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lairofdragonagelore · 2 years

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Arbor Wilds: Altar of Mythal

Main Quest: The Final Piece

A lot of information given in this part of the main quest is repeated from the Flemeth’s Fade: Part 1, Part 2 if Kieran does not exist. For completion’s sake I will add small details that may have different connotations when reaching this altar.

[Index page of Dragon Age Lore]

Since I have no time nor patience to play all these variations, I watched one of the videos of DanaDuchy’s to work on the details of this scene.

If Morrigan drinks from the well and didn’t have Kieran, she reveals some facts before going to the Altar that we can assume have some degree of certainty since the voices of the Well speak about it:

The common knowledge said that eluvians were considered lost after Tevinter conquered Arlathan. However, the truth is that the ancient elves have closed all paths to the crossroads long before. We can assume this in The Masked Empire, when we see the skeletons of servants who had been tending those in uthenera. They seemed to have died while crossing eluvians in order to escape, but none of the mirrors sent them to the surface. The evanuris warred with each other, so they sealed the eluvians to prevent an enemy from using them to attack. This means that the eluvians, at least some of them, have been locked even before the creation of the Veil.

When we reach to the Altar, the zone is a small region that looks like Wild Arbour. It has several statues of Dragon Mythal and Howling Fen'Harel around.

The altar is focused on her humanoid form, flanked by two statues of her dragon form, which are a bit bigger. At the sides of the altar, always in a protecting/guardian stance, we see Howling Fen'Harel statues.

It's interesting to notice that Fen'Harel's statue details imply swirls over his body but also coming out from its mouth. On the back, he has some triangles too. These swirls are quite chaotic and drawn in a more random style in comparison with the ones on the dragon

which are more regular, and seems to follow a pattern: a swirl and then three lines extended. This dragon form, so far I checked, has no triangle patterns. Only swirls.

Which is something curious if we remember Solas’ murals in which the spaces related to the Fade are represented with inverted triangles.

The one who drank from the Well will know an old incantation:

“We few who travel far, call to me, and I will come. Without mercy, without fear.”

The lines is completed only if Solas is present, adding:

"Cry Havoc in the moonlight, let the fire of vengeance burn, the cause is clear"

[video] When Morrigan is the one who drank from the well, she invokes Mythal using the same line “We few who travel far, call to me, and I will come. Without mercy, without fear.” The inquisitor claims that “without mercy” sounds ominous. In any case, the line, specially when it’s completed by Solas, shows the usual “rough” aspect of Mythal. Mythal helps but you need to “earn” it. Abuse of her care, and she will strike. Try to fool her, and she will attack. Only the just who asks for her help will receive it, even those who call for her in order to have a vengeance from their foes. All these ideas are exactly the same ones we perceived in her Temple, through codices and Abelas’ words.

It’s also curious how these lines, for an altar of Mythal where you can come here and talk to her, seems to be quite revenge-focused. It feels like a place a follower could come to ask for vengeance, mostly. Once more, we see here, that vengeance is related to Mythal originally, not only now that she has been betrayed and survived inside Flemeth.

When questioning about why there was not an altar like this in the temple of Mythal, the inquisitor concludes what that previous line gave us as a vibe: her temple was a place of Justice, while this altar is different. Here is where the elves call her, spoke to her, and most of the time, asked for vengeance and retribution. Until one day she disappeared and there was no one with whom to speak. The elves had no tool to ask for help against the abuses they endured, and that was when Fen’Harel decided to create the Veil and bound the remaining Evanuris.

[video] When Morrigan summons her, she adds a line that the inquisitor doesn't say: she includes herself, if I’m not misunderstanding English, in all the previous people related to the well: all were high priests.

“You know who I am. From high priest to high priest, I am the last to drink of sorrows. Come to us, Mythal. Whatever you are, whatever remains, I invoke your name and your power.”

However, it's a line that could be understood as if she were talking to Mythal as if Mythal were another high priest.

The fact that the Inquisitor doesn’t invoke this line could mean that the Inquisitor did not have the same preparation that Morrigan had. We saw that Calpenia/Samson had to prepare themselves to become Vessels and understand the Well. And this is the main justification why an inquisitor who drank from the Well has so little use of it. They never understand it.

But the most interesting thing is the meaning. It could mean the collective group of the high priests that left their wills in the Well, but it could also mean that Mythal was a high priest of another entity we don’t know about [most likely greater dragons, according to Yavana’s words]. So a high priest of Mythal speaks to her in the same conditions, in the same level, when they speak in this altar. It’s about a conversation of “equals”, of “priests”. This idea comes to my mind mostly because we know via Solas’ words that the Evanuris were generals and nobles, that worshipped entities which were honoured through the symbols their used in the Vallaslins to brand their slaves. They were not gods, but at some point, before claiming divinity, they worshipped ancient entities we have no idea about.

The appearance of Flemeth is done with dark smoke effects, which are the same ones we see in Abelas when he tries to destroy the Well.

Flemeth reaction to disrespectful behaviour is quite chill and calm for an Evanuris, while a gesture of respect is also very appreciated [”those are manners”]. It seems to show in this scene that she is still in her core an evanuris who likes respect and veneration, but she doesn’t rage if she doesn’t receive it.

It’s also interesting that she appears in this altar at a lower level than the petitioners: the invokers are several steps higher than her.

[video] A lot of lines and information we obtained in Flemeth's Fade: Part 1, Part 2 are repeated here if the player doesn't have Kieran in their world-state.

What it's interesting is that Flemeth, through different lines, keeps telling the player that they should question the nature of Mythal:

“What was she? A legend with a name made a god or "something else"?”

To an elven inquisitor she reveals gently why she did not appeared to the elves these last past ages. To another inquisitor, she reacts with bitterness:

Flemeth: And to whom should I reveal myself? Inquisitor: To the elves, to Everyone Flemeth: I knew the hearts of men even before Mythal came to me. It is why she came to me. They do not want the truth, and I … I am but a shadow, lingering in the sun.

This feeling she shares is very similar to Solas’ when, in the first minutes of the game, he explains why he dislikes Dalish, since he was rejected and even attacked by clans when he tried to share his knowledge, real truth, of what was the History of the elves. They did not want the truth.

Depending on the world state, and the option you pick and the race of your inquisitor, Flemeth will recognise the problem you are facing [Corypheus] as something she knows deeply [hinting us that she may have known people like him from ages, as she does in Flemeth's Fade: Part 2. Or maybe this is just a hint about what we are revealed at the end: that Solas gave the orb to Corypheus, and she is very aware of it before Solas tells her anything.]

Another interesting and curious interaction is in here, which reveals that nothing of what we had done is accident. Everything has been planned by Flemeth since the beginning.

Inquisitor: This meeting was not accident, wasn’t it? Flemeth: Clever lad. Morrigan: The voices came … from you? Flemeth: The price of the Well seemed no dire thing when you saw so much gain, hmn?

If the inquisitor drank from the Well:

Inquisitor: This meeting was not accident, wasn’t it? The voices from the Well directed me here, and you direct them. Flemeth: Clever lad.

This means that The Well is manipulated by Flemeth. The Will of all those priests and servants of Mythal serve her still, even after death.

In the case of Morrigan drinking from the well, Flemeth and she have some secret understanding when Flemeth places her hand on her and transmits her knowledge of the “sacred shape”.

I find this so important in terms of Lore: If the inquisitor is the one who drank from the Well, they should fight the dragon-guardian of the altar and use this dragon against Corypheus’. However, if it’s Morrigan, Flemeth shares the secret of the “divine shape”. It’s true that along the codices of Temple of Mythal and of Vir Dirthara, we know that there is a shape reserved only for gods, which involves wings, leading us to conclude that it had to be a dragon due to the great importance that these creatures have along the franchise [from being Gods for Tevinters, to being creators of the world itself, as Yavana implies].

It’s in this moment where, for the first time, we see a magical effect that is not the dark smoke we have been seeing so far. Instead, it’s an orange, flame-like effect, that reminds us the shape of the orange-spirits we see around the game. And for the first time, Flemeth calls Morrigan “child”.

If the inquisitor drank from the Well, they have to master and control the dragon

We see one of the typical General glyphs and magical symbols glow on the Inquisitor’s face, exactly the same mark that we saw Flemeth activate in them when asking them to control Morrigan. It’s also the same mark we saw glowing when drinking from the Well. This reused asset works like a brand. The whole process involves effects that are the same as the ones used by Flemeth and Abelas: dark smoke and blue sparkles.

As an update of the last moment, I would like to show the dev’s notes collected by Corseque which seem to confirm part of our suspicions during this scene: The Well of Sorrows is and artefact that contains hundreds of elvhen priest’s essences, and it’s voiced by the same actress who gives her voice to Flemeth. This seems to confirm a bit more that the Well of Sorrows is a tool instrumented by Flemeth herself.

Another bit that confirms what we have just concluded in this post is also provided by Corseque, in an unique conversation with Morrigan that seems to be hard to trigger.

Morrigan: An interesting inscription: “Submit to law unyielding.” Inquisitor: “Law unyielding”? Morrigan: Perhaps this was some manner of courtroom? I cannot say. Morrigan: The ancient elves considered Mythal a god of justice. Solas: To call it “justice” is simplistic. Mythal was properly invoked by those seeking vengeance. Morrigan: Oh? Are they truly so different? Solas: To those who followed her, yes.

Mythal was more an entity of Vengeance than Justice. However, Solas insists that the nature of the Elvhen was more complex than the mono-purposed spirits. So, even if the elvhen were fluid entities, they embodied more aspects than just one.

