed, flexing his bloodied knuckles between his knees. She was struck again by just how big he was, his sheer size making a moderate space feel smaller purely because he was in it. Another thing they're all just going to have to get used to.

"I, um, I wanted to see how you are," she said quietly, moving slowly toward him. "And to apologize for what was and wasn't said in there. Roderick's an arsehole."

"And the others?" the big Qunari asked in a heavy tone, not raising his eyes from his fingers.

"Have no excuse," Rory admitted reluctantly. Although they might have excuses, they just aren't being forthcoming with them. I'm not a mind-reader. She sighed, moving to pour water from the jug into the basin. "They're good people, Kaaras. But even good people make mistakes, out of ignorance or fear. I have faith that they'll correct that mistake." Lifting the basin, she turned to kneel at his feet, gently taking his bloodied hand in hers to carefully clean the split skin over his knuckles.

Kaaras didn't object, watching her as she tended to his self-inflicted hurt with kind hands. "I shouldn't have lost my temper," he said, regret filling his voice.

"I thought you were quite restrained, actually," she answered, drying his hand with a soft cloth. "I wasn't."

A flicker of a smile touched his boyish features as he looked down at her. "I heard some of that," he admitted. "You didn't have to."

"Oh, I think I did," Rory told him airily, though she couldn't deny the anxious pang that gripped her stomach at the thought of the line she had crossed in the Chantry. "It was unforgivable, what he was saying. How he was referring to you. They should have spoken up. Next time, they will."

"You seem very sure of that," Kaaras murmured, unconvinced, curling his large fingers at her direction so she could paint his abused knuckles with a greasy compound of yarrow and elfroot.

"Sometimes people need a push to make the right decision," she shrugged lightly. "Like I said, they're good people."

He seemed to accept that, falling silent as she pulled a roll of linen from her belt pouches, wrapping it securely around his hand. "It wasn't anything I haven't heard before," he offered eventually. "Oxman, savage, beast ... humans and elves and dwarves have called me that all my life."

"That doesn't mean it stops hurting," she pointed out, tying off the bandage carefully. It took me years to get used to being called ginger, and even then, it still hurt when people used it as an insult. But this wasn't about her. "The fact that it hurts doesn't mean you're weak. Anyone who says that words don't hurt is a liar."

"I wasn't expecting it from a Chantry cleric," Kaaras told her, as though he needed to justify his reaction somehow.

"Of course you weren't," she agreed, sitting back on her heels to look up at him. "The Chantry is supposed to be the voice of Andraste and the Maker. Unfortunately, you find small-minded people everywhere."

An almost shy grin lifted his expression. "And you're big-minded?"

Rory laughed quietly. "In some things, maybe," she conceded in amusement. "People are people, no matter what they look like or where they come from. And people come in two flavors - good, and idiot."

It was Kaaras' turn to laugh at her frank assessment of the world at large. "Just two, huh?"

She smiled, shrugging. "In my opinion, most evil acts, most cruelty, can be boiled down to idiocy," she confirmed, glad to see his mood lightening. "And everyone's capable of being an idiot from time to time. It's up to us to educate them."

"And how do we do that, Healer Rory?"

"We teach them," she said simply. "We show them how wrong they are, by not letting them silence us or chase us away. We help people see beyond their prejudices by being good people ourselves."

"Put like that, it sounds easy," he conceded with a rueful quirk to his expression.

"It does, doesn't it?" Rory sighed, aware that it was anything but. "The more you do it, the more people will stand and do it with you." She patted his knee, using it as leverage to push herself up onto her feet. "When the dinner bell rings, come and sit with me. I can chat enough to fill a room."

"You think I'd be welcome?" he asked uncertainly.

"I just invited you, so yes," she countered warmly, tipping the contents of the basin out through the window. The people she sat with - Varric, Rylen, Evy - wouldn't make him feel out of place. "It's better than hiding and letting all the wild stories run rampant. You have to start somewhere, Kaaras."

"You are the strangest human I have ever met," he told her, with the air of someone making a new discovery.

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," she chuckled, pleased that he wasn't holding onto that debacle in the Chantry. What he needed now were friends, and the only way to make that happen was to expose him to people and hope for the best. "I'll see you later. And if I don't, I'll drag you out of here by one ear."

Kaaras laughed easily at her threat. "Don't worry, I believe you!"

"Good. Dinner, don't forget."

With his assurances ringing in her ears, Rory let herself out of his cabin, closing his door in her wake. She turned to leave ... and almost swallowed her tongue in shock. Cassandra was right in front of her, definitely inside her personal space, and looked like a woman on a mission. The Seeker took a step back, apparently surprised to be almost run down directly outside the Herald's door.

"Healer ..."

"I'm sorry," Rory apologized hastily. "I didn't see you there."

"The fault is mine," Cassandra told her, glancing over Rory's shoulder to the closed cabin door. "I was going to ..." She seemed to reconsider her words in mid-sentence. "The Herald, is he ... well?"

"As well as can be expected," Rory answered. It wasn't her habit to shared details after a conversation like that one. "He'll improve, if we make the effort."

"Healer Rory, what you said in the Chantry," the Seeker began, and Rory felt the panic rise, sending her pulse-rate soaring.

Oh gods, this is it, she thought miserably. What happens when you get fired from the Inquisition? I doubt they give you two weeks' notice and a severance package. Where the hell am I going to go?

"... you were right," Cassandra went on, the words not coming easily from such a proud, certain woman. "There is no excuse for my inaction. He is the Maker's chosen, regardless of his race. But I ..." She hesitated, glancing again to the cabin door. "I am uncertain how to make it right. Do you know?"

Rory found herself staring at the Seeker, her thoughts short-circuited by the unexpected admission of responsibility. So ... I'm not fired? I scolded the entire council, and I still have a job? She shook herself, aware that an answer was required.

