Chapter Text
Nolan Lavellan stood just where he had when Dorian's caravan began to leave, still waving absent-mindedly towards the distance as though the Magister could see him. His lips still tingled from the long, heart-wrenching kiss that they have shared and he could still smell Dorian on his clothes. He thought of using the sending crystal already: of begging Dorian to come back, to wait just a moment longer, but the Inquisitor knew most of all that there was work to be done. Dorian would be just where Thedas needed him to be: in Tevinter, working his gift of gab to change things for the better. And while the fact of his leaving still broke Nolan's heart, Dorian had summarized it best: "There will always be an us. We'll just be... farther apart, for a time." Nolan repeated those words as though they would get him through, only dropping his hand once he realized that the caravan carrying his love had completely disappeared from sight. Then, he allowed himself a moment of panic. Without his vhenan, what came next?
He entertained the thought that he could simply retire as a Comte and live in Kirkwall, aside Varric and Hawke and their friends. He had a house there, apparently, and could easily retire in luxury. Kirkwall was in the Free Marches, still, and Nolan knew the Free Marches. He could be close to Tevinter, he could be closer to Dorian, could be only a few day's trip away from the sanctity of his lover's embrace. The whole thing tasted wrong in his mouth. It seemed like the sort of thing he would lovingly chastise Vivienne for. Anything to stay relevant, any title to get further in the game. After the mess that he had been forced to endure at the hands of nobles for so long, Nolan was not certain that he was ready to include himself in their lineup. And though his title as Inquisitor remained and the people that he had come across still referred to him as such, the Inquisition would serve Leliana. His leadership was no longer needed. Grabbing for another title seemed redundant, and living in luxury seemed just as wrong as a veteran of war as it did when he was living as Dalish.
And what could he do, even if he was still needed? Nolan turned his head to look down at the mark - something he had always done in an attempt to ground and comfort himself - and was faced with the stark reminder that he was no longer whole. A sob bubbled up in the back of his throat and threatened to spill forth. And if he'd had any intentions of fighting it, they were in vain: Nolan's knees buckled beneath him and he crumbled to the ground and wept.
There was little privacy at the gates of Skyhold, not particularly for the Inquisitor in such transitive times, but Nolan did not expect to be tackled into the dirt in a moment of weakness. He almost had the frustration built up to be angry about it: as he hit the ground, the still-healing spot slammed against the ground and sent a shock of pain through his arm, and he turned his head to yell until he saw Sera, pouting at him and sitting back on the ground.
"Do I get an explanation?" He allowed himself a hint of annoyance, even if it was only at the embarrassment of being caught in tears. When Sera grinned at him, he could not help but to smile back.
"Maybe." The blonde leaned back on her hands, raising an eyebrow at Nolan. "Ready?"
"Ready?" Nolan raised an eyebrow. He rubbed at his tear stained cheeks and chuckled. "Ready for what?"
Sera flicked Nolan on the forehead. "Inquisition's servin' Divine Victoria now, ye? No need for big ol' Inquisitor to rule over it anymore." - Nolan knew that his smile must have faltered, because Sera stumbled over her next words, hoping to fix any potential damage - "Not that ya couldn't! No one'd do it better 'an you. They're gonna be right lost without ya." Nolan turned his head back towards the horizon, still hoping that Dorian would turn around and come back as he wrestled with the gaping hole that the past few weeks had left him with.
"For some reason," He relayed the sentiment as best as he could, "I doubt that."
Sera shouldered him, playful but rough. "Shove it. They'll still call on ya for shit they can't fix 'emselves. Wait for it. Someone'll come runnin' for you the second you leave."
Nolan only offered a weak smile in response.
"Right, so, up we go!" She pulled herself to her feet and reached down to help him up. "Widdle's got somethin' special planned for you. Gotta getcha back on yer feet, quick!"
"What are we doing, again?" Nolan resigned and took Sera's hand, allowing her to help him to his feet. She held tightly onto his arm, pulling him away from the empty horizon and once again towards the staircase that would lead them up to Skyhold's main hall. As Sera pulled him up the first flight of stairs, he looked out to the market that had once sat bustling next to the stables was practically desolated. Many of the shop keeps had returned to Orlais once the Inquisition's plans to serve the Divine had reached them. Though it felt as though Skyhold's abandonment was a direct reflection of his heart and mind at the moment, Nolan could not blame them. Skyhold had been everything that they needed, when they needed it most. It had outlived it's usefulness. Just like the Inquisitor had.