The interesting thing about this concept is that, then, Elgar’nan, as a god who embodies revenge, may have had a different concept associated with him? Since Elgar’nan was the one imparting Justice until Mythal asked him permission to do it herself to avoid his Fury that endangered the People [The Judgement of Mythal], I wonder if their roles were not inverted, and Elgar’nan was meant for Justice, while Mythal was for Revenge. Still I think the elvhen nature is more complex than that, Solas keeps repeating it all the time, and we know with Dirthamen and Falon’Din that they were complex entities that we probably can’t understand fully in the present. Saying elvhen were mono-purposed spirits will always be an oversimplification according to him.

#main quest #altar of Mythal #mythal #Howling Fen'Harel statue #Humanoid Mythal statue #Dragon Mythal statue #flemeth

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tangledfate · 2 years

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Anonymous asked: ❛ it’ll always be you. ❜ -solas to fiore

Fiore wasn't sure when she'd begun wandering the fade in search of him. Wasn't sure when she'd set off running to every shadow or mirage shifting in her periphery in hopes of finding him. It was pathetic really just how broken he'd left her and yet here she was desperate for a trace of him even if it was only in her dreams.

She couldn't have said how she'd found the memory, but here it was, a mocking mirror of a memory that may never have existed. Twisting trees of crystal and temples that floated as though they weighed nothing. Jumping from one floating step to another, she found herself drawn up towards the gaping mouth of a doorway where beyond there was laughing and singing.

It was a party of some sort, though how old it was she could not have said. Ancient, perhaps, for it certainly wasn't like any modern gathering.

There were no humans.

A quick scan of the room found numerous elves fettering about, each with their own vallaslin, and not one acting of their own accord. Some brought food and drink, some danced, others sat to be coddled, while even more served as furniture for the true revelers of the gathering.

This was a memory of the Evanuris--of a time too long ago to be truly remembered. Had he found this memory as well? That question was answered when fade green eyes snagged on a lean figure amongst the revelers. Solas...? No...was it?

Dark hair tied back in ropes and a wolf skull half covering his face, he looked bored as he lounged there, watching the world around him without engaging until one of the goddesses led another figure--a gift?--to him.

He said something--a refusal perhaps--but then the goddess all but shoved the gift into his lap and sidled away giggling. The shove forced him to catch her, fingers finding her arms as they both went rigid. It was not more than a moment that passed between them before the gift wrenched away and he unconsciously made half a move to follow before regaining himself.

He stood, said something and then led the gift from the room and out of sight entirely before the memory faded. And Fiore was left wondering where to go from here.

She wanted to know more--the burn of jealousy only adding to her curiosity--but this was the fade, this wasn't a linier path she could trace and retrace.

It was a shifting--movement--in the corner of her periphery that answered her question. What might have been a great black wolf racing below the steps and towers and out of sight as soon as she turned to look at it.

Feet moving before she could think, she leapt from the steps and ran after the creature. Following it beneath the floating towers over hills and through valleys before finally coming to what might have been a temple with a large stone wolf sitting before it. In truth it vaguely reminded her of the temples she'd explored in the exalted plains.

Stepping inside, it wasn't immediately clear why she'd been led here. It took a moment or two of following voices deeper into the temple before she knew she'd been led to another memory sometime after the revelry. The gift--an elven woman with dark hair and light skin was teaching him to dance a tribal-esque dance. A dance she could remember him teaching to HER. Was this how he'd known it?

There was a twinge of jealousy at that thought and she winced. Stupid, this was long before her time if this was even real. Still, she was hesitant as she returned her gaze to the memory. But when she did, the vision warped. Where dark hair and light skin had been, in a blink it was reversed.

Pale blonde hair and dark ochre skin like her own replaced what had been and suddenly it was a reflection of herself in the memory. Movement beyond the couple caught her eye and there he was, across the room in another doorway, soft grey eyes watching her before slipping to the memory as the figures danced.

"It's you. It'll always BE you. In this lifetime and any other." She started towards him before she thought better of it, but she never reached him.

Fiore jolted awake, panting into the dark of her room for a moment before the realization of where she was--that she was alone--settled into her bones. Lips trembled and knees bent upwards before she all but curled in on herself.

#{ encounters ;; fiore }#{ answer }#is this okay? I am so rusty

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5lazarus · 3 years

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Ultramarine

Sylaise attempts to trademark the color blue, initiating a civil war. Fen'Harel disapproves. Felassan, at this point, is just along for the ride.

Highlights include: Andruil attempts to create biological weapons out of the conquered children of the stone and sell them to absolutely everyone, Mythal may or may not involve, Solas greatly disapproves, and everyone wants to kill Fen'Harel for disapproving. Also an explanation as to why Solas has to think before answering Sera on whether he has ever pissed magic by accident.

Sorta a love story, sorta a comedy, sorta a story about political intrigue--but hey, Solas said Arlathan was even worse than Orlais!

A big thank you to @potatowitch and isomede for talking me through this and getting me to finish it--and for giving me the best ideas for it. Read on Archive of Our Own here.

Felassan drowses in the marketplace, listening to the gossip and basking in the bright sprint light of the Durgas Durgen’len. The Valley of the Children of the Dwarves marks the frontier of Mythal’s demesne, but is no less busy for it. Thaig-crawlers anxious for a Stone-milk fix bring the treasures of their houses. Elves from across the empire come to hawk their wares for the Stone’s blood, and under the Dread Wolf’s supervision, the two species live in uneasy coexistence under the Sky. He is a better procurator than Dirthamen, people whisper, but is that really a high bar to exceed?

Felassan shifts against the cool marble pillar of Mythal’s temple gate and keeps listening. One trader has come from Arlathan, seeking lyrium milked from the heart of the Titan itself. Another has high ambitions of dealing with the Dread Wolf himself, for a fragment of the Titan’s heart. Another is wondering what kind of money could be made out of the Children of the Stone’s need for the blood of their own god. Felassan lazily opens an eye at that. Fen’Harel does not want speculators driving the cost of living up, and is in rather tense negotiations with Mythal for a cleaner way to treat her new stone-children. He takes down the woman’s face: marked with Andruil’s vallaslin, but blue, so moderately wealthy and looking to buy her freedom soon. He resolves to arrange for her to meet an accident soon, but not too soon--he wants to see where she leads to.

“They could be useful, you know,” Andruil’s agent is saying. “Not just as miners, not just for their pretty little crafts. Since they need that fix, they can be controlled. You just need to mine enough lyrium and water it down to milk, and after a generation, you can train them into whatever you want. That’s what the Titans do to them, after all. Why not us? At least we’re brighter. And war’s coming, anyway.”

Felassan opens his eyes and stirs. He makes a show of warming his hands, trying to look like an indigent trader and less like the Dread Wolf’s spy. “War’s always coming, lethallin.”

The woman says, “Not like this. Of course, Mythal always stays neutral.”

“Hail the Adjudicator,” Felassan says pointedly.

Andruil’s agent rolls her eyes. “Hail the Adjudicator. I suppose news makes it to the frontier slow. Sylaise invaded Dirthamen’s lands last spring. Their champions are currently fighting it out for control of Dirthamen’s lapis lazuli monopoly. She’s declared that all colors of the sky are hers, and especially the stones that make blue.”

That’s remarkably stupid, Felassan thinks: but she has always been vain and foolish. He makes his excuses amiably, and heads out to tell the Dread Wolf. At the market’s gates he finds another of the Dread Wolf’s loyalists and sets them to track Andruil’s news-spreader. He ambles through the narrow streets, dodging clever halla guiding floating aravels to their destinations, and slinks into the Dread Wolf’s personal residence. As he suspects, he is still at home. He could hear music drifting from an upstairs window. He knocks on the door, and a hand emerges from the window to throw down the keys. Grinning, Felassan catches them, and lets himself in.

Felassan says, “I suppose you’ve heard the news. Sylaise has trademarked the color blue.” He has come bearing gossip straight from the caravansaries, right to the Dread Wolf’s headquarters—a cheap apartment at the outskirts of Mythal’s newest colony, Durgas Durgen’len. Solas has moved recently; Felassan glances up at the blank ceiling and notes he hasn't had the time to start drafting his starry mosaic yet. The Dread Wolf himself is sprawled in his chair, feet on his desk, reading a report and laughing. Solas grins. He hands Felassan the lyrium tablet. “Alas, not entirely--you know I was planning on painting my ceiling?” Felassan looks down at the tablet. It’s a trade manifest. “I put in a massive order of lapis lazuli seasons ago--and it arrived safely this morning, despite the current trade war. Sylaise may be fighting for the mines, but production cannot continue when there is war going on. So we have the largest supply of lapis lazuli in all of Elvhenan. And the All-Mother wrote me that they’re running low on blue pigment in Arlathan--so Sylaise will not have enough ultramarine paint to finish that magnificent dome she was planning for her palace.” Felassan reads through the trade manifest, impressed despite himself. The Dread Wolf preens slightly. Whoever named him pegged him perfectly. He does so like to be praised. He says, “I suppose you started hoarding pigment when you heard she started the project. So we’ll make some money. But what about Andruil? Her spy’s doomsaying war and talking about--shaping the stone-children with lyrium itself, turning them into a whole disposable workforce. How are negotiations with Mythal?” The merry mood dampens. Solas taps the crystalline music player, and the song shifts. It sounds like lyrium, except cleaner and somehow sad. He says, “The dwarves listen to this. They play it on their own crystal communications array. I’ve tracked two in the Valley, and there are at least three more. Beautiful, isn’t it? Unthinking, but with its own natural harmony.” Felassan thinks it sounds like waking up in the bright morning, tousled in the sweating arms of a still-drunk lover, when he untangles himself from the sticky sheets and picks up the abandoned wine glasses, knocked over but unbroken on the floor. It sounds like flicking a wine glass, slightly hungover. It sounds like the last time Solas let him stay over. Felassan coughs, a bit embarrassed; the lyrium song caught him. Fucking dwarves: he still doesn’t understand their enchanments. “What do you want me to do about the spy? Kill her?” The Dread Wolf looks meditative. “No. Not yet, at least. We do not need to give Andruil more reasons for war, and if we need to escalate let us have one of Mythal’s temple guards do it. If she’s talking about shaping flesh, she’s been talking to Ghilan’nain. And we know Ghilan’nain has been talking to Mythal.” He smiles thinly. That answers that, then. Negotiations with Mythal are not going well, and this petty war between Sylaise and Dirthamen covers up something nastier. The alliances between the Evanuris are shifting, and that leaves Fen’Harel and their people in the lurch. The Dread Wolf says, “If Andruil wants Mythal’s little stones, she will have to come to me first. Sylaise’s vanity will not be the reason for outright war. I will speak to her and Dirthamen both, and then we shall see what hand she plays next.”

