[we can bolt if you want. she's here, looking through the mirrors, trying more than anything to find a way out.
maybe she should linger, examine things, but it feels invasive. still, the part she stops and takes a closer look at is the end. the way he's trying to give his possessions away and saying goodbyes, and no one really... talks about it.
she's used to some fairly suspicious requests from friends. somehow it has always turned out better than it had any right to. but it goes both ways, doesn't it?]
[ it's true you do go down into the sewers for astarion but he was actually never that much of a bitch about it.
anders just looks guilty at all of this, but he's not trying super hard to escape. mostly because it'd be embarrassing to run face first into a mirror after all of this. ]
... I didn't hide my intentions that much. And not for very long.
I'm not sure I would call any of that hiding. Emotional blackmail not to ask, perhaps. [not criticizing him, just pointing out the distinction. clearly hawke could tell he wasn't being told everything.] But subtle?
[ hes kinda limp so nodding and letting himself get led out easily enough. ]
I could not ask. It was important his hands be as clean as possible. He is - was - the Champion of Kirkwall. I couldn’t let him be blamed for it, and besides- …
[ maybe a slightly more honest reason: ]
He would have tried to stop me - find some other solution, some compromise to keep peace for a few years more. But it wouldn’t last.
[she. suspects he was probably blamed for it still. but she will lead him out.]
I can see that. It's almost worse, that she professes sympathy.
[it would be one thing if the chantry woman just hated mages, didn't care what was happening to them.]
What would you have done, if he's insisted on knowing? Or if your other friend, the one you'd given the pillow to - if he'd asked why you didn't think you'd need it anymore?
[ he glowers a bit when she talks about Elthina and her sympathy. because she always did say things like that. No matter how terrible things got in Kirkwall, she would always speak to the gentle, center path. The Maker moves slowly, Andraste teaches patience and understanding, we cannot make changes lest we disrupt the order. It was more frustrating and maddening than even Templar Knight-Commander Meredith who was honest about her intentions: killing every mage she could because she was stark raving mad. ]
If he had insisted then I would have done it without him entirely. There was no turning from the path once we had decided.
[ it wasn't possible to waver, because if he did, justice would not have let him. in some worlds he even does try to stop it, to go back and remove the bomb before its too late, but his hand is always stayed. ]
And his name is Varric. [ the other guy. but he looks a little disoriented by the question about him. what would he have done, if someone had asked? ] And I ... don't know.
[he seemed more certain about his reaction if hawke pushed him than his reaction to varric, which is interesting. maybe, at a certain point, it's hard for to look at the "Champion of Kirkwall" and see just a friend, rather than someone making a political decision.]
The people I thought of as my friends... well, by this point, I've known you longer. But that's the only real comparison point I have.
We all did really have our own agendas most of the time. [maybe not wyll. but yeah. other than that.] Maybe that never changes, but... [at a certain point, you hope that you reach a point with people where they wouldn't do anything too drastic without telling you.]
I don't know that it changes. I knew most of the people in Hawke's circle for seven years. Most of us were at each other's throats - though I suppose we still showed up for the weekly card game.
[ that's pretty much exactly it. at some point, The Champion was a bigger name than simply his friend Hawke. The Champion protected him from persecution, The Champion is a mage who can be seen in public, The Champion is for all of Kirkwall. Not just him. ]
I've known Varric longer than any of them. He was my first friend in Kirkwall. Then again, Varric knows everyone in Kirkwall. But he-- looked out for me. Kept the Carta from bothering the clinic. Paid my debts when I lost at Diamondback to Isabela. Helped me write.
He was the only one of us from Kirkwall.
[ the rest of them were immigrants, refugees, runaways. none of them cared about the city in the way varric did, not really. ]
[cool, well. before i vanish to the land of phone tags, they take a wrong turn out of the mirrors and wind up somewhere else:
The mirrors lead you and Shadowheart down a path that shows a similar descent into a dark underground temple. The twisting path heads further into the dark, until the reflections that show back to you are only lit by the dim glow of purple lamps.