"He ... he needs a friend, more than anything," she heard herself say. "He's all alone here, Seeker. Everyone he knew died at the Conclave. Seeing him as a person, rather than a religious icon, would be a good place to start."

Cassandra nodded slowly, accepting this advice in the spirit it was given. "That is something I can do," she conceded thoughtfully. "Thank you, Healer."

Relieved she hadn't offended a woman who could probably snap her neck with one punch, Rory let a lopsided smile quirk her lips. "You may as well call me Rory, my lady," she replied quietly. "We're swimming in healers now."

"You may be correct ... Rory." Cassandra inclined her head as she used the proffered name. "And you have more than earned my name in return. Were we to lose you, it would be a sad day, especially for the commander. You have aided him immeasurably since we came to Haven."

And you're the only person he's told about his lyrium withdrawal. To get praise from you, I must be doing something right. "The commander is ... a special man, Lady Cassandra," Rory told her a little warily, feeling her cheeks pink as her thoughts turned to Cullen. "I-I don't want him to suffer if I can help it."

"Then I would like you to take charge of distributing the philters to the templars," Cassandra added firmly. "Such daily proximity is likely making his symptoms worse."

It was a real effort for Rory to make herself show confusion. She wasn't supposed to know Cullen was in withdrawal, and Cassandra really shouldn't be assuming that Rory was in possession of all the facts. It's a good idea, though; why hasn't she taken this job away from him before now? Her acting must have been improving - the Seeker realized she'd said too much.

"He hasn't told you," she said, consternation furrowing her brow. "You are so close together, I thought ... I should not have said anything. The task will be given to someone else."

"We're not that close, Cassandra," Rory blurted out, forgetting the woman's title in her embarrassment at the assumption being made.

The Seeker leaned toward her, a conspiratorial glimmer in her eyes. "I saw you on the lake last night," she intimated softly. "The moonlight, the snow, the way you embraced each other ... it was very romantic." As Rory opened her mouth, Cassandra shushed her with a faintly envious grin. "I will not say a word until you allow me to."

"There's nothing to say," Rory tried to insist, torn between embarrassment and amusement as the Seeker winked inexpertly at her.

"Of course there is not," Cassandra agreed sagely. "Now, if you will excuse me ..."

Left to stand stupidly on the doorstep as the Seeker let herself into Kaaras' cabin, Rory couldn't quite believe what she had just heard. First Rylen, and now Cassandra. Does everyone here think I'm in some kind of secret love affair with the commander? Am I in a love affair with Cullen? We haven't even kissed! Several late nights, one massage, one long hug, and one night in the same tent does not mean we're an item. Or does it? Is that why he was so worried about my reputation - does one chaste night somehow equate to an engagement here?

But if that was true, surely Cullen would have said something to that effect. Her feet scuffed against the snow-swept stone as she mounted the steps to return to the clinic. He'd held onto her so tightly in his sleep, but was that because she was handy, or because she was her? It was so confusing. And how the hell do I find out without getting him drunk?

"Healer Rory!"

Startled from her thoughts, she raised her head, surprised to discover that it was Leliana calling to her from the tent where she coordinated her spy network. The bard met her gaze with those scarily unreadable eyes.

"A word, if I may," Leliana suggested, in a manner that wouldn't take no for an answer. "In the Chantry."

Unable to refuse, Rory nodded mutely, adjusting her direction to return to the Chantry. As she walked, an icy ball of utter dread formed in the pit of her stomach. What did Leliana know? And what was the spymaster going to do about it? In the game, there was an opportunity to prevent Leliana from having someone killed, but would anyone notice in time if Rory ended up on that kill list? She met the redhead by the doors, dimly noting that their hair was almost the same shade as she allowed herself to be lead through the nave and into the now empty map-room. She stared down at the sparsely-placed markers, flinching as the door closed ominously behind her. The silence dragged on, excruciating minutes ticking by as the ice in her stomach tossed and roiled with dreadful anticipation.

"Am I so very frightening that you do not dare to look at me?" Leliana asked finally, coming to stand close beside her.

Too close. "You're the Left Hand of the Divine," Rory answered quietly, forcing herself to meet the bard's gaze. "The dagger in the dark. Anyone who has a past should be afraid of you."

"Afraid that I will use that past against them?" The stern expression softened, and Rory found herself looking at the Leliana of ten years ago, the Leliana of Origins. She's still in there somewhere. "Why would I do such a thing to someone who has already proven themselves loyal? I am simply seeking the answer to a question."

"You can't get answers without asking for them," Rory pointed out, her eyes watchful for any sign of trickery. Is she lulling me into a false sense of security with the loyalty comment?

"Very true," Leliana agreed. "But first, I should like to tell you a story."

"Stories are for telling." Why is she dragging this out? Just drop the bomb, already.

The brief smile that touched Leliana's face was like a flash of sunlight from between the clouds - there and gone in an instant. "Indeed," she acknowledged, twisting to lean back against the table comfortably. "The story concerns two girls, neither one more than sixteen years old, who appeared as if from nowhere in the days after the end of the Fifth Blight. They dedicated themselves to helping the wounded and dying in Denerim, uncaring which race a person belonged to. When asked, they said they were sisters, from Gwaren. Yet no one in that city could place them, when asked."

Rory let her eyes fall back to the map once more, studying the familiar names and landmarks as Leliana spoke. She wondered if the bard had noticed her tension, the way her shoulders had stiffened at the mention of two girls who had appeared from nowhere. But that appearance happened in Denerim, not an avalanche in the Frostbacks. So why does this sound so familiar to me?

"These girls - or women, I should say," Leliana went on, "spent a decade traveling Ferelden, offering their services to whoever needed them. They became known as traveling healers, gaining in skill as the years passed. In the South Reach, the younger was courted by the lord of the land, yet she chose to move on when her sister did, preferring the bond of blood over the temptations of riches. They never asked for payment, yet those they aided cared for them in turn. In Amaranthine, half a year ago, they met the Right Hand of the Divine, and pledged themselves to the then-unformed Inquisition without a second thought."