Mythal’s court is terrifying. Felassan trails Solas, who has traded his usual homespun tunic for a more impressive set of lyrium-inscribed leather armor. The lyrium sings as they walk, and Felassan can almost taste the words. Solas projects an aura of calm authority, with a testier threat of violence underneath. It’s the lyrium, somehow. The Dread Wolf is manipulating it. When they approach the throne, Felassan kneels but Solas only ducks his head. Insane, Felassan thinks. He’s caught wind of an incipient civil war so he’s decided to tease Mythal. What a fucking madman. Mythal sighs. “Get up, you fool.” Felassan glances at Solas worriedly. Solas says laconically, “She means you.” Hurriedly he rises to his feet, blushing. Mythal shakes her head. “I have always said the People are too quick to bend the knee. I expect more pride from your people, Dread Wolf.” Solas gestures at him to retreat to his back. Felassan gladly slinks back into the shadows, and scans the hall for potential enemies. It is empty but for the lyrium ostentatiously woven into the very brickwork, shaping the earth into a temperature-controlled paradise. She could pull at it and made the whole palace implode, but Solas could as well. Even Felassan could give that a try. He realizes, slightly shocked, that the All-Mother trusts the Dread Wolf, as much as she is capable of trusting anyone. The All-Mother rises from her throne and stalks down to greet her favorite. She places one claw on his shoulder and caresses his face with another. The Dread Wolf stiffens but does not draw back. “My child,” she says fondly. “You’ve come to ask about the blue war, then.” “It’s a particularly idiotic reason to start a civil war,” the Dread Wolf says. “Particularly since I have enough ultramarine pigment to last out Sylaise’s monument to her own stupidity. And my workers have found a lapis lazuli cache in the Durgas Durgen’len, so we will be able to shift productive in the valley from lyrium to paint readily enough.” “Your workers,” Mythal says. “You mean my workers.” Solas says, “I do not own them.” Felassan tenses. When he was manumitted, Solas swore never to hold another in bondage, even the durgen’len. They are his workers only because they toil under his supervision, and Solas is quick to point out that he pays them and encourages their economic freedom beyond his holds. Mythal is doing this deliberately to upset him. Felassan knows how much Solas resents how Mythal keeps her hands on the reins of her freed slaves. He knows how much Solas resents how that is still how the court thinks of him, encouraged by Mythal: the All-Mother’s freed slave, her Dread Wolf—and not even his workers are safe from her clutches.

Solas says, “My man found one of Andruil’s agents, spreading rumors of war in the marketplace—and worse, suggesting we splinter the autonomy of your little stones, and addict them to their stone-milk to keep them pliable. You know Ghilan’nain put that into her head, and Ghilan’nain is not to be trusted. She dares too much, we cannot—“

“Ghilan’nain is not to be trusted?” Mythal is amused. “Dread Wolf, you’re the one who put her eyes out.” Solas opens his mouth and closes it. Felassan looks down at the ground. He has never seen him at a loss for words before. It is less satisfying than he imagined. Mythal laughs. “Trust in my judgement, as you always have. Ghilan’nain may overreach but her experimentations with lyrium and my new subjects will do Elvhenan no harm. These…weapons are soulless, but not at a risk to our own souls.”

“You do not know that,” Solas says. “Is this why you have allowed Sylaise’s hostilities to increase? Are you looking to test her new experiments in this petty war? Nevermind her…trademark,” he sneers. “We will begin production forthwith. This war will stop here.”

Mythal says, “War is inevitable. Winning is not. When will I next see you at court?”

Solas leaves seething, Felassan dogging his footsteps. Felassan follows him home. It is clear that he is upset. Felassan himself is more frightened than angry, but the gods are different than the rest of the People, even ones like the Dread Wolf, who had been born a spirit made enslaved flesh.

Solas lets him enter his home and finds a bottle of wine. He pours them both a glass, hands shaking, and settles back in his desk chair.

Felassan drags the chair in front of his desk and places it next to him.“I thought you were going to fight her,” he says. “I thought you were going to snap and yell at her.”

Solas says, “Drink.” He leans forward in his chair, pride demon eyes staring him down. Felassan wishes he would blink. He looks away and drinks the thick, sweet red wine that tastes too fresh, too close to the grape. This was a wine to get drunk to, not to drink.

He casts about for something to say, anything to move that stare away. Ghilan’nain and her grotesqueries are not an option. Solas will not respond if he tackles the issue of Mythal directly. Finally, he tries, “You’d think she’d do something about Andruil’s spies.”

Solas quirks an eyebrow. “Why would she? She’s paying her.” Now he leans back. The gold night is slating through the apartment’s window and lends a shimmer to his skin. Felassan watches him sip. The apartment might be small and a bit rundown, but Solas has arranged himself impeccably, glorying in the natural light. He is a god, he is Mythal’s procurator, he is a lord in his own right: and he is still ever the artist.

“What,” Felassan says.

“Oh yes,” Solas shifts in his chair, gesturing with his glass, “the All-Mother has spoken, before witnesses—yourself included—that Ghilan’nain’s experimentations with lyrium and Mythal’s own little stones are for the good of Elvhenan.” He barks a bitter laugh. “You know the dwarves sing a hymn to their own children, about the promise of Mythal’s freedom? Let me show you.” He waves a hand at the crystalline radio and once again the music plays, the odd echoing that vibrates within the nose and the smallest bones in the ear and the jaw.

Felassan closes his eyes and listens as the voice of the Stone reverberates, “Ir sa tel’nal, Mythal las ma theneras. Ir san’a emma. Him Sola evanuris. Da’durgen’lin, Banal males elgara. Bellanaris, bellanaris.”

Solas says, “She uses me to keep them placid, promising them their freedom—freedom of thought, through their imagination, but they will never freely walk under Elgar’nan’s sun. I have no love for the Children of the Stone. I find them lacking in understanding. What can be gleamed, by people who do not dream? But no one, for all the horror they have wrecked with their earthshaking, deserves Ghilan’nain. Mythal promised me my freedom. That should be extended to all the workers under my control.”

Felassan throws back his drink and sets his glass on the desk. “Pour me another one,” he says. “So. What are we going to do, to stop this war? Because that is what you intend to do. To make the need for these lyrium-worked stone weapons redundant. What do you need me to do?”

Solas is taken aback for a moment, though he should know better. He was the one who left him, after all. Solas reaches for him. Felassan leans into the touch reassuringly, knowing Solas is already making excuses, a moment of weakness, a moment of sentimentality, he has been alone for so long. They lock eyes, Felassan thinks let me stay over again, let me love you but the music changes pitch and Solas gets out of his chair to turn it off, and then shifts to the kitchen for better wine.

They spend the night strategizing how to prevent a war, but when Solas goes to bed, he chooses to go alone.

Arlathan is resplendent for the peace summit, but the Dread Wolf’s retinue is glorious in their wonderfully-dyed ultramarine silks. It is a statement and it is a bold one, and Felassan is feeling smug, because not only are they, the former foot soldiers of Mythal’s army, wearing an entire kingdom’s worth of cash on their backs—they also look magnificent in blue.

“You’re strutting,” Felassan tells Solas, beautiful in a blue tunic and a woven gold scarf.

Solas laughs. “Look at them, watching,” he says happily. “I see Sylaise’s little spies chattering away—the Dread Wolf has enough ultramarine to turn out his own court, and spare. I love this pageantry. Next time, if we live to see another time, I will ask the dyers to dress the cloth like peacocks. And then we truly will put on a show.”

Felassan was more referring to how he was walking so everyone would look at his ass, which was certainly one of the nicest he himself has ever seen, but he does like the idea of both of them done up in turquoise and gold, glittering in the sunset. Solas rarely dresses well outside of court, preferring the anonymity or alternate political statement of plain dress. But the message here is clear: the Dread Wolf carries enough wealth, independent from Mythal, to stop a war.

They process into Mythal and Elgar’nan’s palace, which is of course overheated. The ritual of welcome is interminable. Mythal is clearly amused, Elgar’nan is already drunk, one of Falon’Din’s slaves attempts to trip Solas’ herald, and Sylaise glowers the whole time. Solas is simply serene. Felassan does his best to arrange his face, but he’s best at parties, not the cult aspect of life as a servant of an immortal godking. When he first hit on that bombastic new recruit in the barracks, this was not how he thought it would end. He really had thought they would all be dead before then.

Eventually they are released to Solas’ own wing of the palace, much smaller than all the other children of Mythal and their co-rulers. There Solas will arbitrate the terms of the peace agreement between Sylaise and Dirthamen. Even for a former slave—and a rumored bastard child—the quarters are grandiose. An obsequious slave branded by Andruil’s insignia informs them that Sylaise specially redesigned them in line with the latest fashions, and then makes a quick gesture with his hand as Solas enters. Felassan catches it: pinky and pointer up, middle and ring finger touching the thumb. He’s made the sign of the wolf at them. He’s asking for help.