Shadowheart and three of her traveling companions - Gale, Karlach, Astarion - stand before an altar made of stone, glowing purple. On the altar, an inscription reads, “Brave the Gauntlet of Lady Shar, Surmount Her Trials and Rise a Dark Justiciar.”
The mirrors on the opposite sides of the room reflect other memories, other moments. They’re hazy and dark, you can’t even quite make out what’s down that way, as though parts of the mirrors are hidden from view. But you see reflected in them the story of the Gauntlet of Shar, a legendary place - a secret temple to the goddess buried deep underground in a massive cavern. There, her truest servants will prove their devotion to her by undergoing trials and will be rewarded. You see reflections of Shadowheart asking a woman, whose face is wreathed in shadow, for permission to prove herself, to show that she’s worthy of being made a Dark Justiciar, and being rejected again and again. But the rest of the memories you find that way are dark, and hidden, and there’s a feeling of dread if you even think to approach that particular hallway. There is something quite bad down there.
The better lit path ahead shows the four adventurers still at the ledge overlooking the temple, discussing their options. Shadowheart tries to explain to them what you just saw reflected on other mirrors.
“In order to join Lady Shar’s elite, you had to pass her trials, and then make a sacrifice in her innermost sanctum when you’ve proven yourself. Very few make it that far.”
But all of them are clearly uneasy, not knowing what the sacrifice will be or what it would even mean for Shadowheart to be a Dark Justiciar, other than that she professes it is her innermost desire to do so.
“I’ve dreamed of this place,” she insists, harsh. “This is my destiny.” And then she softens slightly, looking all of them over. Karlach worried, Gale suspicious, Astarion interested in something else that can be found here and skeptical of whatever it is she’s asking. “You know me better than most,” she admits to them, more vulnerably. “But I need to find out whether I’m worthy.”
The skepticism is still there, so she adds - “If I prove myself to Lady Shar, she’ll bless me with power we can use to fight the Absolute, and rid ourselves of these parasites once and for all. Please.”
Other flashes on the walls of other mirrors. A relic buried at the bottom of the temple. The Nightsong, the key to Ketheric Thorne’s immortality. A directive, from a stern, no-nonsense woman with two swords. Find it and destroy it, so Ketheric can be stopped. An image of a fortress, Moonrise Towers, ruled over by a cruel man who cannot die and an army he has absolute control over. Whatever Shadowheart is after, it’s not the only reason to continue. There’s something else important here.
You follow more twisting paths. Despite the reluctance, Shadowheart’s friends help her pass the trials. Puzzles, tests of wit and skill. And at the end of the gauntlet, there is another altar, made a stone, where Shadowheart insists she be the one to cut her hand with a knife and let blood drip down. The altar reveals the prize inside.
From the altar, Shadowheart collects a spear. She’s distracted, and the other side of the mirror reflects back the feelings. Lady Shar herself, encircling, embracing, a presence felt only by Shadowheart, which she does not mention to the others, even as her obvious awe and fear both grow. “I just feel we’re on the right track,” she says, her voice shaky. “I’m right where I need to be, under Lady Shar’s gaze.”
And despite her misgivings, she goes deeper into the temple. Once they reach the bottom of the temple, arriving at a statue of Lady Shar and a deep pool of water with stairs descending down below, words suddenly are spoken, ones that only Shadowheart can hear. One more test before you. Descend to the Nightsong. Make a sacrifice. Rise a Dark Justiciar..
She kneels before the statue and begins to pray.
The final threshold. You made it, Shadowheart, just as I knew you would. Despite these words also echoing all around, once again only Shadowheart appears to hear this.. Now all you must do is step forwards, and the rest will prove simple.
What do you need of me? Shadowheart’s prayer.
Nothing you are not capable of. The punishing of a wicked Selûnite. All you must do is use my spear to end her light. And then you will become a Dark Justiciar, blessed with my power. You will become my voice to those embrace me, and my sword arm against those who would do me harm.