Oh ... oh my gods, Rory thought, finally catching on to what was being said. I wrote this. A character sketch based on me and Ria, something I never did anything with. That shameless self-insert idea that came so easily but refused to be written. And that's my Thedosian life story? I actually do have a past here? It was such a relief to realize that, it took a moment to notice that she was smiling as the bard continued.

"Regrettably, the younger sister was killed by an avalanche as they made their way to Haven," Leliana said softly. "Yet the elder remained, and has given more than we ever asked. But my question is this ..."

She paused, and Rory tensed, aching with suppressing the urge to turn and run, terrified of what might be coming.

"... who were you, before you were Rory and Ria?"

How the hell am I supposed to answer that? I never wrote a full backstory. An oversight, that, since it's now my backstory. But where was the harm in offering just a little of the truth in answer to Leliana's probing? It wasn't as though the spymaster could check the facts, and it might be a good idea to have a little of the real truth of her background mixed in with the fiction she'd created years ago.

"No one who was missed when they disappeared," Rory offered soberly. "And long forgotten by now, I imagine. I'm glad you can't find them. They were angry, bitter little girls for a very long time."

"No ties?" Leliana asked in a gentle tone. "No family that will mourn your loss with you?"

"None." And it still hurt to say that out loud. Rory turned her head to meet the bard's sympathetic eyes. "Does it matter?" she asked, the words almost a challenge.

Leliana's smile was sad as she shook her head. "No," she answered, sharp eyes witness to the shudder of exoneration that rippled down the healer's spine. "But I appreciate the trust you give me in sharing what I asked for."

"I may fear what you might do, but I trust that you would do it for the right reasons," Rory told her sincerely. And I trust that Kaaras is going to do everything he possibly can to bring you back to yourself. She drew in a shaky breath. "May I return to my duties?"

The spymaster studied her for a moment, then nodded. Released - and relieved that no one was going to know she wasn't Thedosian unless she told them - Rory slipped from the map-room hurriedly, lengthening her stride until she was out in the fresh, brisk air, even welcoming the sickly glow from the Breach on her skin. That could have gone so badly wrong. Instead, she had a backstory she could remember the bare bones of that covered the last ten years, and Leliana's trust.

Perhaps the Maker was real, after all.

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 72/74 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Choose

Silence. Soft, cool silence.

It wrapped around her like the most delicate silk, muffling everything but the beat of her own heart. She was falling, but yet not falling; weightless, without momentum, her vision blurred, her voice silenced. On and on she fell, until light became darkness, and all was still.

Rory opened her eyes.

She was ... somewhere. It didn't seem to be anywhere in particular. She was lying on something that smelled like grass, yet had the consistency of laminate tiles. The sky above her seemed too close; the sun shining, but with the eerie flicker she associated with fluorescent lighting. The air felt odd. It wasn't cold. It wasn't hot. But neither could she say the air was comfortable. It seemed almost alive, wrapping about her limbs discernibly, stealing the wet heat of her breath at her lips and absorbing it, as though it were breathing her just as she was breathing it. She pushed herself to sit up, feeling the unfamiliar familiarity of denim wrapped about her legs contrasting with the now more familiar hug of soft linen about her torso. Looking down at herself, she could see why her clothing felt confused. She wore a Thedosian wool tunic over jeans; her feet were bare; her hair left unbraided to tumble over her shoulders as she moved to stand. Worried hands rubbed down over her flat stomach. There was something missing, she just ... she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Movement caught the corner of her eye. She turned, blinking in surprise to see herself looking back at her. And there, over her other self's shoulder, another surprised version of her own face ... and another. Panic flared for a brief moment, before common sense kicked in. She twisted, looking over her own shoulder, and found her answer. Mirrors. I'm standing between two mirrors.

Enormous mirrors, mirrors that stood ten feet tall at least, arched gracefully at the tops, their level lower edge buried in the strangely artificial-but-natural ground at her feet. As her head turned back and forth, she saw herself reflected into infinity, a confusion of Earth and Thedas, modern and primitive, caught at a point between the two. What she had taken for glass or silver was rippling, alive, glowing brighter if she raised a hand toward it while the other mirror grew dark. Magic, then. And this, too, was familiarly unfamiliar. She knew what these magic mirrors were, but ... the words, the knowledge, they wouldn't come. It was on the tip of her tongue, an itch in the back of her mind that she could not scratch.

Turning to her left, she faced the first mirror, inching closer to examine the rippling surface. The glow burst forth, blinding her with the unexpected flare, startling her into shielding her eyes. But slowly the glow faded to something she could dare to look upon. Her reflection was gone.

Instead, the mirror showed something she had never thought she would ever see again. A blonde woman with soft green eyes, her coat a splash of almost offensively bright color in a room that was stark and chilly with no decoration. Ria. There were machines all around her, lights flashing, numbers constantly changing, illuminated as much by the imperceptible flicker of fluorescence above as they were by the warm sunshine pouring through the window. She was looking down at a bed, where another splash of color betrayed the vibrant copper of lank hair spilled out over a white pillow. The person lying there was still, freckles stark against pale skin, mouth and nose covered by a fogged clear mask, one arm attached to a laden drip-stand, one finger bearing a plastic cuff. All these things were familiar enough that Rory could sort of recognize what she was seeing. That's me, she realized as she peered at the still form in the bed. I'm there. But I'm here, too. So is that the real me, or is this the real me? She raised her hand, reaching toward the glowing image of her oldest friend.

"Don't go."

The sudden voice in the cloying silence almost scared her out of her skin. Heart pounding, she yelped, jerking her hand back from the mirror as she spun around, trying to locate the owner of that voice.

"You're frightened."

"Where are you?" she demanded, hugging her arms about herself as the mirrors on either side of her both flared with light. They were not so far away as she had first thought, barely two feet on either side ... but their wonder paled in comparison to a disembodied voice she could not place. "Who are you?"

