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There is no time to worry about Bellara being gone, but Irelin worries anyway. The Veil Jumpers are working hard to contain the magic surges in Arlathan Forest, trying to help Rook’s team however they can. Elgarn'nan has taken Minrathous, the sky is red and...there is simply no time.
There’s no time to worry, until Rook and her team are getting ready to meet Elgarn’nan face-to-face and Irelin is with Strife, watching over the wounded Dalish. Then she turns she sees Bellara with Rook. Bellara, walking. Breathing. Being taken to a healer.
Her eyes are red and her face has horrible lines of blight squirming under her skin. Irelin’s heart soars and breaks in the same moment. She thought Bellara dead. That she is alive at all is miracle but…
Strife nudges her with his arm. “Go talk to her.”
Irelin tears her gaze away from where Bellara is standing. “I do not know what to say.”
Was it not bad enough that Bellara was taken? Lost? But she was blighted, used as a weapon against the people she cares about. Even now, she stands in a corner with her arms wrapped around herself, eyes cast down. She looks lost in a way that reminds Irelin of how she got whenever someone – sometimes even Irelin herself – chastised her for being overexcited. It’s that, but worse. She looks…scared of herself. And that, that Irelin has never seen before.
She moves without thinking, pulled towards Bellara as easily as breathing.
Bellara’s gaze flickers around the room, and when it finally lands on Irelin, when she finally notices her coming closer…she flinches.
“Bellara–” she says, but there are so many things to say, and none of them feel right. What comes out is, “You’re alive.” The words are heavy with relief, snagging on the sob that is caught in her throat.
“I…am.” Bellara seems to realize, belatedly, that might not be comforting and tries to offer a smile.
Irelin wants to tell her she doesn’t have to, she doesn’t need to be brave, or strong, but she knows that Bellara will be brave and strong no matter what Irelin says. “How are you…feeling?”
It feels utterly foolish to ask but it’s all she can think of.
“I’m okay!” Bellara says, with that usual note of brightness, always so sunny, but there’s an exhaustion underneath. “…I think.”
The admission is more than Irelin hoped for, truthfully.
“I’m sure I look like something out of a nightmare–”
“No,” Irelin says quickly. Cutting Bellara off was a bad habit she had when they were together, but she does it again with no regret this time. “You look alive.”
Bellara’s smile gets a sad tinge. “I can still feel it,” she says, quietly. “The blight. It’s in my blood. My head. I can still hear it.”
Irelin’s stomach twists. “Bellara–”
“Thank you, by the way. For coming to Cyrian’s funeral. It meant a lot to me.” It sounds so much like goodbye that Irelin can’t help it, the sob rises higher in her throat before she catches it again.
The funeral. She couldn’t imagine not going. She hadn’t told Bellara then. Hadn’t said anything about the old feelings that were kindled in her heart. It wouldn’t have been right. Irelin wanted to give her time…
“You know,” Bellara starts, and her voice is so, so shaky, but then that thread of determination comes through, her unstoppable Bellara, “I thought I’d have more time. I’m not going to let the blight dictate how my story goes. I get the final say. It’s my story…even if it’s not a long one.”
Irelin swallows roughly around the lump. Her bones shake, her muscles twitch. Suddenly, this form feels constricting. She wants to howl so badly, she feels more animal than elf in this moment except…except her heartbreak is so rooted in Irelin, not a bear or a wolf or anything else.
Rook’s team starts to gather and Bellara gives her a sad little smile. “Time to go.”
It’s all Irelin can do to find the words to say, “Make him pay.”
:::
She’s there when the blight calcifies. She's there when the sky stops bleeding red. She’s there when Rook’s team stumbles out from the throne room. Irelin pushes past Strife, counting heads as fast as she can until–
“Bellara!” she calls, rushing to her side to help her down. Bellara sags against her. There are so many things to say, but the rest of the forces and civilians are cheering and there is no time. Not until later, when Rook brings her team and all the various faction leaders through the Eluvian to the Lighthouse.
There are meetings to be had, but when they break apart for rest, Irelin follows Bellara back to her room. She’s seen it before, but it’s changed now. There is a bed instead of a cot, as if this place knows Bellara needs the rest.
Bellara is moving around the room, pulling cords and ropes and all sorts of contraptions to block out the light from the skylights and windows, creating the effect of darkness. Until it feels like night.
Irelin wants to fall into her, like they used to. But Bellara is still peering around the room like a scared cat. There’s a stillness about her, a quietness, which is unlike her. Tentative.
They just look at each other a moment and then suddenly, they’re both blinking back tears.
“You’re alive,” Irelin says, again. It is even more implausible than the first time she said it.
“We’re alive,” Bellara corrects shakily.
Irelin doesn’t know why that makes her want to cry, but it does. She can’t quite believe it. They made it out alive.
“I don’t know what to say,” Bellara says. Then she laughs awkwardly, just once. “That’s new.”
“That’s alright,” Irelin tells her, sitting on the edge of the bed.“Just rest for a while.”
