#yadaf

Of course they had one.

And, of course, it was a Saturday in September.

It had been a year after Sarah returned to her Earthen body. She didn’t know why she had kept Sethari’s memories—and it’s not like she could walk around asking people, Hey, do you have these memories of yourself from an alternate universe that just so happens to be a character you created in the hit game known as Dragon Age: Inquisition? No? Just me? Haha, don’t worry about it then! Purely a hypothetical question, please don’t put me in a mental institute!

So Sarah had settled for the next best thing: done her best to weather the compounding grief of losing her brother twice as she stood before his empty, closed casket. She was vaguely aware of her family members mingling around and behind her. It was difficult to see them around the tears she couldn’t stop from falling. All she could see was his picture, wreathed in white lilies. His green eyes were bright as he smiled for the photo.

“Aloy?”

She kept seeing the twin branches of his vallaslin beneath those eyes.

When she found it too much to bear, Sarah silently turned heel and walked towards the nearest door. It didn’t matter where it took her, she just needed out.

Sarah stiffened, hand outstretched towards the door. The voice had sounded close and distorted. And…strangely like Sethari's, if she remembered correctly.

Only to find nothing. Instead, a ring of blue light erupted from the center of a smooth, steely surface, which promptly unlocked and opened with a gentle whir.

Great, now I’m going insane with grief, Sarah thought bitterly to herself. Seeing Kieran's Dragon Age-alternate self was one thing—hearing hers was quite another. Shrugging off the odd, cold sensation that shivered down her spine, she reached back out for the door handle.

A holo-lock, a voice answered Sarah’s unspoken question, distinctly different from Sethari’s. It was huskier, lower than hers.

Feeling unsteadier by the second, Sarah pulled the black cardigan she wore over her dress and walked through the door. Hallucination or not, it was still better than staying one more second by that damn, empty casket and that haunting photo.

Her…head. Her head was starting to hurt.

Groaning, she leaned into the wall of the hallway for a second to catch her breath. It was difficult to make out her surroundings. Her vision kept flickering between the demure, carpeted hallway of the funeral home and…and…

Sarah swallowed thickly. Closing her eyes, she began to chant softly to herself.

“Hold on, there, Greenie!” Varric protested. “Rules are rules, and that’s not –”

“That’s not enough, I know. I’m also wagering my shirt,” Kieran swiftly cut in. 

“Oh, Inquisitor…are you sure you want to do that?” Josephine’s smile was kinder than the ones she had been giving Varric. 

“Quite sure.” Kieran glanced sideways and locked eyes with Solas. The mage’s grin grew wider, wolfish. 

“I raise again,” Solas said, moving more coins into the pool. Varric swore from between his teeth and threw his cards onto the table, folding. Cullen followed suit. Josephine wavered, glancing between Kieran and Solas. 

He’s bluffing. Kieran narrowed his eyes and said, “I wager my socks.” 

Solas maintained their locked gaze and tossed a couple more coins. A giggle escaped Josephine, and she delicately placed her cards facedown on the table. 

“I’ll admit, I am most eager to see how this plays out,” she snickered. 

“I’m sure Chuckles is thinking the same thing,” pointed out Varric, earning another laugh from Josephine. 

Solas’ gray eyes were electric. Fold, Keiran could all but hear him dare. A thrill bubbled through Kieran, more intoxicating than any ale. 

“I’ll add in my trousers and call.” 

Varric and Josephine erupted into a cascade of anticipatory cheers, and Cullen’s permanent scowl deepened. Solas let the tension linger for a moment before laying his hand for the table to see. It must have been a decent hand, Kieran supposed, based on Varric’s feigned concern and Josephine’s genuine surprise. 

Kieran sucked in a breath to steady himself and sent a quick prayer to Mythal for her blessing. If he lost, he would be down to his underclothes. In front of Cullen. And in front of Solas.

He opened his hand. 

Everyone at the table stilled, staring at his cards. A bead of sweat formed at the base of his neck.

Legend had it Mythal was sometimes fickle… had his prayers gone unanswered? 

Then, Varric leaned forward and shuffled his hand into a different arrangement. Solas let out a sharp, fenedhis that startled Kieran. 

“A royal flush! You had us going there for a second, Greenie,” Varric crowed. 

“Indeed,” muttered Solas. 

“Thank Mythal,” Kieran gasped, quickly reaching for the pile of gold. He couldn’t help shooting Solas a triumphant smirk. “How’s that for confidence?”

A snort escaped Solas. His wolfish smile was gone, replaced by an expression of careful consideration. The twin branches of Kieran’s Vallaslin burned under his gaze.