"You don't remember." An almost disbelieving huff of breath followed. "You always remember me. But here, you don't."

Something changed in the strange atmosphere of this place. The air seemed to move, to solidify in front of her ... and there was the owner of that voice. A skinny boy in strange clothing, his head crowned with a ridiculous hat. He raised his head, showing her pale, watery eyes that brimmed with familiar concern. Her eyes narrowed, not in anger but with curiosity.

"I know you, don't I?" she asked quietly. "You're ... familiar. Who are you?"

"I'm Cole," he told her, his light voice gentle in this odd place they found themselves in. "The boy opened a door, and you went through. You are still there, but here, as well. You feel ... different ... here. The same, but different; sharper, smoother, smothered with fog that makes thoughts bright but hard to follow."

"What boy? What are you talking about?"

He raised a hand toward her, and she flinched back, afraid to risk touching this stranger that was not a stranger in this place that was not a place. Nothing felt right, and yet ... everything seemed safe enough, for now.

"Caught between worlds, between lives," Cole told her, still quiet, still gentle, his hand gesturing to the second mirror. "You have to choose. If you stay here, all of you will fall."

Without thinking, she turned her head toward the second mirror, the one she had neglected until this moment. In answer to her gaze falling upon it, the surface rippled, the glow rising to blind her as the first had done. When the light ceased to harm her eyes, she dared to look again ... and felt her breath leave her body in a rush.

A stone-clad garden; a frozen tableau. A boy with old eyes, a woman reaching forward in distress, this Cole and his silly hat, his hand held fast by ... That's me. And I'm ... Oh, holy hell; bollocking, buggering fuck ... The memories flooded her mind. A snow-covered mountainside; a friend, killed by circumstance; a village, an organization, that embraced her, gave her a place among them; a man's love; death and destruction and hope from the ashes; a marriage and a child planted; an elegant ball; weeks of captivity, only to return home again, safe with ...

"Cullen." Rory's head snapped around to meet Cole's watery eyes. "Cole, what's happening?" she asked, feeling the panic beginning to rise once again. "Where are we, what's going on?"

He seemed relieved that her mind had returned to her, that she remembered him again, reaching out to let her grip his hand.

"The boy opened a door," he told her again. "I followed. We are ... inside, but outside. This isn't the Fade; this isn't your mind. There are no demons, no spirits. This is ... between."

"Between what?"

Cole's red-rimmed eyes met hers. "Between reality and dreams."

Unbidden, her head turned toward the first mirror, to the image of Ria standing beside a hospital bed. A modern world, a convenient Earth, the lifetime she remembered living up until almost a year ago. A place where Ria had survived, where she lived and loved and thrived. Where her heart was still beating, and she still wished for her friend to wake up and rejoin her. Rory's head turned again, this time to the second mirror, to the image of herself and Cole, of Kieran and Morrigan, frozen in Skyhold's garden at the moment the boy had touched her hand and sent her here. A medieval world, a magical Thedas, the life she had built for herself in the last ten months or more. A place where death could strike at any time, where people lived their lives to the fullest. Where Cullen loved her, married her, had made a place for her in his heart.

"How do I know both places?" she heard herself ask, her eyes seeking Cole's as though he might have an answer for her. But it was not her friend who replied.

"Because your soul has lived in both for far too long, girl."

Rory felt her back stiffen. She knew that voice, too. Without needing to look, she knew who had joined them in this in-between place where the Fade did not reach and Earth could not touch. But somehow, she made herself turn around, keeping a firm hold on Cole's hand as she did so, daring to meet the piercing xanthous gaze of Flemeth.

"You fear me, girl?"

Rory swallowed. "I'd be an idiot if I didn't," she admitted aloud.

Flemeth laughed, and the sound was so familiar to Rory's ears. She'd heard that laugh in all three games, that mirthless expression of amusement that belied the power in the woman who wielded it. But this was no game; this was no avatar made of pixels. Flemeth was real. And it was her influence on Kieran that had brought Rory here.

"You have insight into who I am," Flemeth mused, stepping closer to study the pair between the mirrors. "Insight you will lose no matter the choice you make here. Such things are not for the likes of you to know."

"What else will I forget?" Rory heard herself ask, trying not to lean away as Flemeth drew closer.

"That ... depends upon the choice you make here," the ancient woman told her. "Whatever you decide, whichever path you take, you will lose a piece, gain a piece. But here and now, you must choose, girl. What is coming will not be kind to those who straddle worlds."

Rory heard Cole whimper softly behind her, startled to realize that he, too, was afraid. She squeezed his hand gently, swallowing down her own fear once more to ask another question.

"What happens ... what happens to the other me, the one I don't choose?"

Flemeth smiled her mirthful, cruel smile. "Can you not guess? Death is the only gift such an abandonment can give."

Death. Whatever I choose, whichever way I go ... this is the end for the other part of me. Rory's head swung back and forth between the mirrors, from Ria's silent vigil to the scene in the garden. From a modern life, to a medieval one. From the world that created her, to the world that had given her purpose. How was she supposed to choose?

"Pain, quicksilver and ruthless, biting deep, driving tears; grief that will always be there," Cole murmured, clinging to her hand. "On one hand, a grief known; on the other, always there, never named. Yet both the same, not different. Both a loss that can't be ignored."

Again, Rory's head turned, a thickness in her throat preventing her from speaking again. She had to say goodbye. But to who? To Ria, who had saved her from herself, who had sat beside a soundless bed for how many months, wishing and hoping for the closest thing she had to a friend to come back to her? Or to Cullen, who had woken her heart from its guarding slumber, who had loved her and needed her, and shown her how much more there was to him than the flawed warrior? That was what her choice came down to, which love she was going to abandon. And for someone who had not known much love in her life before them, it was a knife to the heart.