Bellara hesitates, but she joins Irelin in the bed, still leaving space between them. Irelin is the first to reach out, helping let Bellara’s hair down ever-so-gently. She strokes her hand through it and feels Bellara’s shoulders ease.
She keeps running her fingers through her hair until Bellara relaxes, until she curls against her, nestling head in Irelin’s lap.
“It’s okay to sleep.”
“I don’t know what I’ll see if I do,” Bellara admits in a small voice.
Irelin’s heart seizes. She understands, in her own way. She, too, is far too afraid to sleep. Afraid to wake up with Bellara gone, or the blight spreading further through her body. Usually, Irelin restless, prone to changing shape whenever she gets bored, but she doesn’t mind being Bellara’s pillow for a bit. Prefers it, actually. This way she can keep her eyes on Bellara herself. If anyone walks in now, Irelin will tear their throat out before she lets them disturb her.
“Can you just…stay with me?” Bellara asks.
Irelin cannot imagine doing anything else. “Of course.”
So she just keeps running her fingers through her hair, rubbing her scalp, and all the while watching Bellara like she’s afraid something is going to take her away again.
Eventually, Bellara’s eyes do close. Her breathing does even out.
Irelin does not dare to stop. She keeps up the soothing motions.
She’s not surprised that Bellara took control of the blight, that she was the one to help bring Elgarn’nan to his end. That was the thing about Bellara. Everyone underestimated her. Even Irelin had made that mistake before.
In the quiet, while Bellara can’t see her, Irelin lets her eyes fill with tears. Traces a thumb across Bellara’s cheek and jaw and sniffles when she sleepily leans into the touch. There had been no time to grieve when Bellara went missing, and even less time to grieve the change that had been forced upon her body.
Irelin is used to change. She changes her shape all the time. A bear, a wolf, a falcon, a halla. Whatever form suited her whims best. But that has always been her choice, and Bellara had not chosen this. Irelin doesn’t know how to comfort her here. It picks at an old wound. She’d never been able to help Bellara with Cyrian, the first time, had been impatient with her at times, hadn’t always understood her. She doesn’t want to falter this time, too.
She has no idea how long its been, but it’s surely been hours by the time Bellara stirs and Irelin wipes away her tears before she can be found out. She watches Bellara’s nose scrunch, watches her remember where she is, and she gets a sheepish look in her eyes. When she sits up, she’s blushing.
“Thank you,” Bellara says nervously. “For um. Staying with me. And. Um. Sorry if this…made things awkward. I know you said you wanted to be friends and–”
Irelin kisses her.
She doesn’t have a better way to tell her, so she pulls Bellara to her and captures her mouth with her own. The familiarity of it all warms her. But before she can savor it, Bellara pushes her back.
“–we can’t, the blight–” she gasps.
“I do not care,” Irelin says firmly.
“I do.” Bellara is just as firm. Creators, Irelin forgot how stubborn she could be.
Irelin bits her lip to stop from saying that this isn’t fair, that Bellara deserves to live, deserves a long, wonderful life, but she knows it is not a helpful reminder. Instead, she tentatively reaches for Bellara’s hand, as if she did not spend the entire night with the woman in her lap.
“Is this alright?” she asks.
Bellara looks down at their fingers and then back up to Irelin. Slowly, she nods.
“I am…sorry if that wasn’t wanted,” Irelin says. “I should have asked, first.”
She takes her familiarity with Bellara for granted. This moment is delicate, she knows. Creators, it's all she can feel right now. The precariousness of all it. The feeling that this, that Bellara, could slip between her fingers at any moment.
“It wasn’t…not wanted,” Bellara says gently. “It’s just…”
“Complicated,” Irelin sighs.
“Yeah. That.”
There was a time when the two of them tumbled in the forest, pinning each other down among the leaves and laughing. It was carefree and sometimes even reckless. Irelin isn’t foolish enough to expect the same now. This thing between them has changed shape before, and they’ve been through too much for it not to change now.
“I could…run you a bath before I go?” she offers hesitantly.
Bellara smiles at that. “I would love that. I feel like I’m covered in darkspawn and blight and…you know what, I’ll spare you the details.”
Irelin’s mouth twitches as she tries not to laugh. “Give me just a moment.”
:::
Those first few days after the battle are tender, fragile things. Bellara rests and heals and then doesn’t rest enough, because she is Bellara, and she already is itching to tinker with something new. She keeps her distance from the other Veil Jumpers. It's because she's worried about he blight, Irelin knows. It's not entirely new, Bellara keeping to herself, but it's starker now. It weighs on Irelin's heart. But she doesn't have time to dwell on it.
She and Strife must regroup the Veil Jumpers. There have been…monumental changes in just the last few days alone, and more to come. The Dalish need to figure out what comes next. A new chapter entirely, to steal a writing metaphor from Bellara.