To fight back more tears, he had to turn away and focus all of his attention on Sera's face as she talked. "Said it back at the Winter Palace, right?" She chirped, a bounce in her every step. She was not oblivious to his pain, (she cast him a sideways glance every other word and offered a reassuring smile,) but she knew how to distract him well. "It's time for me to help you. Said if there wasn't anywhere for you when you finished, I'd still be here. We'd still be here. An' I meant it."
They walked into the main hall, and Nolan was overwhelmed by the silence. The chattering and business that had always been Skyhold was dwindling down more and more each day. Josephine, packing for Antiva, had stopped inviting nobles. Nolan was no longer a favored show horse, but the silence was worse than the façades. She jerked his arm just a little bit: enough to grab his attention and smile once more as she opened the doors to the Undercroft.
Only when the large door slammed behind them did Sera let him go. Nolan attempted to rub at his wrist, (frustrated and scowling when he realized that he could not,) and Sera threw her arms open and skipped down the stairs. "Widdles! Found 'im!"
Dagna was sitting at one of the workbenches and looked up when she heard Sera's voice. "Sera!" She grinned, waving. "Perfect! I've got the first bit finished, but I just need some measurements. Could you come over here, Inquisitor?"
"Measurements?" Nolan followed behind Sera, craning his neck in an attempt to see what was going on. "Will someone please fill me in?"
"Sera let me know about your official Jenny status." Dagna informed, matter-of-fact as ever. "She's got some friends, who have some friends, who have some friends that sent us..." The dwarf shifted through parts and pieces and found a piece of parchment beneath all of the mess. "This!"
"Official Jenny status?"
"Just friggin' look at it!" Sera was practically bouncing with excitement.
Dagna was sure to hold the piece of paper out towards the right hand. Nolan took it and regarded it carefully. It was a schematic: it looked similar to Varric's crossbow Bianca, but without complex handles and with quiet a few straps. Even a slot for a knife or a dagger. Nolan had never been particularly good at reading schematics, (when he made his own weaponry, he tended to create from memories of what the Dalish taught him, or he insisted that Harritt help him,) but this looked like it was obviously supposed to snap into clothing and fit snugly around a stump of an arm.
For what felt like the thousandth time that day, tears burned the back of Nolan's eyes. "Sera, this is..." He struggled to finished the sentence and had to start again. "When did you...?" Once more, he took a deep breath and tried to start again. Laughter found it's place where words failed him, and again tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Y'can't be a Jenny without makin' sure you're okay, yeah?" Sera leaned back against the workbench. She watched him carefully, Nolan noted, looking almost like a doting mother in that moment. "Can't pretend to know what you must be feeling. First this whole counsel shit, then the part about thinkin' yer gonna die, then learning that your friend was a real shit, then losin' yer arm, then changin' the whole friggin' Inquisition, and then Dorian leavin' and whatnot." Sera spoke as gently as she could, and Nolan handed the schematic to her before he cried all over it. "'S scary as friggin hell, I'll bet. Scared just thinkin' about it."
Nolan would have sworn he saw her shudder.
"And I know!" She tossed the schematic over her shoulder. Dagna reached out to catch it, smacking Sera affectionately on the bottom. Sera returned the gesture with a loud smack on the dwarf's head before returning to the conversation. "I know you got offers to be a fancy nob, or to run around an' keep doing Inquisitor things, but s'not the same when you're not with yer friends. And I'm yer friend. Red Jenny's your friend. You're fun, and you'd have fun as a Jenny. This thing's yours, no matter what, but..." Sera tapped her sides anxiously. "You're not broken. You're different, and missin' some parts, but it's nothin' that changes who you are, right? You're still you, and you is great! And you can still fight, and can still do good. And so maybe... just maybe the big, bad Inquisitor's not ready to give up on 'imself just yet?"
Dagna peered up at Nolan from around Sera, excitement lighting up her curious eyes. Nolan was not sure when she'd grabbed the measuring tape, but she was already beginning to unravel it.
Nolan shrugged his shoulders, taking a deep breath. "Call me Red Friggin' Jenny." The words were laughter. Sera broke out into a fit of delighted cackles. Though his home was on the road, and though the path was still unclear and an apocalyptic threat still very real, Inquisitor Nolan Lavellan could finally take a breath that did not quiver with anxiety. No, he was not ready to give up. As long as he still had air in his lungs, he would never give up.