"I can't," she burst out, shocked to hear the tears in her voice, to feel them trickling down her face. "You can't make me do this!"

"You must choose," Flemeth insisted fiercely. "Choose or remain here, to be destroyed when the moment comes, and spread the grief of your loss through two worlds. One, or both, will lose you; one, or both, will grieve. Life ends, child. Embrace the choice you are given."

Staying wasn't an option. It was awful enough to contemplate ripping the heart from one of those she loved this deeply, but to do it to both? No. She's right. I have to choose. Her fingers gently released Cole's hand.

"Go home, Cole," she told him, her voice tight with tears. "You can't be here when I do this. I have to make this decision by myself."

"I want to help -"

"This is how you help," she said firmly, feeling the tears drip from her chin, from the end of her nose, knowing he could only feel the shock of that painful goodbye from her and not the decision she was wavering on the edge of making. "Go home. Please."

He hesitated, his face pained beneath the wide brim of his hat, twisting his hands together as he considered her request for a long moment. Then he nodded, reluctance bearing out his own struggle in obeying. "Don't forget."

She watched as he stepped back, as the air seemed to loosen its grip ... as Cole faded from her view, returning to the world he had only just grown accustomed to being a part of. A shuddering breath racked her body for a moment, her arms wrapping tight about her waist as she looked down at her bare feet. Her chest ached with the knowledge of the pain she was about to inflict, grieving for the grief she was about to bestow upon someone who was as much as part of her as she was a part of them. It was a terrible thing to do ... but she had no choice.

She raised her head, drawing in deep, shaking breaths to calm the edge of hysterical sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her. She turned to face the image of one world where she had loved and been loved, where she had made memories that soon would be nothing more than wisps of thought, lost to the powers that straddled worlds. Her eyes focused on the scene before her, drinking it in as her hand smoothed down over the flatness of her stomach, memorizing everything there as though she might be allowed to keep some small part of it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, unable to raise any more sound than that under Flemeth's watchful eyes. "Goodbye."

She stepped backward, into the blazing glow of the other mirror, her eyes fixed on the life she was leaving behind ... until it was no more.

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 71/74 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

The End?

"On aching branch do blossoms grow, the wind a hallowed breath ..."

Candlelight flickered in the warm breeze off the plateau, illuminating the private little glade just outside Skyhold. The snow was gone as summer advanced, the nights grown warm enough to venture out without a cloak or gloves, and finally, the Inquisitor was making his move.

"... it carries the scent of honeysuckle, sweet as the lover's kiss ..."

All right, so the recitation was a little overdone, but Kaaras was nervous. Who could blame him? He was paying court to a woman who could probably snap his other horn off with one hand if angered enough. But Cassandra didn't look angry. Even from here, she looked ... stunned, surprised. Deeply touched at the effort he had gone to. Rory hoped she was remembering that promise she had made the healer; to at least think about letting the big Qunari love her the way she longed to be loved.

"What's happening?" Josephine hissed in a hoarse whisper.

"She hit him," Varric answered in a low tone.

"What?"

"Gently," Rory corrected the dwarf. "She looks ... quite pleased, really."

The three of them were hiding behind a stand of hawthorn trees, ostensibly gathering elfroot, but actually spying on the romance in progress. They'd all been deeply involved in getting Kaaras and Cassandra to this point - Josephine with gathering the various things he would need; Varric to train him to recite the poem he'd chosen in a way that didn't immediately suggest he didn't understand a word of it; and Rory to keep the nerves from sabotaging the Qunari Inquisitor's romantic aspirations entirely. They felt they'd earned the right to a little spying, just to make sure everything went smoothly.

"... it brings the promise of more tomorrows, of sighs, and whispered bliss ..."

"Is he doing it right?" Josephine whispered again, craning around Rory's back to try and see without being seen.

"Well, he's on one knee now," Varric told her, leaning surprisingly comfortably against the tree trunk. "I never told him to do that."

"No, I did," Josephine told him, her voice thrumming with excitement. "Oh, it's so romantic!"

"Warm and calm, the softness smooths the sharp edges, passion and hope and laughter in her heart."

The unexpected voice made all three of them jump violently, looking around wildly to try and locate Cole. They found him, eventually, sitting in the tree above them, a contented little smile on his face.

"He feels like home to her," he murmured happily. "Strong and protective, like Anthony but better. He chose to love her, and she chooses to love him."

"Love?" Rory felt Josephine melt against her back, heard the ambassador sniffle into her handkerchief. "Oh ... the Lady Seeker loves him."

"Of course she does," Varric grumbled. "She'd have punched him by now if she didn't."

Rory nudged his back, grinning at the look on his face. "Admit it, you were so wrong about this," she teased her dwarven friend.

"Cassandra's made of iron," he protested quietly. "How was I supposed to know she knows how to bend?"

"Not iron," Cole argued in his soft way. "Delicate petals, red as blood and bleeding, wrapped in a fist of steel that protects. His smile opens the fingers, his love heals the wounds. The petals are turning white again."

"... his eyes reflect the heaven's stars, the Maker's light ..."

Josephine's head swung around, snapping back toward the lovers in the glade, her eyes wide above a rounded mouth. That was Cassandra's voice. Together, Rory and Josephine peered around the trees once again, trying to get a good look at what was going on there. Kaaras had given the book to Cassandra, was circling her warily as she read aloud, but there was a softness about both of them that hadn't been there before. Josephine's hand gripped Rory's fingers, squeezing tight as the Antivan woman tried to hold in a squeal of delight at the way Kaaras leaned in close to the Seeker and wasn't rebuffed at all.

"Andraste's knickers ..."

Varric's low chuckle was abruptly cut off as Rory's hand clamped around his mouth, four pairs of eyes glued to the suddenly arresting sight of Lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine, throwing her arms around Inquisitor Adaar's neck and dragging him down to the blanket laid out on the ground, all passion and heat and loving warmth. Allowing herself to be a woman in love, and not just a weapon to be wielded.