But in between all of the work that must be done, Irelin checks on Bellara. She hovers more than she should, but Bellara lets her. And at night, she sets up a hammock between the trees, under the stars, and strokes Bellara’s hair until they both fall asleep. Irelin thinks of the nights when they were younger, sneaking out to get some time alone, when Bellara would excitingly gush about some theory or project she was working on until Irelin would interrupt her with a deep kiss.
These nights are familiar and yet nothing like those nights at all. They’re not the same people anymore, but those memories aren’t gone, either. Most nights, they do not talk much. Sometimes, though, Bellara will tell Irelin about the things she saw while in the blight. The things Elgarn’nan put in her head. Tells her that she saw Cyrian, that she saw Rook, that that tyrant told her no one was coming for her.
“I saw you,” Bellara says one night, quietly. “It’s probably silly but…it gave me hope.”
Irelin swallows roughly and tries not to cry. She doesn’t want to ruin the moment.
:::
Four days after the battle, Irelin wakes to Strife calling for her.
“Irelin. The Wardens are here.”
“The…Wardens?” she asks sleepily.
“Yes. They’re here to check Bellara.”
Her eyes widen and in short order she and Bellara are back at camp, where two wardens are waiting. The Orlesian Elf and the no-nonsense Dwarven woman. Irelin likes them. Rook is there, too, and the detective. Neve.
“Oh,” Bellara blinks. “Hi everyone!”
“Let us know if this is too much, Bel,” the detective says gently. “We just wanted to be here for you.”
“No!” Bellara says quickly. “It’s nice. This is really, really nice.”
“Sorry that we took so long,” the Dwarven Warden says. “We had to gather our people and then there were some tests this one wanted to run.” She nods at the Elven man.
Irelin does not care about the pleasantries. She just wants them to look at Bellara. But she does her best to be patient. These are Bellara’s friends. People who kept her safe, even if it wasn’t safe enough for Irelin’s liking. But she knows it’s a waste to fret over Bellara, that she volunteered, that no one could’ve known. Knows that these are the people who brought her back.
The Wardens look over Bellara and talk among themselves.
The pale sheen that Bellara came back with has lessened over the last few days. She doesn’t look normal but she does look better. Irelin has been watching her like a hawk, marking every change in her body that she can see. It is, perhaps, too much, but she doesn’t know what else to do.
The Wardens will know. Hopefully.
“It is just like the others,” the man says. “She was at the epicenter when the connection was severed…incredible!”
Irelin cannot contain herself. “What?” she huffs.
The pair blink up at her. “We’ve seen, with the citizens of Minrathous who were blighted by Elgarn’nan, even some of the Wardens who were there…that the closer to the epicenter they were when the Veil was restored, the less blight they carry. Bellara…no longer suffers its effects.”
Irelin’s heart flutters. She has felt, often, like a hawk, like an eagle, sometimes like a sparrow. Right now, she feels so giddy, the closest thing she can think of is a hummingbird. Her heart is a hummingbird.
“What?” she asks again, brighter this time. “Truly?”
Bellara blinks slowly. “I’m…cured?” she asks.
“More or less, yes,” the woman says.
The clouded look over Bellara’s face breaks and suddenly she has questions, so many questions, and she and the Orelesian Elf are talking so rapidly that Irelin can barely follow.
She cannot help it. She laughs.
:::
Bellara spends the day surrounded by her new friends and then promptly gets back to work, no longer separating herself from the rest of the Jumpers. She already has ideas for what to do with the Archive, with the Lighthouse, with Arlathan.
She’s still…quieter. Stiller. Irelin suspects that will never go away entirely, but she is okay with that. Just another metamorphosis. It is the same thing as shapeshifting, really.
That night, when it’s time to set up camp, Bellara brings sleeping rolls instead of the hammock. The kind that make sleeping on hard ground a little more forgiving.
Irelin looks at her. “So…no more blight,” she says, feeling foolish for not having more to say.
“No more blight,” Bellara nods. “Well, not in me, at least. I mean not in me but–”
She takes a stuttering breath. The next thing Irelin knows, she’s being kissed.
Bellara is in her arms, warm and soft. She kisses Irelin just the same as ever – eager and wanting, pressing into her more and more. Irelin whines into her mouth, her fingers in the base of Bellara’s hair, tugs her closer. She was always the needier one.
“So, um,” Bellara pulls away, a delightfully dazed look in her eyes. “Where does this leave us? Romantically, I mean?”
Irelin laughs. She grabs Bellara’s hips and pulls her close against her. She can feel Bellara's heartbeat against her. Fluttering like a hummingbird. “What was it you said, about writing your own story?”
Bellara smiles at her, her eyes crinkling. “Well, that’s just cheesy.”
“I thought you liked that sort of thing!”
“Oh, I do,” Bellara promises. “I definitely do.”
Against all odds, they are alive. Irelin will not take that for granted. She cannot pretend to know what this next chapter will be. A caterpillar cannot know the butterfly. It was one of the first lessons her teachers taught her. But she will accept the changes as they come. It is the nature of the shapeshifter.