“Rubies,” Solas says. “Gold. Far too gaudy.” They stand in the atrium, bejeweled and overheated, with rooms all along the courtyard. The Dread Wolf’s retinue—loyal soldiers, clerks from across the caste system, kitchen staff and cleaners—all stay close. The heat is overwhelming. The red seems to shimmer in Arlathan’s bright light

“Well,” Felassan says. “It’s gaudy, but it’s a peace offering from Sylaise. Anyway, you’re one to talk. You’re wearing enough blue dye to buy an army.” He brushes against Solas, trying to get his attention, and Solas leans into the touch and then abruptly moves away. For fuck’s sake, Fen’Harel, Felassan thinks. For once I’m not trying anything.

“Which is the point,” Solas says, refusing to look at him. “This though,” he waves a dismissive hand, “is a migraine. But the expense and insult to Sylaise for redesigning apartments she so kindly put together…”

Felassan says, “I think some of this is colored glass.” He flicks a particularly obnoxious cut gem over the threshold of the drawing room. It resounds like lyrium-song, but even more distorted, haunting and hot in his ears. It’s red lyrium, and the retinue pauses and draws together quickly.

“Touch nothing!” Solas barks. “Pack up your things. This is red lyrium, and it corrupts what it touches.” He shakes his head. “Unsubtle. This is a gift from Sylaise, but at Andruil’s prompting.” He puts his hand on Felassan’s shoulder. “I must ask a favor from you, my friend. Stay close to me. I need you to be my slow arrow, to catch Andruil out.”

Felassan remains Solas’ only guard. The rest work quickly to calculate and capture the red lyrium contamination in their quarters. He’s nervous. Normally the Evanuris are more subtle, but Andruil has changed since the war. He tells him about the sign Sylaise’s slave made and Solas just looks smug, choosing to keep the story to himself. Of course Fen’Harel has spies in every court, of course Fen’Harel knows who needs him before they even do, of course Fen’Harel doesn’t communicate anything beyond need-to-know even to him, his personal guard. He thinks, not for the first time, that Solas is a hard man to love. At least Solas knows that too.

The peace summit is boring. Sylaise puts on a show, decked out in lyrium-woven silver and lapis lazuli, which makes her brilliant red hair shine gold and rather disruptive. Dirthamen is more severe. His graying hair is braided with silver thread, making the red in it even more distinctive, and the lyrium-silk he wears whispers the impressions of all that he has seen. At this point Felassan has ceased to be rattled by how very much Solas looks like him. Fen’Harel keeps his head shaved because it is anonymous and convenient, and also because it makes him look even less like his rumored half-siblings.

The children of Mythal gather around a round table. Solas opens negotiates. Felassan is bored. There is so much lyrium in the room, it thrums in his sinuses and he is afraid his nose will bleed. The conquest of the Durgas Durgen’len has brought plenty to Elvhenan. The excess is rather grotesque, and while Felassan likes grotesque—why else would he be in the Dread Wolf’s retinue?—the other Evanuris are a bit much. Absolutely no one in the room brings up Andruil or Ghilan’nain’s name, but their presence is felt.

The meeting ends after Solas successfully convinces both to sign a nonaggression pact that includes reporting to the other when they begin outfitting for war. They can track the movement of Andruil’s experimental soldiers that way, though the clause does not require them to inform Mythal. They have enough spies. Solas has them sign the contract in blood laced with lyrium, providing his own knife.

“Ah,” Sylaise says. “Fen’Harel’s fang. How cute. Did my mother give you that?”

Solas smiles coldly. “My father, actually. I have never asked how he received it.” Score, Felassan thinks. Sylaise has always been a fucking idiot.

Dirthamen says, “You’ve never asked?”

Solas says, “It was his once and is mine now. I rather think I have made written is backstory.” He glances at the contract, slowly drying on the table.

Felassan says helpfully, “In your blood. Literally.” Solas catches his eye and they both begin to grin before he looks away hurriedly. “Now, everyone will know, that it is at this daggerpoint that war was averted and peace brokered between two of the greatest powers of Elvhenan, and the nation’s supply of blue dye restored.”

Solas says mildly, “I should add that Mythal has asked me to draft legislature making it clear that colored dyes themselves cannot be patented, though of course ratios and forms of manufacturing may remain trade secrets to the craftsman.” He bows slightly to Sylaise, who visibly grinds her teeth. Felassan can hear the squeak.

Dirthamen says, “Good. If you will excuse me? I must tender my regards to our mother. She and I have much to discuss.”

Solas says, “Give her my love.” He means it, too. For all that Mythal has wrecked, Solas has always loved her. He may have removed the mark from his face—and Felassan’s too—but the writing is in the blood, as the saying goes. The vallaslin can never truly be erased.

Dirthamen leaves and Sylaise follows hurriedly, and Solas leans forward, elbows on the table, steepling his hands. He rubs the bridge of his nose, staring at the contract.

“Nicely done,” Felassan says. “Dirthamen came very close to acknowledging you as his brother. You might’ve alienated Sylaise, but she was always a lost cause.”

“I’m not,” Solas says sharply. He drops his hands. “As you know. But it’s interesting that he has an audience with Mythal. Perhaps Andruil approached him first, rather than Sylaise. Perhaps this all was yet another game of hers, testing to see how easily her children fracture if she chooses to leave Elvhenan unattended. Or perhaps they’re simply gossiping together, as a mother is wont to do, with her only son.”

Felassan says, “Fine. Forget I said anything. Sorry. But no one’s tried to kill you that well yet. The red lyrium was a cheap shot, but Sylaise has always been cheap. What now?”

Solas says, “I need to clean my dagger, file some paperwork, and see when Sylaise will try to kill me again. I hope, for your sake, that it happens so soon, because I can see that you’re bored.”

“Nothing like an assassination attempt to liven up a peace treaty,” Felassan says. “If you would try to risk your life in more entertaining ways, I would not complain.”

Solas says, “Don’t worry. Andruil’s slave, the one you saw? He invited us to a party. He’s working for the Forgotten Ones. Things will get entertaining yet.”

Geldauron throws the best parties. Everyone knows that. It’s because he’s no longer corporeal, so he focuses on the vibes of the space, to bring everyone’s desires to fruition. He is also a wonderful musician, because he is music and thought becomes music, and he knows how to sing everyone’s desires into a wonderful piece. Felassan is excited, because Solas is his favorite person to get fucked up with, and while both of them will have to pretend to be sober, the night promises to be fun.

Geldauron throws the best parties. He’s also a fucking asshole. The two return to Solas’ quarters to prepare—Solas changes his clothes and Felassan smokes instead. He lounges on Solas’ bed, watching him dress. Solas swaps the cloth leggings for blue-dyed leather and a gold-edged tunic. Picking up a wolfskin, he turns to Felassan, only to catch him ogling his ass. He raises an eyebrow.

Felassan says, “Good choice. But if you take those off you’re not getting back in them any time soon.”

Solas snorts. “I doubt it is that kind of party.”

“We could make it that kind of party.”

Solas grins. He says, “No.”

“I thought you like mixing business and pleasure,” Felassan says. He takes a drag and, concentrating, blows a smoke ring toward him.

Solas’ smile fades, and he returns to the mirror, adjusting his collar. “Not now,” he says. “I cannot afford to be so reckless anymore.”

Felassan sees himself, desirable in the mirror, and Solas looking frustrated. He says, “Why did you ask me to come along?”

“Because I trust you,” Solas says readily. “Because I care about you, and I will behave more cautiously so I may keep you safe. As you would to protect me. And that is why I must ask you—stop this. I am your commander now. It’s inappropriate concerning our differences in rank. We might no longer be slaves, but I have certain responsibilities.” He stops, seeing Felassan laughing in the mirror. “What?”

Felassan sidles up and puts his arms around him. “You’re so full of shit,” he says fondly. Solas stiffens, and then relaxes. “Sure. I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

“I,” Solas begins, and then stops. “Yes. Thank you.”

Felassan thinks, you want me to persuade you, don’t you? You’ve always enjoyed being courted. But tonight, I’d rather not. It’s my turn for some flattery. I’m tired of being hung out to dry. He pushes him away and goes to the door. “So,” he says. “Where in the Void are we going? Didn’t Geldauron get rid of his physical form? This is a trap, isn’t it?”

“We wouldn’t go if it weren’t,” Solas says. “You asked for adventure, and I am glad to deliver.”

They have to take three different eluvians and briefly melt into the Void to get to the spot in the Abyss where Geldauron has shaped according to his munificent Will. Melting always makes Felassan have to piss, but there are no bathrooms in the Abyss. Geldauron eschews such mundanities.

Felassan grumbles, “Subject and object, actor and acted upon. Easy to say when you’ve jettisoned your bladder to become a fog of resentment and envy. That still smells like piss.”

The Abyss, triggered by Felassan’s desire for shape, sense, and a toilet, warps. Tiles, Felassan thinks. Please. A nice hole in the ground to piss in. I’ll take a tree. Solas waves an idle hand, and a cobbled path appears out of the blankness. A white threshold opens at the end. From there they feel the vibrato of lyrium-song, electric and hungry. Felassan shivers. Carefully they step on the path. Halfway up, Felassan stops.

“What do you think will happen if I piss off the map?” Felassan says. “Into the Abyss?”

Solas pauses. There is mischief in his eyes. “We know that Geldauron will not bother to manifest anything to accommodate our corporeality.”

Felassan squints into the blankness. “If I conquer his Will with my Will, it won’t bounce back.”

“It would be purely an experiment of magical energy,” Solas agrees. They stare at each other.

