Chapter Text
The shimmering Eluvian cast a ghostly glow as the remaining heroes of the Veilguard stepped through, each member crossing the threshold with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. Victory should have been enough—Thedas was safe, for now—but the toll of the battle weighed heavily on them all. With Davrin and Assan gone, their numbers were reduced to seven, his absence a hollow, unspoken ache. Lilya felt it deeply, though she buried the grief beneath a well practiced smile.
They gathered in the main hall, (almost) everyone in their usual places, waiting in a heavy silence as if expecting some last instruction, some final reassurance. So, Lilya straightened, letting her lips curl up into a weary but reassuring smile as she looked from face to face. She summoned every ounce of her remaining energy, projecting the confidence she no longer felt.
“Go home,” she said, tone light and easy. “Your people need you. You’ve all earned a rest. Rebuild, heal—be with them.” She nodded encouragingly toward the stairs. “I’ll be fine here holding down the fort, really. Just…a little tired.” She gave a strained chuckle. “Killing gods will do that to you, as you all know!”
Her friends nodded quickly, relief flickering across their faces. There were murmured farewells, grateful nods, a few pats on the shoulder as each departed back through the Eluvian. No one looked long enough to see past her words, accepting her easy mask with their own sort of relief. After all, why look too closely when an easy answer was so readily given?
As the last figure disappeared, Lilya’s smile faltered, leaving her alone in the dim light. The Lighthouse was quiet now, the silence pressing in on her as the Eluvian’s chimes faded. She stood alone for a long moment, the ache in her chest settling like a lead weight, dragging her down. She took off her helmet and tossed it onto the table, the thing had saved her life countless times but without it, she felt like she could finally breathe.
Her fingers brushed absently over the back of Davrin's chair—one of many reminders of battles fought and friends lost. She was victorious, yes, but what did it mean? Her people’s Gods lay dead by her blades, but now that the adrenaline was fading instead of pride or relief, all she felt was an unsettling emptiness.
A slight movement caught her attention, and she looked up to find Lucanis lingering by the stairs, his eyes soft with an unspoken concern. He stepped closer, his hand rising to her cheek. His fingers brushed her skin, his thumb tracing over her cheekbone with a warmth that seemed to cut through the cold ache inside her. He didn’t say anything, and she found herself leaning into his touch, drawing on that quiet strength, if only for a heartbeat.
Stay.
Their eyes met, and in his gaze was a silent promise—a parting, yes, but only for now. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand linger even as he let go. Then he was gone, slipping down the staircase and leaving her in the dim silence.
With a heavy sigh, she finally turned down the hall toward her quarters, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. Each step seemed to echo around her, filling the silence in the vast, empty Lighthouse, once filled with the sounds of her team, now an expanse of quiet that seemed to swallow her whole.
Reaching her room, she began peeling off her armor, letting each piece clatter to the floor with a release of tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The futon called to her, and she collapsed onto it, her body sinking into the impossibly plush fabric. Her muscles and mind ached with an exhaustion that ran deeper than sleep could fix, but at least, she thought bitterly, it would dull her thoughts for a while.
But as her eyes drifted shut, sleep brought no escape. Memories lingered on the edge of her mind, fragments of Davrin’s voice, of Assan’s happy squawks mixed with their laughter, of almost moments, each like a small blade twisting inside her. And then, cruelly, the faint, last mournful cry of Davrin’s griffin echoed back to her, haunting the quiet and wrenching at her heart.
How did I end up here? she wondered, the thought surfacing unbidden. She hadn’t planned to lead. She’d stumbled into it, because no one else had, because Varric had trusted her. She’d united the factions, fought impossible battles, slain dragons, Gods. And yet, now that the world was safe, she felt utterly lost. How was a loose cannon like her supposed to come out of all of this without an identity crisis?
The weight of her exhaustion finally pulled her under, her breathing slowing as she slipped into sleep, her fingers still clutching the thin blanket she’d drawn around herself.
On the other side of the Eluvian, the Veilguard dispersed, each of them heading in different directions with a few words, smiles and nods. Lucanis, however, lingered at the edge of the group, not quite ready to walk away. A faint, unsettling sensation simmered in his mind, tugging at him like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch.
“We’re not leaving.” The voice was cold and insistent, the words resonating deep within his thoughts.
Lucanis sighed, his gaze flicking off into the distance as he responded to the voice within him. “And why is that, Spite?”
