You were supposed to be their leader. You were supposed to keep them safe.

Supposed to keep him safe.

The heat of battle dulled all reason, the roar of enemies and the clash of steel drowning out caution. The acrid tang of magic still clung to the air, sharp and bitter. You made the call—split the party, push forward, seize the advantage. It had seemed right in the moment, the only way to win.

But now, with the battlefield silent and the chaos reduced to haunting echoes, the weight of your choice settles on your shoulders. You stumble through the debris and fallen, searching desperately.

The breath is torn from your lungs as your eyes fall upon Varric—crumpled on the ground, Bianca lying forgotten beside him. His chest rises in shallow, uneven breaths, and the brightness that always lit his gaze is fading.

You fall to your knees beside him, desperation churning within your chest, as a torrent of apologies and frantic promises of aid spill from your lips. The words are hollow even to your own ears, powerless against the grim reality before you.

With the last vestige of his strength, Varric looks up at you. His hand trembles as he places it in yours, a ghost of his usual smirk tugging at his lips.

“Hey, kid…” he rasps, his voice a mere wisp of breath, “Don’t worry…I forgive you.”