Felassan says, “I bet you I can aim farther than you.”

“There is no distance to measure,” Solas says. “It’s the Void.”

“Coward,” Felassan says. “Don’t you need to take a piss too?”

Solas looks exasperated. One more taunt, Felassan thinks, and I’ve got him. He’s never been able to back down from a bet.

“I bet you I can Will it farther than you, and get rid of the smell,” Felassan says. “And, anyway, there’s not going to be anywhere more private to take a piss than our personal pathway through the Abyss. Especially if we’re walking into a trap. Unless you want to weaponize your bladder.” He pauses. “Is that why Geldauron smells like piss?

“Geldauron stinks because as he lost his physical form, his body relieved itself of all its former functions. He captured himself in the moment of his dying renewal. Unfortunate, but to be expected for one as foolish as he,” Solas says, amused. “But to your question—are you saying you think you can piss magic?”

Felassan says, “Wanna bet?”

The lyrium-high hits them both as a physical force as they pass the threshold, and Felassan’s heart skips a beat as it thrums through his body, teasing his sinuses and twinging behind his eyes and ears. Solas takes a deep, steadying breath, and Reality begins to vein, blueing the whiteness into shadowy shape. Felassan sniffs: lightning, storm clouds, fertile earth, and—that’s it, just the hint of piss.

He whispers, “I think I found Geldauron.”

Solas chokes back a laugh.

The slightly stinking vibration that is the Forgotten One Geldauron wraps around them and gives a token attempt at conquering their Will. Solas brushes him off as if he were a fly. Felassan thinks very hard, shit piss shit piss shit piss fucker—and the buzzing stops. Geldauron backs off, giving off a sense of being decidedly rumpled. Felassan is smug.

“Greetings, the Will that is Geldauron,” Solas says. There is a touch of irony to his voice.

Geldauron arranges the particles of the voice into a throat, complete with tongue, lips, teeth, and vocal cord. Felassan eyes it with disgust, Solas with interest. Felassan has always thoroughly enjoyed having a body, and has never understood why the Forgotten Ones gave up their form to vibrate in the Abyss—and, of course, the fact that they backed down from fighting the Pillars of the Earth when thousands were dying in those earthquakes does not incline him to being kind. Solas, though, has always liked to experiment.

Geldauron says, “Welcome to the Void. I see you’ve brought a guard.” Felassan stands up a bit straighter and attempts to look intimidating. The vibration that is Geldauron twinges. “You wouldn’t trust your old friends?”

Solas says lightly, “I especially wouldn’t trust old friends. How’s your lyrium-mining operation going?”

“Better, if you’d give me the workers.”

“Which I would, if you added basic safeguards to your mindvision. The Abyss is still Evhenan, and follows the same operational safety protocol as part of the empire.”

Geldauron scoffs. “Anaris is still pissed you backed out of the deal. He’s looking for a better buyer.”

Solas says, “Anaris caused the death of three hundred and twenty-nine elvhen miners from my home province. Not every man has the ability to project, with utmost confidence, the certainty of their own mortality while handling certainly noxious substances. Is he here?”

Around them the party swirls in blasting lyrium-song and crystal colors, and Felassan closes his eyes to feel the Will solidify as the voices sing. He is not drunk and only a little high, but there is a hive and there is the mind and there are infinite and only two hundred people in this Void, just vibing, and six at least are vining around each other, flesh to plant twirling photosynthesis, and he tastes—

Solas says, “If you think your profit margin outweighs the worth of any freethinking person in my employ, I will override your thought-form myself.” He puts a hand out and grips a shoulder as he forces Geldauron to take shape, Will snapping Will back into Reality, and Felassan shakes himself and watches as the old god flashes into a form, snarling, and then unravels again. Showing up the host at his own party, Felassan thinks. That’s a mistake.

He steps in, to back him up. “Can you still be the Will when others have more Will than you?” He waves a hand through where Geldauron’s vibrato played. There are others staring at them, taking physical shape, and now the Abyss becomes a black castle, lyrium roots twinging at their feet. The air is hungry. He suppresses a shiver.

“Cute,” a voice drawls, and then there is a body to match: the slave Felassan saw, who warned them about the red lyrium in their quarters. Then the vallaslin melts away and he grows taller, face sharpening and eyes narrowing, pupils elongating to slits.

“Anaris,” Solas says neutrally. Felassan looks at him quickly. There’s history here. The most physical of the Forgotten Ones is unearthly handsome, as aesthetically perfect as a monument, and thus completely unfuckable. Judging from the slight tension in Solas’ posture, Fen’Harel once disagreed. Felassan checks a sigh. He looks at Felassan. “Give us a moment. I’ll meet you near the path.” Felassan pauses, because leaving him alone with the Forgotten Ones is ridiculous, however ridiculously overpowered Solas is, but Solas gives him that cold Fen’Harel look so he backs off without trying to argue. There is never any point. He never listens, and out of the few arguments Felassan has ever won with him, it has only been because Solas has already decided to agree. He bows slightly, only to make him uncomfortable, and wanders off into the Void. Maybe they are just meeting to talk over labor disputes. Maybe it is something more—but it is not every night that Felassan finds himself partying in the Abyss, and so he intends to take advantage of it while he still can.

Felassan has a crowd of sympathetic quasi-corporeal spirits surrounding him, and they all pet him and tell him he is right. He is drunk and this is the Fade leaching into the Abyss to massage his desires into reality, but that does not spoil it.

“I am done with bad bosses,” Felassan announces to the crowd. “Bad bosses who say they love you and take you along to arbitrate weird labor disputes with their exes and then cut you out of the interesting part. Bad bosses who when they’re promoted above you stop sleeping with you but keep you around anyway. This has been a centuries-long break-up and I deserve better.”

A Compassion spirit says, “You should tell him. Communication is always key.”

Felassan wails, “But he told me!”

The spirits rustle. The Compassion spirit looks slightly less sympathetic. A spirit of Authority and their friend, one of Geldauron’s lackeys who couldn’t quite eschew their form entirely, say in unison, “Is it the debasement that you like?”

Felassan pauses. “No. Yes.” He thinks. “No. Just the presence. I could handle the profession. I can! I am. But mixing business and pleasure?”

Suddenly, out of the Abyss, comes Solas’s voice, and then Solas’s presence. He says, amused, “Anaris is not my ex. How have you managed to get drunk off the Abyss? There is nothing here.”

Felassan flushes. Solas offers him a hand and helps pull him up. Felassan says haughtily, “I find the Nothingness very intoxicating.” Solas’ eyes crinkle, and Felassan hangs onto him a second longer before Solas gently lets go. Felassan says, “Someone manifested the drunk. Not me.”

Solas says, “Yes. Compassion, or Authority, manifested your current state of inebriation. Not any of your desire to taste oblivion.”

Felassan says, “Yes, that’s right. Everyone brought oblivion to me.”

Solas chuckles. “Ridiculous.” He takes hold of Felassan and walks him into the blackness. “Place more drunk,” he whispers. “We’re being followed.”

Felassan stumbles. Solas leans over to catch him. Felassan whispers in his ear, “Anaris? Geldauron? Ghilan’nain? Which one of your enemies is it today?”

Solas’ lips brush his cheek. “Andruil,” he mouths. He presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, and Felassan draws back, furious. Solas closes his left eye quickly, barely even a wink: Felassan whirls around, and Andruil jams a needle into his neck, and then he is falling as Solas backs away, eyes flashing with Mythal’s lightning.

“Where the fuck is that fucker?”

Felassan is rudely shaken awake. “Easy, easy,” he grumbles, putting his hands out. Anaris, beauty distorted by frothing rage, slaps them away. Felassan sits up, takes stock: he is sitting on the worn stone path out of the Abyss, hanging over the Avoid. Anaris looms over him. Fen’Harel is nowhere to be found. Felassan decides to play dumb. “What fucker?”

Anaris says, “That fucker. Your fucker. Fen’Harel.”

Felassan objects: Solas hasn’t let him fuck him since Mythal made him a god, citing the power differential. That, of course, has not stopped them from flirtation, tension, and angst, and Felassan is occasionally jealous that Solas seems to fuck everyone but him—Anaris, really?—but that all goes to say: Fen’Harel is not his fucker. He opens his mouth to say all that, but Anaris shoves him roughly to the ground.

“He’s mine,” Anaris says.

Felassan props himself up on his elbow. “Yeah. I had a nice talk with a spirit of Compassion early….” He looks over his shoulder, trying to find the entrance to the Abyss where Geldauron’s party was. There is nothing, which makes sense, because this is the Abyss. He shrugs. “Really, he’s no one’s but his own. Built his own brand on that. Terrible commitment issues, and not the most appropriate commander—you need to learn to let him go—“

“The fuck are you on about?” Anaris stares at him. “He broke our fucking contract. Mythal ordered him to sell us her workers, he backed out. And now he’s sitting on an entire kingdom of gold because of Andruil’s stupid gambit—biologic-fucking-weapons. Not like he’s doing anything useful with those dwarves. May as well test them out in one of Sylaise’s petty wars.”

Felassan stares up at him, disgusted. “They’re not weapons,” he says. “They’re people. Just because they don’t dream…we threw down the Pillars of the Earth and scorn them for making machines of their own people. We can do better than that.”

Anaris says, “Did I ask for moralism? No? Gods. You’re definitely one of his followers, ugh. Does he keep you around for his conscience?” He shakes his head. “I’m done with that shit. Geldauron said—whatever. Where the fuck is he? He owes me money. He broke our contract!”

Felassan thinks, I’m done with this shit. He rubs his aching head wearily. “I think Andruil took him.” He isn’t quite sure, but he thinks Solas was trying to protect him. He’s never been very good at letting his guards guard him, but Felassan is rather glad to still be alive. Doubtless enough time as Mythal’s thrall will teach him to let others die.