I will. I will not fail you.
The others ask if she heard something, but she lies, says she was just communing with her goddess, paying respect.
The four descend into the pool and arrive iin another realm entirely, a void of dark shadows, clouds, rocks from some ruin in swirling nothingness, dark purple lightning occasionally lighting up the otherwise murky sky. The Shadowfell, the realm of Lady Shar.
“See my actions, Lady Shar,” Shadowheart prays, speaking out loud now. It seems almost like something she’s doing to calm her nerves, focus her thoughts. “Hear my words of faith. Blessed Nightsinger, witness my adoration. I have emptied my heart of falsehoods. I have vanquished your foes. Lady Shar’s will shall be done, as sure as night shall fall.”
In the platform down below, in the center of it, is a woman. A circle of light surrounds her, and you know that is her prison as much as the chains she is held by. She is a beautiful woman, tall and strong, with pale skin with cracks of gold flecked through it and white hair. But captivity has not been kind to her. She is in rags, dirty, wounded and broken.
More images again on other walls. This woman, called the “Nightsong,” has been kept prisoner here for a century by a necromancer who has sapped the strength and power she was born with for that long to transfer it to the man who rules Moonrise Towers, Ketheric Thorne. But the necromancer is dead now. No one is holding her anymore, except for the spell he cast which has not dissipated.
(Video of this part is here to 2:44, though some stuff is different with dialogue choices and this being an origin playthrough)
“I have felt you come, Sharran” she says, her voice hoarse. “The first in a century.” She looks at Shadowheart directly, expression on her face defiant despite how weak she is. “You, who have come to seek the praise of your wicked goddess. You, who have come to drive a dagger through my heart. Go on, show it to me. Your sword, your knife.” She lunges at you, and she’s held back by her prison.
My spear, child. Shar’s voice also echoes, something only Shadowheart can hear. Pierce her heart with it and become my sword hand, my Dark Justiciar.
“Not a dagger,” Shadowheart spits back, defiant. “A spear. My Lady Shar’s spear.”
“Well, well, well,” she says. “A spear empowered by your goddess to kill the child of a God?” Her voice is furious, dripping with contempt. “But there is much your mistress does not tell you. My death will come at a terrible price, one you will not grasp until it is too late.”
Shadowheart is not alone in this memory. Her companions have stayed silent, maybe surprised by what Shadowheart is doing, but they are looking as though they’re planning to interfere. At least Gale and Karlach are probably not willing to see her murder a woman in cold blood who is currently in chains.
“Her fate is mine to seal alone,” Shadowheart snaps at them.
“The fate you seal is your own,” the woman says. Her voice has lost some of its temper, trying to persuade now. “To be a Dark Justiciar is to turn your heart from everything but loss. You will know no love, no joy, only servitude. Until, of course, your mistress inevitably discards you.”
Shadowheart is still fierce, looking at the woman like she plans to kill her, but if you know her well, if you’re familiar enough to pick up on smaller changes, there’s hesitation, too. What she’s being told is breaking through to her in some way, she’s just resisting it.
“Do you know what I am, little assassin?” the woman, anger back in her voice. “I am Dame Aylin. Out of this hellish realm, I carry my sword for my mother, Selûne. The very sight of me would disgust you if you were a true Sharran. But perhaps you are something more.”
And then Shar’s voice. Shadowheart, do not listen. She seeks to distract, to confuse, to prolong her unholy existence and deny you your destiny. Shut out her words.
There’s another hallway through the house of mirrors that opens at these two conflicting messages. A path through the mirrors, dark, but lit by moonlight; Shadowheart looks down that way, but does not move to travel there. The mirrors in that direction reflect something much older than she is, an ancient war between the goddess of darkness and her sister, the moon goddess. The battles fought in that war, the pieces used, the way one goddess might seek to gain the upper hand against another.