There was silence for a long moment, then ...

"Why is he tickling her there?" Cole asked curiously. "She likes it, but it doesn't make her laugh. It makes her -"

"Okay!"

Remembering suddenly that being a voyeur to the meat of the encounter was not the plan here, Rory straightened up, pulling Varric backwards and out of sight of the fumbling couple beneath the stars. Josephine was giggling into her hands, absolutely delighted with the result of their combined romantic expertise. Rory reached up and gently tugged on Cole's foot.

"Come down now," she told him. "We're going to give them privacy and never mention that we saw anything that happened out here tonight at all. Understand?"

Her eyes flickered between the spirit boy and the dwarf. Varric made a very creditable attempt to look innocent, despite knowing that she wasn't buying it in the slightest. Cole, on the other hand, just looked confused, as he generally did whenever someone told him not to say something he wanted to share because it was a lovely thing and everyone would be happy to know about it. She felt Josephine sober beside her, and watched as Varric's indecent grin faded under the weight of two feminine glares that promised severe punishment if he made a joke or a story out of Cassandra's passion for Kaaras. He sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Fine," he conceded, his tone gruff but his eyes twinkling. It was obvious that he was just as pleased for the two moons-lit canoodlers as anyone, but he wasn't going to admit it out loud. "Not a word. Back to the tavern?"

"Back to work," Josephine corrected, though she sounded a little reluctant. The three of them turned to head back along the narrow path toward the side gate into the fortress, Rory keeping a firm hold on Cole's hand to keep the boy from straying back toward the sensual cloud of extreme happiness they were leaving behind them. "There is so much to do before the Orlesian party arrives."

"They're nobles, Ruffles," Varric pointed out. "You can charm them in your sleep."

"The Dupuis family are highly respected in Orlais," Josephine worried as she fell into step beside him. "If their report to the Emperor is not entirely positive ..."

Rory let the woman's voice fade as she scowled mildly to herself. Oh, yes. The Orlesian delegation from Val Chevin. In one week, she was going to come face to face with the Thedosian version of her parents, without knowing exactly what had happened to make her apparently Orlesian teenaged self run away from them in the first place. She still hadn't managed to bring herself to talk to Cullen about any of it; each time she tried, her throat closed up, the words wouldn't come. She was terrified of this looming encounter.

What made it worse was that her little support network was going to be severely diminished by the time Lord and Lady Dupuis arrived. Rylen and Evy were already gone, sent on ahead with Hawke and Alistair to prepare the scouting camps and confirm the supply chains for when the Keep in the approach was taken. Kaaras would be heading in that direction in a couple of days, taking Varric, Blackwall, and Solas with him; a second party, consisting of Cassandra, Dorian, Sera, and Cole, would be following a day later; and Bull was mobilizing the Chargers to march out as well. Everyone was expecting the territories in the Western Approach to be a hard won fight to the finish, and that was without even suspecting that a siege against a demon-filled fortress was looming in their near future.

Beside her, Cole squeezed her hand. As he became more human, he seemed to empathize with her more easily, though she was still more silent than anyone else he knew. Well, apart from Solas. The elven apostate - Fen'harel, she reminded herself - had somehow deliberately cut himself off from Cole, while still trying to harangue everyone around him into denying the young man the opportunity to integrate more fully into the physical realm he had found himself in. She could understand Solas' viewpoint, knowing what she did of his ultimate plans, but even knowing that, it seemed cruel to try and force Cole to remain a confused spirit in a physical form, tormented at all times by the otherness of everyone else's pain and confusion. He had enough confusion of his own.

"There was pain when she wrote the words," he said quietly, words for her ears alone. "Hope that brings pain like a wound ripped open, fresh blood where she had thought there was none left to come. So much loss, so many regrets, but hope lives in the beating heart that wants forgiveness."

Rory drew in a slow breath, gently wrapping his arm through hers to pat his hand as they walked in the wake of the ambassador and the storyteller. "I don't understand how you know that, but ... I appreciate that you're trying, Cole," she told him carefully. "It is a difficult situation."

"But you aren't alone," he told her in turn. "He watches you, worries for you, sees the lines on your brow when you're hurting and can't speak. He knows some things but does not say them. He's waiting for you to speak."

She blinked, her brows rising in shocked surprise. It didn't take a genius to guess that he was referring to Cullen, but that meant that Cullen knew a lot more about her than she had thought he did. Back to that old guessing game. How much did Thedosian me tell him before Earth me took up residence in this body? And why isn't he talking to me about it? If he'd just give me an opening, I'm sure I could tell him most of this. Most of it, not all. She was still certain that telling Cullen about being mostly from another world would result in too much pain for either of them to bear and come through whole. For all her desire to be honest, she did not want to destroy what they had together. Losing him, seeing him in pain that she had caused ... just the thought of it was too much to even consider.

"I'll speak," she promised Cole quietly. "Soon. But let me do it, all right? It ... it wouldn't feel right, if you told him before I do."

"I have nothing to tell," Cole informed her in his soft, cryptic way. "You are silence and stillness. I like it, but it frightens me sometimes. You are my ... my friend." His voice seemed to gentle around a smile as he said that, hugging her arm to his skinny chest. "Friends should not be hurting if I can help. But I do not know how to help you."

She smiled at him, wondering just when she had started to think of this strange creature beside her as more of a brother than a friend. He was nothing like Lorcan had been, and yet he seemed to need that sense of connection. Or maybe I'm the one that needs the connection, she mused pensively.  I'm looking for things to hold onto in this world. I don't want to leave it.

"Sometimes you can't take the hurt away, or solve the problem causing it," she told him gently. "Part of being a friend is knowing that just being there is enough to make the hurt less painful."

"I can help by just ... being near?" he asked, apparently needing clarification.