Anaris swears so loudly and angrily the path, which is itself a thought form, shakes slightly. Felassan eyes him warily. He points in a random direction. “I think they went that way.” A doorway, shining brilliant with white light, opens up onto the path. Felassan considers it. The wondrous thing about living in a malleable reality is that if one Wills hard enough, it comes true. Felassan wants Anaris to fuck off and find Andruil, so the gateway appears. “Nice,” he says aloud.

Anaris sets off. Felassan lays down on the floor, which obligingly broadens so his limbs won’t dangle into the Void. This is the sort of mess only Fen’Harel could get embroiled in. He thought they were just investigating a trade embargo, then a war, and now it’s a labor dispute. He pities himself and his aching head a little bit longer, and then rolls to his feet. “Right,” he tells himself. “Let’s get him out of there.” With that, he walks into the light.

The Void opens into a dark forest, somewhere south of Arlathan—Andruil’s demesne. The earth is warm and welcoming below his feet, and the trees press closely, watching his back. Felassan can hear the night-birds sing, bats chitter their paths through the darkness, and the ever-present insect scream. He looses a breath. He walks through the material world reassuringly, touching a tree or caressing a leaf as he goes. Anaris’ deep footprints mark an angry path through the mud. Felassan tastes the rain-rich air: it has rained before and it will rain again. Andruil will be quite damp.

A clearing with a warm fire opens up through the woods. Felassan hears Andruil’s laughter. Obeying his prey instincts, he hurriedly clambers up a tree to get a better view. Solas is trussed up, hands and feet bound, leaned against a tree. He is entirely nude, covered in mud, and looking a bit scratched up and tired. Felassan raises a hand and waves at him from the canopy. Solas looks up, makes a face, and looks down quickly.

Andruil says, “No. He’s mine. He ruined my bioengineering program and now my mother expects me to pay out of pocket for the trials. We’re going to test the red lyrium armor on him first and present him to her as a gift. You can use him when we’re done with target practice.”

Anaris stomps his foot. “He broke our contract and bankrupted half the Forgotten Ones—and you promised us you’d invest. I claim him, in the name of the Abyss.”

Solas, temporarily forgotten, begins to chew on the ropes binding his wrists. Felassan stifles a laugh. Intervening now would be suicide. He’ll wait for the right moment.

Andruil says, “Fuck off. Your Abyss is nothing.” Literally, Felassan thinks. It is an abyss after all. “He is mine to do what I wish. After what he did to Ghilan’nain, his life is forfeit.”

Solas mutters, “Notwithstanding what she did to me and mine.”

Anaris says, “Ghilan’nain isn’t here to pursue her claim.” He strikes a pose. “By the All-Mother’s law, there is only one recourse. A duel of honor!”

Solas says, “How flattering. And the winner gets my entrails. One does love to see the letter of the law followed.”

Andruil kicks him over; Solas takes the blow and falls with a grunt. She says, “Fine.” She draws her magnificent bow, reinforced with lyrium mined from the heart of the Titans itself.

Solas calls out, “Sylaise made her armor—there’s a flaw just above the right hip, where it curves to show off her shape. The silverite is weakest there. Stab well, my friend. And quickly, if you do want my entrails.”

Andruil shrieks, “Shut up,” but Anaris blurs, skin tearing into bear hide and his skull elongating into a bestial mix of lizard, bear, and elf. The two gods wrestle; Solas hurriedly rolls out of their way, towards the tree Felassan climbed. His nose is bleeding from the kick in the face, and his bottom lip is swollen. He holds up his wrists, and then twists them, easily slipping a hand out. He gestures: throw down a knife.

Anaris is stabbing wildly at Andruil now, trying desperately to get at the weak spot at her right hip. Andruil has her hands fixed around his throat. Felassan passes down the knife, unwilling to get involved in the carnage. Solas, rather than cutting through the bonds at his feet, stabs it into the grass and leans over the hilt, hiding it from view. He puts his hand back into the loops of rope, and waits.

“Try a sixty-degree angle,” he suggests idly. “No, twist the knife, if you please.”

Andruil’s hands fall from Anaris’ neck and he stands up, baring his bruised throat at the Dread Wolf. The Dread Wolf stares at him, amused. Anaris says, “Dead.”

Fen’Harel says, “Unlikely, but you are welcome for the break. Twist her neck to make sure. You owe me your victory, Anaris.” He smiles, teeth showing. Above, Felassan shudders slightly. He’s left his wolf’s teeth in—normally he eschews mixing shape as gauche. “She would have killed you outright, if I had not helped. You owe me my freedom.” He makes a show of displaying the ropes around his wrists.

“Go fuck yourself,” Anaris says angrily. “Fuck off, you halfbreed whoreson slavey bastard. I will burn my mark into your flesh, you imbecilic—” A gold-tipped arrow protrudes from his throat. His eyes widen, he tries to scream, but his knees crumble. Anaris collapses to the ground. Andruil, eyes flashing blood, drops her bow.

“My victory,” she says. “I never lose.” She presses a hand to her bleeding side and stumbles over to Solas. He scrabbles back, but she has him cornered against the trunk. Felassan pulls out his own bow and aims.

Andruil prints her bloody hand onto Solas’ face and pushes his head against the tree. Quickly he tugs his hand free of the ropes and grabs at the knife he hid, stabbing at her back. The armor dents the knife, and Felassan sees Solas begin to panic, but then she coughs in his face and falls over.

“Fuck,” Solas says. Felassan jumps down and quickly cuts the ropes at his ankles. Solas slowly pulls himself up, massaging his feet. “They’re in uthenera now, dreaming their wounds away.”

“And you’re naked,” Felassan says.

“And covered in the blood of my enemies,” he returns, holding his hands out. “Like one of Andruil’s own slaves.” He wipes at his face, but only succeeds in smearing the blood across his face. “Let us go—before they wake.” And so, they escape. Felassan tells everyone Solas chewed through the ropes, because that is better than the alternative: being drenched in the blood of your enemies, naked and afraid.

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thedinanshiral · 4 years

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My personal DA4 wishlist + thoughts

I’ve been teasing this post for a couple of weeks over at Twitter, i’m the worst! But anyway, since game journalism has decided to confirm, once again, that the next Dragon Age game will be set in Tevinter like that’s breaking news, now’s as good a time as ever to write all this down.

Locations: Tevinter, clearly. It’s been pretty much a given since the end of Trespasser in 2015, with that scene where the Inquisitor stabs a map on a table directly on Tevinter as they promise to go after Solas to stop him. But also concept art and several stories from Tevinter Nights heavily imply Antiva, Nevarra, the Anderfells, and maybe Rivain. For those of you who don’t know your Thedosian Geography 101, that’s basically Northern Thedas. And it makes sense, since so far for three games straight we’ve been first stuck in Ferelden, then the coast of the Free Marches, and later the rest of Southern Thedas. We’ve never been North, only heard of it. So in DA4 i’m sure we will finally be able to visit.

Characters: If we’re going to Tevinter, we must meet Dorian again, maybe meet Maevaris Tilani as well (previously only seen in comics), judging from the latest comics series, i’m hoping for Fenris too. And going by the latest teaser trailer, we might see Varric again. As for characters that so far we have no news of, i’d like to see Cole, the Iron Bull, and if by any chance BioWare feels like blessing us with a Hawke/Fenris reunion i might just die happy. I’d also very much like to see the Inquisitor, but more on that later.

Companions: considering concept art and the latest teaser trailer, plus Tevinter Nights stories and new characters, we have an interesting repertoire of new potential companions. A Tevinter mage, an ancient elf (like a temple guardian) or a dalish elf (like Strife), a Nevarran mortalitasi or spirit, Antivan Crows, Lords of Fortune (new faction, kind of like treasure hunters), Qunari lady, maybe an alchemist or shapeshifter, Grey Wardens (possibly a dwarf), a liberated or escaped slave, a Siccari (Tevinter spies/assassins)..even past agents of the Inquisition could return.

Plot: We know Solas wants to take down the Veil. We know there’s two archdemons left, and Grey Wardens are regaining some spotlight in concept art lately. We might have to fight on multiple fronts simultaneously and be strategic about it. Solas might even unleash a double Blight just to keep us distracted while he focus on his own goal, who knows. But many other things are happenig in the margins and all over the place. The Qunari Antaam is having a crisis with some of its members supposedly going rogue, the order they’re so proud of is breaking up, and the whole of Northern Thedas is facing an imminent threat of invasion. Tevinter is still dealing with remnants of the Venatori and might soon be dealing with a slaves rebellion and/or a political and social reform (Magisters Dorian and Maeveris have been working wirh the Lucerni, a group aiming to restore and redeem Tevinter). The Antivan Crows -the de facto rulers of Antiva - may be dealing with a succession crisis, as their First Talon, a powerful feared and respected but old lady, might not be around for much longer and seems her chosen heir has died before his time. Meanwhile in the Anderfells nobody’s heard anything from the Grey Wardens’ HQ at Weisshaupt since the end of Inquisition, and as told in the novel Last Flight, the sudden reappearance of griffons may have had something to do with that radio silence. So you see, get ready for another +100 hours long game because BW has plenty of stuff to keep us busy with. But in short, DA4 seems will be about primarily searching, finding, and dealing with Solas. Regardless of what you decided at the Exalted Council in Trespasser, the Inquisition or what’s left of it is most likely the group orchestrating that mission. As it was so clearly stated then, they need new people Solas doesn’t know so he can’t foresee their actions, so it’s possible the DA4 protagonist is a new agent or a third party hired to do what the Inner circle can’t due to their familiarity with Solas in the past. But at the same time -and this is assuming we get to find Solas in this game - i definitely think the Inquisitor could easily show up again. No, losing an arm doens’t mean they’ve retired forever, prosthetics do exist in Thedas, a world where you can combine dwarven craftmanship with enchantments, seriously, i don’t ever want to hear “but they lost an arm” ever again as an excuse to write them out. And no, marrying Cullen or joining the Red Jennys is no impediment to join the “Stop Solas” Squad; the end of Trespasser means something, mainly that this is personal. Be it they loved them as lovers, as friends or ended up hating his guts for using and betraying them, the Inquisitor’s relationship with Solas makes this very personal, and so having any other character do that face off would cheapen all of it, all that bittersweet angsty development and expectations of either revenge or closure. That moment should happen between those two. It adds a ton of motivation due to their past historyas well, something a new protagonist would lack entirely. My personal best hope is for a sort of dual protagonist thing, say we play new protagonist for most of the game but a selected missions or scenes where we play as the Inquisitor once again and take over for key and heart-wrenching dialogue options. My second best hope is for the Inquisitor to show up as playable for the moment we catch up with Solas. My third and final best hope is for the inquisitor to be a sort of advisor but more like new protagonist’s boss/employer to whom they report back to and get new missions from. The Inquisitor can be stuck in meetings for the most part of it, i just want to know they’re there, behind a door, super busy but there. A cameo like Hawke’s in Inquisition is the bare miminum i can take, anyhting less than that like a mention in a sidequest description or a footnote in a codex entry would be a total injustice.

