#harellan

She had always known it would end by Solas’ side—one way or another—from the moment she hugged Dorian goodbye. From the moment she’d walked through the eluvian in Skyhold, too afraid to turn back one last time to see the faces of all those behind her.

And then there was the loss of the clan in the Free Marches. The loss of everything she held sacred. What was one more day in a blighted world compared to one last moment in his arms?

She couldn’t have foreseen that her end would not be met with death or blood, but the promise of eternity. Even if it was an eternity in a prison, for even a prison could be turned into a paradise with due time. And there was still so much bearing down against them—the years, the distance, the changes… Time is exactly what it would take to mend the tears.

This place was nice: there weren't any roaches here or anything. Not that Viktor had grown up with vermin, Ada would have called them comfortably middle class but that probably wasn't true when your mother was a Blessed seraphim. Humble, charming, etc, Viktor had been more or less acquainting himself with everyone in the house. When they were around, seemed like most people were spending their days hanging out with hunters... The nephilim had shown up at a weird time. Recently employed at the city's hospital, Viktor had found luck in procuring ways to satiate his employment needs, hobbies, and extracurricular activities: there was just one thing missing. Well, one person.

"They really do just let anyone in here, don't they?" Viktor asked, playfully. He'd meant to come to Rome sooner but he'd been otherwise preoccupied. His mother, Adatiel, was missing, that had been reason enough to abandon what he was doing and get his ass here. Harellan was another. This Casita had ears though, so if they were going to talk then it was better to just keep it PG, Viktor didn't know what Harellan was doing here but he was glad to find him. Maybe the demigod wouldn't be so tight lipped this time, both figuratively and physically - but a gay could only dream. That was at least part of what made Harellan so dreamy. "You don't call, you don't write, not even a DM: what's a guy to think?"

The location had been up in the air for some time, but the dark called to the drow like moths were drawns towards flames. Harellan stood in the midst of the sanctum, though she was surprised to find him here, she couldn't say it was entirely shocking given recent events. By the standards of this realm the drow did not make astounding parents, though Evanuris would argue differently. These surfacers were bred for weakness, coddled and doted on; familial attachments created leverage and there was nothing worse than having something that could be used against you. Something soft and pink, that broke apart with something so simple like a blade. "Well, Ayi'ig is dead." The spell over the drow Queen's name was broken now, she was to be given the proper rites soon enough, but for now she rest in a crypt below what was once her palace. "What will you do now?"

She had only been practicing, nothing more. These days, Harellan hardly ever got the chance to actually perform as a dancer any longer, her duties towards her master occupying most of her time. But every now and again she would steal away to at least practice the complicate figures and intricate patterns her scarves where drawing in the air.

So caught up was she in her rehearsal, that she didn't even notice how she was being watched. Not until the intruder made the mistake of toppling over a vase. The beautiful artifact did not fall over gladly, but the sound it made as it bobbed back onto its place, alarmed the raven-lady of another presence.

Whirling around, she peered into the semi-darkness near the vase with a piercing glare.

Those words struck her like a blow to the face, all Revas could do was stammer as a sharp, familiar pain shot up her arm. Old pain.

“I see no clear path forward. I see no way back from this abyss,” Gethin sighed as he rolled his shoulders back. A trickle of something fatalistic rolled with his laughter. “But you… you are searching, still. After all these years, you are still seeking out that which we can only spin tall tales of; or else lies or fables, and then maybe even you, too, will join myth. You who have gazed into the abyss, like I did, you did not let it twist you into something awful. You saw and did not turn to stone. Keep gazing a little longer, you might yet find what you need.”