But Shadowheart is focused on Dame Aylin, who is watching her as though she suddenly recognizes her. “Yes, I know you,” she says, as though she’s seen something suddenly. “A lost child, frightened by wolves in the dark.”
Another hallway through the house of mirrors opens in the other direction. And there’s a sense of terror about what lies down that direction. It’s too dark to see that way, but there’s a sound of snarling, howling. There’s pain in that direction. There might be more that way than only pain, but the way is too dark and there’s no way to tell.
Aylin is still speaking. “Much has been promised to you, hasn’t it?” she asks. “But what has been taken from you? What do you know of your own heart, your own life?”
Shadowheart looks down that direction, almost as though she intends to travel that way. There’s a part of her that wants to, wants to see it, and there’s a part of her that’s very, very afraid. She changes her mind, turns away from it. Gathers her resolve.
“Whatever you think you know of me won’t matter,” she says, but she’s faltering a little. “Once I become who I’m meant to be.”
“If you lay your hand on me in friendship, free me,” Aylin says, “I will lay another path before you. But you must decide whether to walk it.”
Enough. Close your heart to her craven words. Strike! Shar’s voice, brokering no more argument, no more hesitation.
“There she is again, isn’t she?” she says, looking directly back at Shadowheart. “Why does she fear truth more than I fear death?”
Reflections on the other mirrors - memories, only half formed, of fear, of duty, of the need to obey. Of kneeling on a stone floor, body growing weak, reciting prayers until they’re right. Of pain. Of growing strong enough to endure it, and the pride in that. Of being told lies and learning to always believe them anyway.
Shadowheart calls the spear to her hands.
There are two directions to take out of the memory.
[ well i'm sorry to be so fucking boring but he just watched shar encourage a horrible blood magic ritual and has heard shadowheart talk about her resistance to shar so much at this point that even if a small part of him was curious about knowing what could go wrong. what would go wrong. he doesn't have the stomach to make that choice.
even if he did, justice would see no part of it. so off into the void that fuckin' spear goes. ]
shadowheart holds the spear in her hand, and then she flings it over the edge, into the abyss, getting it away from her before her resolve can falter.
there's nothing, no negative reaction. just aylin's obvious joy, her awareness that she's going to be freed of this prison. she smiles at shadowheart with pride.
"Your path is not yet set. Your future is not yet fixed. Lay a hand on me in friendship, not-quite-Sharran, and I will fight the battle that has awaited me for a century. And then, oh then, will we have much to discuss."
shadowheart does as she's asked, without speaking, still somewhat in shock. it really does only take the hand of friendship from shadowheart to free her. the reason why is complicated, and something shadowheart herself does not know. but there's an image on one of the mirrors, an ancient battle between two goddesses, and in this gesture, a victory for one of them over the other.
aylin rises, her power restored to her, recovering from her wounds and degradation, until she floats above you, a bright glowing angel with a span of feathered wings in resplendent silver armor. but she doesn't stay; she flies from the shadowfell and leaves shadowheart and the others here. there's another battle that is waiting for her.
and in the aftermath of this, despite nothing happening, despite complete silence and no feeling of shar's presence, shadowheart is very, very afraid.
"We must leave," she tells her friends, but there's a sense, as well, that you must escape from this memory now.]
[ yeah, time to get the fuck out. taking her by the arm and pulling towards the exit - as best as he can. it's still a house of mirrors, but look. time to leave! ]
...I regretted it as soon as I did it, you know. I wanted answers, and there weren't any. I just wanted to undo it, convince Lady Shar I could redeem myself to her.
[whatever redemption experiment they're doing here, it was the backup choice.]
[ she really really does remind him of fenris. except she's a much more reasonable person and rarely rips people's hearts out of their chest, and doesn't threaten him daily with violence. without that it's easier to be emphathetic towards it all, because that is an understandable feeling. ]
I don't think that's uncommon. It is how she wants you to feel. As if you cannot survive without her help, that you will be in danger without her protection. It is a habit. You have spent a life training yourself to do something, and trying to bend the branch the other way is painful.
