#but she gave Solas an anchor made of her hair cut with the dagger to visit him while dreaming

[tiafrye]

Yours only is the burden. But let me be the Anchor for this sorrowful creator.

❗: My character is Trevelyan, not Lavellan, please tag accordingly. Thank you.

[faeriewild]

Have a Henri and Cathrin drabble. I write a lot of scenes down like this that are snippets from their stories. They’re not really linear and more of small moments to get my ideas down in some way but ah well, here it is.

takes place right before the events of trespasser.

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Her brother’s quarters were not to her taste. The Orlesian decor felt out of place in such an old hold. Not to mention the copious amount of Andrastian relics, symbols and incessant imagery. Out of all the depictions of the Chant of Light, her least favorite was the Maker appearing before the soon to be prophet. It had taken her years to dissect what it was about that image that bothered her. The supplicant woman before the faceless god, the god who said words of devotion; only to watch Andraste die.

Perhaps her own feelings have twisted the stained glass images into something sinister. The years had tempered her bitterness, and she became more understanding of the faith’s place in the world. However, there were still some images that caused unease. If only she found comfort in the colored glass as she once did, as her brother does.

Though she did not approve of her brothers choice of imagery, she remained all the same. Currently, she lay on a bedroll in front of the fire watching the ceiling for the glow of the anchor as it flared again. The unease of her forsaken gods surrounding her only aided in the nightmarish haze that had overtaken her mind, and Cathrin was tired to hearing her brother’s screams.

Sleep had become a luxury no longer available to her. They were set to depart to Val Royeaux in two days. Two days left and no solution has been found.

It would be easier if Henri allowed her to confide in their friends. After the anchor flared in earnest for the first time, Cathrin was the only witness. “You’re good at secrets,” Henri said through clenched teeth, “Tell no one. I’m only asking you to be silent until after the counsel.” When he smiled she observed the crows feet forming at the corners of his eyes. Just like father.

“At least tell Cassandra. She’ll kill you if you don’t.” The words seemed to come from desperation, more than a tactical push to persuade her brother to share the burden. Her persuasive maneuvers were always stilted when it came to Henri. Care always outweighed practicality.

Henri paused for a moment, a wince turning into a grin. “I’d rather die by my lady’s hand than the anchor.”

With a scoff, Cathrin continued to pace. “If no solution is found you won’t have that choice, Henri.”

The Inquisitor shrugged, “I believe we will find a way to over come this. Madame Vivienne will be at the council, and I trust she has the magical contacts I need.”

The thought of Vivienne’s aid did provide some hope. The unspoken wish for Solas’ aid came to her mind again. Henri’s anchor was tied to the fade, to the sealed rift, it was a pity now that her friend was now not on hand to address this matter. She hated him most when her brother would buckle over in pain.

Perhaps Henri’s anchor was a curiosity to Solas, and after the rift was healed, he saw no reason to aid the Inquisition further. It was likely he knew what would happen to her brother, and left before blame could be spread.

With no immediate solution in sight, she became her brother’s only confidante. For the past week she lay on the ground in her brother’s quarters, staring at Henri’s glass prophet and watched as the green light from the anchor danced along the ceiling. At times he would awaken in extraordinary pain. Cathrin would be on hand to administer herbal remedies. It never subsided the pain fully, but just enough to help him sleep. 

Suspicions of his situation were luckily kept to a minimum. The only one to notice Cathrin’s absence in the evening was Cullen. Gratefully, he never pushed the subject.

Cathrin’s thoughts were interrupted when the door to Henri’s quarters slammed open. Bolting up, Cathrin didn’t have time to grab her dagger before Cassandra rushed in. The Seeker’s eyes scanned the room, briefly taking in her brother’s form before her heavy gaze fell on her. 

“You.” Though her words were whispered, they held as much venom as if she shouted them.

Resigned to her fate, Cathrin slowly stood and raised her hands in supplication. The relationship between Cassandra and herself had grown less antagonistic over time. This was accomplished due to her brother, who all but forced them to work together. Still, Cathrin did not think Cassandra would ever accept her fully. The tense respect they now held was delicate, and seething the look Cassandra gave her now - Cathrin knew her opinion of her just plummeted. 

Cassandra grimaced, “You should have told me!” Her voice increased in volume enough for Henri to stir. The motion was enough to divert Cassandra’s attention. Her face fell into one of concern. 

Cathrin took the moment in stride, seeing an opening to prod for information. “How did you find out?” But Cassandra didn’t hear her words and instead made her way to Henri’s side. 

Taking the hint, Cathrin left her brother’s quarters and came face to face with Cole outside of the door. The wide-eyed look he gave her was enough for her to deduce why her friend arrived so shortly after Cassandra.

“Traitor.” Cathrin mumbled, before placing a hand on Cole’s shoulder and guiding him away. She was not angry with him for telling the truth. Cole never quite grasped the concept of white lies. 

“She was very worried.” Cole said, his gaze watching his feet as they descended the stairs of the Inquisitor’s tower. 

Cathrin sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I know. So am I.” They walked in a comfortable silence until they reached the main hall. Cathrin paused there, unsure if she should return to her own quarters or risk having to explain herself to Cullen.

“You’re not angry.” Cole stated, his relief apparent. Though there was still tension held in his posture. His gaze traveled from her to the rotunda doors, his expression expectant. 

Looking to her friend, Cathrin raised a brow in question. “Cole?”

The rotunda doors opened and one very tired commander entered the empty hall. “Cole!” Cathrin rounded on her friend, ready to lecture him - but the boy was gone.

Once again resigned, Cathrin approached Cullen. She worried at her lip as she tried to think of the best explanation. Though the secret was not her idea; she came to realize the difficulties of explaining her brother’s condition. She could hardly speak of it without dread overtaking her. 

“Cullen I--” Cathrin began before being cut short by a raised hand.

Cullen shook his head, and looked at her with a softness she still was not accustomed to. “Later... for now, just come to bed.”

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