Reflection
Early morning sun had burned the mist off the rolling fields, which shimmered with golden waves as the wheat, almost ready for harvest, danced in the breeze. Smoke from a campfire lazily swirled upward, wood crackling gently.
“So I've been thinking about Solas”, Zea said, lowering her tin cup of bitter and burned campfire coffee. “And I don't even know if I can kill a god”.
“Ease up a bit, Rook”, Varric replied cautiously over his own steaming mug of dwarven ginger-spiced tea. “He's not a god, and I don't want you to kill him”.
Zea tilted her head. “Then why hire a Crow? You do...know what an assassin does, right?”
Harding adjusted on her low foldable stool and reached out to pat Zea's arm in a friendly gesture. “Yeah, but that's not why we asked you to join us”.
“Harding's right”, Varric agreed, scratching his beard thoughtfully. “That night, what you did – you did that to save people. I've hung around enough heroes in my time to know one when I see one”.
Zea snorted derisively. “I'm no hero, Varric”.
“Maybe not yet. But you've got it in you, kid, where it counts.” He dug one hand around in his leather pack and pulled out a small silver hand-mirror, simple and functional, and passed it to Zea.
“You're giving me a mirror?” She questioned. “Do I look that bad this morning?”
“Take a long hard look in it, kid”, Varric responded earnestly. “It'll always show the face of a hero who can get it done”.
It was the first time Zea had seen her reflection in several days, since they left Treviso and went on the hunt for Solas together. They'd walked south and west across rural Antiva, towards the Free Marches. Their trail had led them away from the main cities, following half-truths, rumours, and the barest hint of clues as to Solas' next move. They'd slept in cheap inns, or sneaked into farmers' barns, or, like today, set out bedrolls around a campfire. Zea wasn't used to life away from the city and while she had never lived a life of luxury, she wasn't a natural camper either. Nor was Varric it seemed, though Zea sensed he just enjoyed grousing about anything and everything. Only Harding – scout, tracker, and endless wellspring of optimism – was in her element, joyfully foraging berries and roots, gathering wood, collecting water from streams and rivers.
Zea looked into the mirror, which was tarnished and speckled with age, and she saw her face. Wavy hair that had outgrown its fashionable bob and was showing dark roots with just the slightest hint of grey above her faded blue dye.
Her violet eyes and relatively thin lips were devoid of their usual paint or powder. Her skin was tanned from days of walking, and grubby with smoke from the campfire. But still, it was unmistakably her face – scarred with memories of many fights, worn with care, but it was hers.
For the longest time, Zea had avoided mirrors. The face staring back at her always seemed wrong somehow, all weird angles, sharp lines, and grey shadows. When she finally came out as trans, Zea was terrified. She chose to confide in Teia because of all the Crows, she seemed to be kind. Teia became like a big sister to her, despite Zea being older by a couple of years. When some of the other fledglings bullied her, it was Teia who shut them up.
When she chose her new name, she stood with Teia at her side and told her mentor Viago she wanted to be called Letezea de Riva, taking the name of Viago’s house, in accordance with tradition, and the old Antivan word for “joy” to reflect her new self.
She smiled slightly at the memory of Viago’s expression of confusion, then his brusque reply: “Will this affect your training?”
Zea remembered explaining how it would make her a better Crow, a more focused assassin, now she wasn't carrying this extra weight.
“Very well. Practice your knifework, you were sloppy in that last bout” was all Viago said in response. And, while he insisted on calling her “Rook”, that old nickname he gave her years ago, he used her true name when it mattered and was fast to correct other Crows with a hissed “she” if they ever got her pronouns wrong.
Since the Antaam job went sideways, things had moved so quickly that Zea didn't have time to think about home much, but seeing herself in Varric's mirror brought it all back in an instant.
She had a job to do, and while this was hardly a standard mission, a Crow always finished a contract.
“Thanks, Varric”, she said, stowing the mirror in her knapsack. “So, where to now?”