[he does have a way of putting it bluntly into words.
maybe it would have been different, if she'd done this, endured the pain and punishment, and then returned to her friends, after. received their support, their affirmation that they were proud of her choice, were behind her no matter what came next. if she'd seen that her actions were allowing aylin and the harpers to take the fight to moonrise, that they would allow the travellers they'd met along the way passage safely to the gate. if she'd learned from aylin more about what she'd lost and found a new purpose to hold onto.
instead, she did something she had never once before been brave enough to do, she denied shar outright, not only in her heart, in the actions she could take and things she could feel when not directly ordered. and her fear of how weak and helpless she would be, how quickly she'd be discarded, came true.
but she's seen other things, too. how following this order gave her nothing that she wanted. it only accomplished what shar wanted, finished the job of all of the cruelty she'd endured for years. how there are people who will try to help her find answers, another path.]
Unfortunately, it does somewhat seem that I couldn't survive without her "help" and "protection." [she's here after all. but it's a bitter sort of protection - she's the thing she's protecting her from.]
I don't mind cowering a little. [drumming her fingers against her arms.] I don't remember much, but... for better or for worse, they taught me to want to stay alive. So no, I don't want to pass on, but I'm not so courageous, either.
[ it's not like he's courageous either. he isn't. before justice, he was a coward who did nothing but run from anything difficult in his life at all. and after justice, he is still not brave. it is more that justice does not know what fear is, and therefore, cannot feel it. he simply is, and does. ]
I spent a long time living in spite of others. I don't think it's such a terrible motivator.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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maybe she should linger, examine things, but it feels invasive. still, the part she stops and takes a closer look at is the end. the way he's trying to give his possessions away and saying goodbyes, and no one really... talks about it.
she's used to some fairly suspicious requests from friends. somehow it has always turned out better than it had any right to. but it goes both ways, doesn't it?]
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anders just looks guilty at all of this, but he's not trying super hard to escape. mostly because it'd be embarrassing to run face first into a mirror after all of this. ]
... I didn't hide my intentions that much. And not for very long.
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[taking his arm. they can leave if they want to.]
I'm not sure I would call any of that hiding. Emotional blackmail not to ask, perhaps. [not criticizing him, just pointing out the distinction. clearly hawke could tell he wasn't being told everything.] But subtle?
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I could not ask. It was important his hands be as clean as possible. He is - was - the Champion of Kirkwall. I couldn’t let him be blamed for it, and besides- …
[ maybe a slightly more honest reason: ]
He would have tried to stop me - find some other solution, some compromise to keep peace for a few years more. But it wouldn’t last.
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I can see that. It's almost worse, that she professes sympathy.
[it would be one thing if the chantry woman just hated mages, didn't care what was happening to them.]
What would you have done, if he's insisted on knowing? Or if your other friend, the one you'd given the pillow to - if he'd asked why you didn't think you'd need it anymore?
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If he had insisted then I would have done it without him entirely. There was no turning from the path once we had decided.
[ it wasn't possible to waver, because if he did, justice would not have let him. in some worlds he even does try to stop it, to go back and remove the bomb before its too late, but his hand is always stayed. ]
And his name is Varric. [ the other guy. but he looks a little disoriented by the question about him. what would he have done, if someone had asked? ] And I ... don't know.
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The people I thought of as my friends... well, by this point, I've known you longer. But that's the only real comparison point I have.
We all did really have our own agendas most of the time. [maybe not wyll. but yeah. other than that.] Maybe that never changes, but... [at a certain point, you hope that you reach a point with people where they wouldn't do anything too drastic without telling you.]
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[ that's pretty much exactly it. at some point, The Champion was a bigger name than simply his friend Hawke. The Champion protected him from persecution, The Champion is a mage who can be seen in public, The Champion is for all of Kirkwall. Not just him. ]
I've known Varric longer than any of them. He was my first friend in Kirkwall. Then again, Varric knows everyone in Kirkwall. But he-- looked out for me. Kept the Carta from bothering the clinic. Paid my debts when I lost at Diamondback to Isabela. Helped me write.