The demon’s usual snide tone was conspicuously absent, replaced by a quiet, simmering tension. For a beat, Spite was uncharacteristically silent, almost hesitant. Then, finally, he muttered, “She needs us. We have to go home.”
Lucanis paused, taken aback. Spite’s tone was unusual, layered with a seriousness that didn’t sit well in his mind. Lucanis raised an eyebrow, trying to catch the demon’s drift. “That’s where we’re going. Home—to Antiva.”
Spite’s fury erupted like a storm, and with a flare of energy, the demon manifested barely an inch from his face, the sharp lines of his own eyes narrowed and blazing. “NOT THE PLACE!” he snarled, voice laced with a venom Lucanis hadn’t heard since their truce. “THE PERSON!”
The demon’s words jolted Lucanis backward, his hand instinctively reaching for his dagger before he caught himself, swallowing against the tension thrumming in his chest. He hadn’t assumed Spite cared about Lilya beyond morbid curiosity, watching her movements and choices as one might watch an unpredictable bonfire. But this… this was more than that. There was protectiveness here, even anger—and an urgency that Spite, who rarely cared about anything beyond his and Lucanis's own needs, had never shown before.
Lucanis closed his eyes, piecing it together in silence. Lilya, still lingering in the Lighthouse, trying to bear the crushing weight of their losses alone. She’d let them all go, had let him leave without a fuss, though he could see how her tired smile had begun to crack under the strain of everything she held within. He took in Spite’s unusual urgency and felt it ripple through him, resolve hardening in his chest.
“Fine,” he murmured softly, his gaze drifting back to the glow of the Eluvian. “We’re going back. To her.”
Lucanis stepped back through the Eluvian, its shimmering light fading as he emerged back into the Lighthouse. The silence of the Fade wrapped around him, heavy and dense. He was barely through the threshold when the quiet, knowing figure of the Caretaker appeared, standing near the doorway, their expression unreadable as they inclined their head.
“Lucanis,” they greeted, voice soft yet weighted. “Rook is in quiet distress. The Fade provides...but there are comforts we cannot offer.”
A flicker of understanding passed through him, a confirmation of what Spite had already told him, but hearing it aloud still hit him harder than he expected. He nodded and moved past the Caretaker without a word, their figure fading as he made his way down the dim hall.
Two flights of stairs passed beneath him in silence, his footsteps echoing faintly. He reached her door, and his heart sank at the sight—the door barely closed, her armor discarded in a haphazard trail, a sign of how deeply she had retreated into herself. Viago would have a fit to see her treat her gear this way, to leave herself so unguarded. But Viago wasn't here.
He eased the door open, and a few steps in his eyes found her immediately, lying on the sofa turned bed in the small, dim room. Lilya looked tiny, curled on her side with her blanket half-pulled over her. Dried blood streaked her arms and face, and dark bruises marred her skin, a testament to the brutal battles they had endured. Dirt and sweat clung to her in layers, but it was her face that struck him most—the fragile, unguarded vulnerability he saw there. Her eyelids twitched, her brow furrowed, as though even in sleep she continued to fight. Her breathing came in shallow, hitched breaths, and a faint whimper escaped her lips, followed by a murmured, broken apology, “I’m sorry…”
The sound fractured something deep within him. Here, in the silence of her room, his fierce, proud Lilya looked painfully young and fragile, like a fledgling soldier left on the battlefield after the smoke had cleared. She was a warrior who had killed Gods, a leader who had united armies. But right now, she was just a young woman like any other in Thedas, lost in the shadows of a near-missed apocalypse, grappling with scars both seen and unseen.
Lucanis took a deep breath, willing himself steady. He slipped off his jacket and carefully laid it over her, letting the heavy fabric drape across her shoulders. He tucked it in around her gently, a quiet promise that he would be here, that she wouldn’t be alone with this weight.
Settling himself on the floor by the sofa, he rested his back against the frame, his gaze drifting to the large window that overlooked the vast, surreal aquarium of the Fade, a view unlike any other place in Thedas. He could feel her soft breaths behind him, the occasional tremor in her sleep, and he forced himself to sit quietly, a steadfast presence in the room’s hush.
"Home. Ours." Spite reminded him, though softer this time, almost as if recognizing the gravity of the moment.
“Yes, ours.” Lucanis whispered. His voice was barely audible, but it was full of resolve as he settled in, staring out into the otherworldly depths. He would keep this silent vigil until she woke, as long as she needed.
Here, in the stillness of the Fade, he would watch over her.