Romances: I’m open for pretty much anything, as any good BW fan would be. But i’d like romances to feel more alive in the sense that they don’t abruptly get stuck once you exhaust all related quests and dialogue options. As much as my Adaar liked that spank from the Iron Bull, that it was the only thing they could share after their romance was locked was a bit..meh. I liked Dorian’s tho, because his gave one the option to talk a bit, go for a walk, gossip, and sure, it all happened off-screen, and there were limited possibilities, but it was nice and made their relationship feel a bit more real, like they had more to it than kissing and stuff. It happens in most games, once you secure a romanceable companion suddenly you run out of things to do and share with them, and you get stuck with the same 3 lines of dialogue over and over again. There should be a way of solving that.

Side quests: i’m ok with fetch quests initially as it is a good way of forcing the player to go out and explore huge maps, but i’d also like the fetching to have some meaning other than checking things off a list. I want to explore many ruins, and -can’t believe i’m actually saying this- i want a Fade quest. Wait! I know what you’re thinking but don’t kill me just yet, here’s my idea: what if we could visit the Fade at certain locations to witness memories or meet with spirits and recollect information on Solas, his past, his present? Both to understand him better (keep in mind we’ll most likely get a new protagonist who isn’t familiar with him like we are as players) and try to locate him or predict his next move. It would be i think i great way of having visions of Arlathan in its golden age, maybe seeing some of the other Evanuris, how they interacted with each other and with the elves in their service, what really happened ...i just want that sweet, sweet lore, i need it.

Technical stuff: ok, graphics will be amazing for sure, but i also would really really like: better, more varied and longer hairstyles, PLEASE. Body sliders, it’s damn time we get them. Mounts that actually make a difference! Let staves blades make damage in combat, I’M BEGGING HERE. Combined classes, MAGICAL ROGUES! A homebase we can fix up/build on/redecorate as fully as possible (Skyhold was great and i love it to pieces but why were those walls NEVER repaired????) . More casual outfit options, idk i love to dress up my characters, maybe some transmog? A day/night cycle and please i would love to see Thedas’ second moon, also weather variations depending on the region. Yes, i’m ambitious.

Gameplay: i’d like more AI options for companions, but not quite like in DAO, that was too much and i rarely used it. I’m curious how they’ll do combat this time but i know for sure i don’t want the kind of combat that has me going almost frame by frame pausing at every second, it’s annoying for me. I want large areas like in DAI but with a bit more stuff to see and do although one of my favourite maps is the Hissing Wastes so i won’t complain if we get a literal desert but i’d also like it to have secrets hidden around, make me work to find and solve them, i love exploring, i jump and click on EVERYTHING like i’m still a kid playing Monkey Island. A companion in concept art seems to be holding what looks like some form of rifle, so i’m curious how they’d incorporate that in the game. I know Tevinter has the magics and dwarves have the skill, a firearm is totally within the possibilities in-game without breaking any lore; also super curious what sort of skill trees Crows or Lords of Fortune could have, are they rogues, or warriors, or both??

So far, that’s what i got in my head.Well, most of it anyways, i may have missed something but this post has to end somewhere lol

What’s in your head? Feel free to share! Have you been thinking on how you’ll create your next protagonist? All i can think of is magical rogues and that glowing bow was all the hype i needed.

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age 4 #Tevinter #da4 wishlist #DA4

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

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17, 21, and 24 for the OTP ask? 😁

Well, hello, friend! I shall answer for that is DUTY! >:D

17. What senses (sights, smells, feelings, etc). remind them of each other?

I did answer this one in another ask, but I can think of a few more to share! (I got so much for these two, don't worry~)

So, another thing that reminds Fane of Solas is any kind of painting, namely frescos. Surprise, surprise! But the reasoning is mainly because Fane used to dream of frescos painted in a temple, one he always finds himself traversing in his dreams in the earlier years of his life. The style was nostalgic, impeccable, as if the hand that had held the brush was fixated on getting every line, every detail, every color, and every proportion just right. The paintings were like little anecdotes, way points trying to guide him in a direction with paint and plaster, but the story was always left unfinished, and it isn't until all the memories flood back that Fane realizes who was the artist of his dreams. *winks*

Now, I'm not usually one for 'smell' references, but oddly enough, Solas is reminded of Fane through one. Namely, chamomile. This was something I thought of one day when I was fighting with a headache and I was just watching a Twitch stream, and I was like, "Chamomile is a natural stress reliever. Fane doesn't like tea, but there are bath oils and incenses infused with chamomile, right? He would definitely be given that by someone or maybe even takes initiative to get it himself." Thus, the headcanon was established! Fane smells like chamomile, and Solas can't help but smile when he smells it from another source, knowing that his dragon is trying to help himself in some way.

21. How have they changed each other for the better/for the worse?

So, there's a little bit of A and little bit of B for this question. There has indelibly been a positive influence on both Fane and Solas due to each other. Basically, it all stems from pre-Inquisition, aka Elvhenan/Arlathan.

Fane, as a dragon, was inherently tasked with observing elvenkind, watching the flow of which they progressed and if their machinations benefited the world in which they lived. Each dragon had this inherent task, albeit in different ways. Dragons that lived in arid regions were tasked with controlling the sandscape, preserving the ancient temples by covering them with said sand, making inaccessible areas accessible for wildlife, so on, so forth.

Fane, and the others of his specific kin, not only watched the Elvhen, they guided them, but only if it was deemed necessary. White dragons could not want for anything beyond what the world needed, and their powers of absorbing, reflecting, and understanding emotions was what made them highly sought after by the Evanuris. When the Evanuris began enslaving elves, they began enslaving dragons, too. And this is around the time Solas and Fane met; when Fane was the last of his white kin. Fane had gone into recluse, hiding; he turned his back on those who were suffering because he couldn't bear to see them be subjected to magic bending and breaking their minds, turning their eyes grey where they were otherwise a multitude of colors. Solas found him through a curious venture as we all know the dear wolf is prone to curiosity.

Their beginnings were rough. Fane tried multiple, multiple times to kill Solas. He saw him as no different than those who had thus far enslaved his kin. He held anger, rage, resentment, and pride, which warped his nature of calm observation and cool acceptance to preemptive prejudice and scornful indifference. Fane stopped caring; about everything. Solas reached out to him, wanted to help him, and for the sake of keeping things somewhat short, they grew close after constant revisits and...silence. Solas allowed Fane to watch him, learn about him, read his eyes, and in turn, Fane began to open up, rediscover his original nature, and learn about another side from a more personal view. Solas taught Fane that nothing can change or return to what they had been unless he tried, and he did, even though it ended poorly. And even though it takes him twenty-four years and a lot of hardship, Fane finally remembers that important lesson and he's forever grateful, even as they walk onto the same stage that burned before.

Now, Fane has helped Solas do something we all know the dear wolf is a bit hesitant to do, and that's show his emotions. I stated once upon a time that my interpretation of Solas a little more...personal. Basically, I'm exploring a side of Solas that we don't really get to see, and that's an emotional one. My stories encompass a lot of emotion, a lot of grey morality, so I try to do that while keeping Solas in character with how we know him. However, with this AU of mine, Solas is more in touch with his emotions when with Fane. Why? Because Fane did what he was tasked with from birth; he guided. Through silent looks and seemingly disgruntled huffs, Fane allowed Solas to open up, to feel safe when every corner held a knife.

He let him be him. Not the Dread Wolf. Not the Rebel God. Not anything more than what he was naturally, and that was a being who needed to let their emotions go as freely as the magic so intertwined with their nature. They were friends, companions, even though they were two completely different species, and for all intents and purposes, enemies. They loved each other, but couldn't say it. After Fane died, Solas locked up again, kept his emotions sealed away, but when Fane reappeared in his life, both unknowing of who the other was, it all came back so easily, so fluidly. And what you'll see in a lot of my stories of Solas and Fane's early acquaintanceship in Inquisition is that they flow, they let the other be weak even though they don't want to be weak.

As for how they change each other for the worse...well, that ties into a lot of what I have planned during Post-Trespasser arcs. My stories are 'fix-its', but again, grey morality. There's a happy ending, but not without opposition first and a lot of hard lessons. Solas and Fane will do shit that makes people go, "Why?!", but aren't we already saying that with what Solas canon-wise is doing? Why not add an Inquisitor into the mix and live the fantasy we weren't allowed to choose?