"Well, not all the time," Rory assured him, fairly certain Cullen would have an apoplectic rage reaction if Cole took up residence in their bedroom overnight. "But just the act of wanting to help is helpful when people you know and care for are struggling a little. The fact that someone you know and care about has compassion for your struggles is almost more meaningful than having someone solve those struggles for you."

"I don't understand." He frowned beneath the wide brim of his silly hat.

"You don't have to understand," she promised affectionately. "You just have to be you."

She could feel him gearing up to tell her she was making no sense, that to be himself meant solving problems and taking pain away, but the rising complaint was forestalled into silence as they passed through the gate into Skyhold itself, following the poorly-lit passage out and into the cloistered garden. Josephine and Varric were already halfway to the main hall, still discussing the forthcoming visit by high-ranking Orlesians, leaving Cole and Rory to amble easily through the garden itself together, taking an easy pace with the unstated intention of making their way to the tavern. There, Rory would leave Cole in his accustomed place, and take a shortcut through Bull's bedroom to the battlements to join her husband and bully him into going to bed at a decent time for once.

A small boy stepped out into their path, innocent eyes focusing for a moment on Rory's rounded belly before rising to meet her gaze. Kieran. Morrigan's boy was a sturdy ten years old, and if Rory hadn't known his provenance, she might have taken him for any other little boy. Knowing that he bore a portion of an Old God's soul inside him, however ... well, it made her a little wary.

"You're the healer."

She paused, drawing Cole to a halt. "I am. My name is Rory."

"No, it isn't," the little boy told her. "Grandmother says you don't fit here. I can make you fit."

A chill rushed through her, the color draining from her face. Grandmother. Flemeth. Holy mother of fuck, Flemeth. Flemeth knows about me?! How in the name of all that's ... As her thoughts collided in their shocked panic, she gripped Cole's hand tighter, fighting with everything she had not to back away from this small child who shouldn't have frightened her as much as he did. There was nothing threatening about Kieran. He was all curiosity and sweetness, as a child his age should be, and yet she found herself desperately wanting to run away from that matter-of-fact tone that declared he knew far more about her than she truly wanted anyone to know.

Footsteps wrenched her attention from the child before her, to the approach of Morrigan, a witch who saw far more than she ever let on to the people around her. The yellow-eyed witch of the wilds called to her son.

"Kieran ... are you bothering the Lady Healer?"

The little boy shook his head. "No, Mother," he promised, sliding his hand into Rory's frozen fingers. "I'm just showing her the way."

Morrigan's expression went blank for a moment, suddenly creased into lines of extreme panic. "No, don't - Kieran, what are you d-"

But for Rory ... the world went white and cold and silent, and Skyhold was no more.

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 36 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence and threat Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Interlude

Warm water lapped at smooth skin, sparkling in the light of the fire. Rory lolled comfortably in the tub, tucked between Cullen's legs as he held her in gentle arms, running his fingertips up and down over her skin. It was a tight squeeze, but he'd been right in the first place - they did fit, just about. All right, so she was scrunched up like a pretzel, and he couldn't be comfortable with his manhood crushed up against her backside, but they had both managed to get into the tub, albeit with a lot of slightly inappropriate giggling on her part.

But this ... this was good. Warm, safe, wanted, she rested there wrapped up in his arms, his lips dusting light kisses over her shoulder.

"Where did you get this?" he asked lazily, tracing one fingertip over a barely perceptible scar on the top of her left thigh.

She smiled faintly, tilting her temple against his. "I fell arse over tip into a garbage heap when I was seventeen," she offered, feeling her way through the story, scanning the words ahead in case of anachronisms. "Ria came out worse - her scar stretched right up to her belly button."

Cullen chuckled softly, tucking his arms about her once again. "Do I want to know the circumstances leading up to this injurious fall into garbage?" he asked in amusement.

"That depends ... where do you fall on minor transgressions of the law?" she asked teasingly in her own turn.

"How minor?" he pressed, his lips curving in a suspicious smile against her brow.

Rory laughed, using that moment to come up with a Thedas-friendly version of this particular mishap. "Stealing a guardsman's helmet while tiddly?"

He snorted with laughter, pressing a kiss to her temple affectionately. "I can overlook that," he assured her.

"How magnanimous of you," she giggled in reply. Truthfully, she and Ria had got gloriously drunk on Ria's seventeenth birthday, and stolen a Used Cars sign from a garage forecourt before leaping into a commercial dumpster to hide from the police. What had seemed like an hilarious joke at the time had turned pretty serious when they were both bleeding, and they had both been arrested, but the police just couldn't take them seriously when they independently declared that what Ria had wanted most in all the world for her birthday was a ratty old plastic sign from that garage.

She sighed contentedly, resting her head back against his shoulder as she let her mind spin forward to her life now. Today seemed ever so slightly unreal - she'd met Dorian Pavus, told Cullen she loved him, been gloriously fucked by Commander Sex-On-Legs, and was now taking the closest thing to a private bath she'd had in months. And it all felt so natural, like it was meant to be. Nothing had been forced or uncomfortable; even her embarrassment had faded away. She was still a little pissed off by the catalyst for this lovely evening, however.

"I have to ask," she said quietly, smoothing her fingers between his in the cooling water. "Why did you have Ser Harper interrupt me today?"

She felt him tense a little behind her. "Ah ... so you didn't believe the maleficar explanation."

"Cullen, if you thought Dorian was a blood mage, you would have had him thrown out of Haven by force," she pointed out, shifting just enough to allow her to see his expression. "You certainly wouldn't have allowed Kaaras to go with him into a known Tevinter stronghold."

He sighed guiltily. "To be honest, I hadn't given it any thought until Madame Vivienne made a point of mentioning that Pavus had been in the clinic with you for almost an hour," he admitted with a grimace. "Her interruption annoyed me enough, but her insinuation seems to have been calculated to take advantage of my mental state somewhat."