He was the only one of us from Kirkwall.
[ the rest of them were immigrants, refugees, runaways. none of them cared about the city in the way varric did, not really. ]
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[despite being a hawke-anti at this point, she still thinks anders' friends seem nice, but she hasn't seen the worst ones.]
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[ she has NOT seen the worst ones. then again i feel like maybe anders is the worst one. ]
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even if he did, justice would see no part of it. so off into the void that fuckin' spear goes. ]
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shadowheart holds the spear in her hand, and then she flings it over the edge, into the abyss, getting it away from her before her resolve can falter.
there's nothing, no negative reaction. just aylin's obvious joy, her awareness that she's going to be freed of this prison. she smiles at shadowheart with pride.
"Your path is not yet set. Your future is not yet fixed. Lay a hand on me in friendship, not-quite-Sharran, and I will fight the battle that has awaited me for a century. And then, oh then, will we have much to discuss."
shadowheart does as she's asked, without speaking, still somewhat in shock. it really does only take the hand of friendship from shadowheart to free her. the reason why is complicated, and something shadowheart herself does not know. but there's an image on one of the mirrors, an ancient battle between two goddesses, and in this gesture, a victory for one of them over the other.
aylin rises, her power restored to her, recovering from her wounds and degradation, until she floats above you, a bright glowing angel with a span of feathered wings in resplendent silver armor. but she doesn't stay; she flies from the shadowfell and leaves shadowheart and the others here. there's another battle that is waiting for her.
and in the aftermath of this, despite nothing happening, despite complete silence and no feeling of shar's presence, shadowheart is very, very afraid.
"We must leave," she tells her friends, but there's a sense, as well, that you must escape from this memory now.]
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[ yeah, time to get the fuck out. taking her by the arm and pulling towards the exit - as best as he can. it's still a house of mirrors, but look. time to leave! ]
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...I regretted it as soon as I did it, you know. I wanted answers, and there weren't any. I just wanted to undo it, convince Lady Shar I could redeem myself to her.
[whatever redemption experiment they're doing here, it was the backup choice.]
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I don't think that's uncommon. It is how she wants you to feel. As if you cannot survive without her help, that you will be in danger without her protection. It is a habit. You have spent a life training yourself to do something, and trying to bend the branch the other way is painful.
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maybe it would have been different, if she'd done this, endured the pain and punishment, and then returned to her friends, after. received their support, their affirmation that they were proud of her choice, were behind her no matter what came next. if she'd seen that her actions were allowing aylin and the harpers to take the fight to moonrise, that they would allow the travellers they'd met along the way passage safely to the gate. if she'd learned from aylin more about what she'd lost and found a new purpose to hold onto.
instead, she did something she had never once before been brave enough to do, she denied shar outright, not only in her heart, in the actions she could take and things she could feel when not directly ordered. and her fear of how weak and helpless she would be, how quickly she'd be discarded, came true.
but she's seen other things, too. how following this order gave her nothing that she wanted. it only accomplished what shar wanted, finished the job of all of the cruelty she'd endured for years. how there are people who will try to help her find answers, another path.]
Unfortunately, it does somewhat seem that I couldn't survive without her "help" and "protection." [she's here after all. but it's a bitter sort of protection - she's the thing she's protecting her from.]
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Better to die free than cowering.
[ he isn't sure if he had managed that himself. ]
You died, but I think you're surviving. If you were ready to simply pass on, I imagine you'd have done so already.
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[she's really not so sure about that.]
I don't mind cowering a little. [drumming her fingers against her arms.] I don't remember much, but... for better or for worse, they taught me to want to stay alive. So no, I don't want to pass on, but I'm not so courageous, either.
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I spent a long time living in spite of others. I don't think it's such a terrible motivator.
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No? I have heard that before. I think it would get you far, but I don't know if anyone can live on spite alone.