"She played you," Rory simplified, frowning. Vicious Viv strikes again. What was she aiming for? "Trying to put Dorian off-balance, I suppose. She wouldn't need to play these games if she'd just be nice to Kaaras. Given that her favorite hat has bigger horns than he does, it can't be purely because he's Qunari."

"You may be right," Cullen mused thoughtfully, unhooking one hand from hers to stroke his wet fingers over her shoulder and neck, smiling just a little as a small shudder rippled down her spine. "Perhaps she believes she can prevent Pavus from settling into the dynamic here in the Inquisition."

"If she does, she's already failed," Rory murmured, her own fingers retaliating with a caress to his thigh that made him stiffen against the curve of her backside. "He's already made himself more approachable than she does. A man who will happily get drunk and do female impersonations is always going to win in the friendship stakes against a slightly haughty, politically-minded harpy with obvious aspirations to power."

Cullen took the hint of her caress, smoothing his palm over her upper arm gently. "I, uh ... I offered him my apology for having his privacy violated for no good reason," he told her in a low tone, the corner of his lip quirking happily as she lit up for him, proud of her lover for swallowing his own pride and offering the hand of friendship. "Do you know what he said? That it was fascinating to meet a king that not only knows how to protect his queen, but uses templars to do it."

She giggled at that, recognizing the analogy in amusement. "Sounds like you've found someone who might actually offer you some challenge at chess," she commented, genuinely pleased when he nodded. Yay for Dollen chess games! ... is Dollen right? Should it be Curian? Ugh, they're both awful. Ruthus? Paverford?

"Should I challenge him, do you think?"

"Definitely," she agreed. "Before Iron Bull does."

"According to Kaaras and Cassandra, Solas and Bull are engaged in a game of chess played entirely in their heads," Cullen said with vague awe. "That's rather out of my depth."

"You play strategy games in your head all day," she countered with the suggestion of a laugh in her voice. "It's sort of your job, love."

He laughed at that, unable to argue with her. What else described the intricacies of deploying a small army across southern Thedas to counter moves made who knew how long ago? Accepting her kiss, his arms slithered about her waist once again, holding her with possessive affection as she closed her eyes to relax back into the loving warmth of his embrace. They lingered there for a long moment, enjoying the comfortable silence they shared in the soothing lap of tepid water.

"I was jealous," Cullen said suddenly.

Rory opened her eyes, her gaze focusing on her own knees poking up out of the water as she frowned in confusion. "What?"

"Of Pavus," he clarified awkwardly. "He's a handsome man; confident, charming, nearer to your age -"

"And not interested in me in the slightest," she told him in a firm tone. "Honestly. If anyone should be worried about Dorian in this relationship, it's me."

"You?" Confusion reigned for a moment until Cullen caught up. "Did he tell you that?"

She chuckled tenderly. "He didn't have to," she said with absolute honesty. I've screwed him as a human, an elf, a dwarf, and a Qunari; he really doesn't need to say a word. "He thinks you're - and I quote - delicious."

She didn't need to see Cullen's face to know that her lover's eyes were wide with mild panic. "But I ... he might be offended if ... what if he asks me?"

Rory twisted, tilting her head to look at him from the corner of her eye. "That depends," she teased affectionately. "Should I be worried?"

"No!" Cullen protested loudly, lowering his voice as she cackled at his eagerness to refute her teasing. "No. Even if I were that way inclined, I love you. I wouldn't, couldn't, do that to you."

"And he knows that," she promised him reassuringly. "He respects it. But that doesn't mean he isn't going to flirt outrageously just to see you squirm."

He cleared his throat in embarrassment. "I will endeavor not to disappoint." A quick smile touched his face as she kissed his jaw, settling into his arms once again. "If ... if he were interested in you," he asked hesitantly, "would you be tempted?"

"Probably." She felt him tense at her unthinkingly truthful answer, rolling her eyes. "That doesn't mean I would do anything about it," she told him pointedly. "As you said, he's handsome; he's confident and charming, and he knows how to use it. But he's not you. No one will ever be you. I love you, remember? It would never happen. I have everything I want right here."

He relaxed against her, his momentary concern eased away by her forthright certainty that this was exactly where she wanted to be. "I'm sorry," he apologized lovingly. "It has been a long time since I've wanted this kind of peace with anyone. I can't help being afraid of losing you."

"You're not the only one who's afraid of what," she assured him in a low murmur. "And you're not alone in having moments of irrational jealousy. Just ... don't act on them, all right? There's no guarantee that the next argument we have will end this well."

His gentle chortle warmed her ear. "I shall try not to make you that angry again," he promised fondly. "However sexy you looked facing me down over the map table." She felt him grin against her cheek as she blushed at the memory, at being called sexy by this man. "But we really should get out of this bath before the water turns cold on us."

"You may be right," she conceded, borrowing one of his favorite phrases to accede to his point. She surveyed the tight squeeze of their bodies in the big copper tub. Getting in had been hard enough. "How do we do that, exactly?"

Without any dignity, as it turned out. With Cullen's help, Rory succeeded in getting to her feet without stepping on anything precious, only to have her foot slip as she made to step out of the bath; her raised foot caught on the lip of the tub, and the slip sent her sprawling face first onto the bear-fur rug in front of the fire. Cullen made the mistake of trying to grab for her; between her sudden exit from the tub and his change in position, the bathtub tipped backward, disgorging him and most of the water onto the druffalo hide that covered the floor by the bed. Hardly the most attractive sight for either of them, but at least they didn't have any excuse to be embarrassed. This was hardly the worst they'd seen of one another. Rory couldn't stop laughing at her own glorious pratfall, and her unrelenting giggles meant that Cullen smiled with her as they dried off and slid into bed, eager to rekindle the warmth they'd already shared once tonight.

And maybe that was what they needed. Something passionate, something silly, something normal, theirs to share and bolster them against what was coming. Because tomorrow would bring problems that would only make Cullen's habitual headaches worse. The mages were due to arrive. And not even Rory expected that to go smoothly.