24. What is something they have each had to forgive the other for?

Okay, so Fane's isn't what you'd think it is. You all know me, I like to go, 'You thought not! AHA! >:D'. Most people who've read my stories might think, "Oh, Fane has to forgive Solas for erecting the Veil because it's driving his kin insane." That makes sense, but it's not what Fane has had to forgive Solas for. Fane has had to forgive Solas for doubting him.

What I mean by this is that Solas tries to steer Fane away from helping him (Look! It's canon after all! XD). And mainly it's because Solas sees Fane thriving in this new life, connecting with people, seeing the world from a different perspective, and so he starts to think that Fane wouldn't want to help him. Which is complete bullshit because Fane, even when Solas tries to gently steer him away, is like, "I'm here. I'm not going to abandon you again." But typical Solas is typical Solas and is weighed down with grief and his doubts, but eventually he relents after a dragon fight. I won't say when this will occur, but...yeah. It's a bad time, and it shows Solas that Fane wasn't thriving as well as he'd thought. It takes a bit, but Fane comes to understand why Solas was trying to guide him away, and it helps when you're a stubborn dragon in love with a stubborn wolf! :D

Now for Solas, I have a little excerpt from a short story (the one I've been sharing a lot in tag games!). It kind of gives a basis of what Fane can sometimes do when he's not thinking or if he doesn't talk to Solas.

***

“F..Fane..!”, Solas growled out, a surge of heat invading his head as he felt his dragon’s dormant fury within his soul. It was thrashing, knocking, pounding against the confines of their link, wishing to be set free through him and his actions.

“This is..ugh..important, dammit!”, Fane grunted out as Solas was finally starting to push back, as well as his own minor discomfort with the magic that was slowly building around them.

“Then..ngh..speak of it!”, Solas snapped, feeling something like a pinch against his mind before that sensation ricoheted outwards, a lesser burst of magic managing to separate their bodies, but not their tethered souls. “Hiding in your mind only inflicts more harm!”, he almost yelled, his mind clouding with unusual rage. He was never ruffled this easily, but this wasn’t him, was it?

No, this was Fane, or more accurately, Fane’s mind. And it was red hot with fury.

He watched with slightly haggard breathing as Fane slid back a few feet, a grimace on his face from the smell of ozone, but shook it off easily. Now fully golden eyes glared with steamy ferocity upon him, a broad chest heaving with Veil born ire and excitement at finally having a challenge. Solas straightened himself a bit, clearing his throat as the distance between their bodies allowed him to think a bit more clearly, but he could still feel the thread that connected them intensely.

“Ma’isenatha, please--”, Solas attempted to reach the unhinged being before him, even as he could feel his own mind beginning to cloud again as Fane stalked towards him. They needed to cease this dance before one of them got hurt or insanely ill!

“Quit…”, the fuming dragon began before whipping the staff in his hand around in a near perfect arc towards him. “..talking!”, he snarled furiously, deftly hitting the other end of the staff with his wrist to cut off its intended path for a shorter route.

Solas was a bit curious by the adept usage, but shuffled that thought away quickly to block the blow that was inevitably aimed for his jaw. Now wasn’t the time to ruminate! As much as he loathed to admit it, and encourage it, there was only one way out of this foolish scenario!

“Enough!”, a cry harboring necessary command releasing from his lips, making the link between them snap like a bowstring. “Ngh..!” The heady, harsh sensation had the air leaving his lungs before he swept one end of his staff upwards without volition, missing his mark by a hair. He blinked when the sensation eased off, grimacing as he stared at the staff poised just next to Fane’s face, precisely at the point where his scar was. How ironic, but he knew what was happening now with that.

The involuntary reaction had been too planned, too memory bound. It was like when they had viciously fought as Haven burned with fire and corruption, and he had had no choice but to wound the otherwise perfect face before him - a deep scar left on his left cheek from his staff blade. His arms had been wrapped, then strung up in invisible bonds that radiated desperate heat and furious rage, guiding them to repeat the action due to a desire for something unsaid.

In simple terms, he was being controlled by emotions alone - emotions that were not his own.

“Interesting.”, Solas said, but narrowed his eyes upon the fierce man. “Emotions are your strings.”, he pointed out, more realization dawning on him as to where all these minor outbursts, sudden movements, and disorienting sensations were coming from. Fane..

...was manipulating emotions, guiding them to the destination he desired.

Fane’s eyes narrowed, emerald reappearing to deepen with rage as tufts of his hair fluttered from the air behind his swipe. “I’m intervening.”, the draconic side of his love coming out in full bloom now.

“Why?” He issued it as more a command than a true question. He was mildly miffed by this usage of abilities, but he needed context to decipher why Fane had thought this was necessary. It was unusual and worrying for him to use them like this.

“It’s necessary.”, Fane said with a flat tone, but there was fire crackling beneath its supposed embers, as well as the deep emerald gaze bearing down upon him before he twisted his staff upwards to once again aim under his chin. Solas dodged the movement by an inch, feeling the amount of force behind it with air alone.

His dragon was steadily losing his control, and it wouldn’t be long until he was truly unhinged.

“Fane!”, Solas met the glare with one that felt just as furious as he called out, but finally began to retaliate, no longer wishing to play on the defensive and draw this out longer. “Very well..”, he said lowly, gripping the staff tightly as he pressed in harder, matching Fane’s footwork step for step as their blows connected with near splintering cracks. “...if you are so..”, a harsh crack of their staves reverberating through the air. “...intent on not speaking of what troubles you, then I will make it so you have no choice but to!”

A long, muscled leg nearly knocked into one of his knees as it swept under him, its pace incredibly fast for something intended to withstand punishment. It was like a dragon’s tail as it swept aside massive boulders, and uprooted century old trees.

Fane let out a gasping laugh. “You’re still..ngh..t..talking?!”, he roared, snowy brows furrowed in growing pain as sweat began to form along a lightly flushed temple, hand trembling where it nearly snapped his staff in half.

“I am doing what you refuse to do!” A jab with his staff nearly connected with a muscled arm, but it went through the gap between itself and the toned body it was attached to. “Gh..!”, he winced as he felt a sharp yank on his mind, as well as the staff in his hands as Fane grabbed a hold of it to pull him forward harshly.

The world halted suddenly, its furious, heated pace slightly cooled as their gazes connected, all sound flushing out to where the only sound was their combined, harsh breathing. Emerald and gold swam, ebbed around each other like a phylactery did with its magical blood as the face that bore them was lax in stunned silence, sweat trickling down flush cheeks before it would disappear along a strong neck. Solas felt his face was no better, feeling how droplets of sweat rolled down the sides of his face and how his mouth was slightly agape as he fought for a shred of breath.

What was...going on? This feeling, like their desires were coalescing, taking shape before them like spirits shaped the Fade around them...it was intoxicating, comforting, and serene amid the furious battle they had been engaged in moments before. Their link was still there, but it was soft, velvet against his mind as the gentle essence wrapped around it in an embrace.

It was no longer painted...red.

“Hnn..”, Solas let out a quiet sigh, breath hitching after as the blanket around him became warmer, silken. When had it shifted? He hadn’t been aware because of rage painting the world before him in crimson..

“Too...much..”, he heard Fane whisper out between pants, but it was more to himself than to Solas. “...You shouldn’t feel that like I do.. Shit..”

Solas blinked a bit to reorient himself, the softness of his mind making it hard to think before he saw Fane’s face near inches from his, the hand that had grabbed his staff now making itself known upon the back of his neck, steadying him. When had that gotten there?

“What..”, Solas started, closing his eyes for a moment as the world spun for a second before reopening to try again. “What..was that?”

“My mind.”, Fane muttered, eyes flitting across his face worriedly. “I didn’t think..”, he trailed off with a light growl as brilliant eyes turned downcast. “I fucked up… I’m sorry...”

***

So, yeah. It doesn't take Solas long to forgive Fane, but when he first demonstrates just how dangerous his abilities can be and actively uses them to manipulate our wolf gets a little miffed. Solas wants Fane to use his voice more, and these are moments in which Fane doesn't and taps into that warped perception of himself; the one that got him killed.

#oc asks #asks #oc: fane lavellan #solas #solavellan #dragon age #sorry for how insanely long this is!#i just have so much nuanced crap for these two that I get carried away XD #and forgive if the excerpt is a bit...sloppy. it's still a wip! :3 #there's also a lot of stuff that i'm just playing with in regards to Fane and Solas but i know the basis of how they operate X3 #thank you again! <3

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virlath · 4 years

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On Solas and Mythal’s relationship

I still don’t really understand Solas and Mythal’s relationship because the details are so vague, but something feels off.

I initially thought they might have been lovers, or have an alliance against other evanuris. At the end of DAI, it seems like Solas is absorbing the power from Mythal, and both are consenting to it. The red lyrium idol could represent their close relationship. And of course, Solas himself says “she was the best of them”. The events of DAI paint a picture of Solas and Mythal closely working together for the betterment of the elven people.

But we also know, HE HAS MAJOR TRUST ISSUES. He trusts no one, and outright says he has no friends when you talk to him about him failing the elves.

Inquisitor: “That’s when you lean on your friends”

Solas: “I have learnt not to do that”

He also says this, when he asks you what you’ll do with the power of the well and you respond you’ll trust your friends.

"I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory...”

I think he’s referring to Mythal in this case, but is he referencing her death, or her actually betraying him?

To think that Solas, a lonely ancient elf that trusts no one, is working in cahoots with Mythal, the big hat, seems like a stretch to me, and is a key reason why I feel like their alliance doesn’t feel evenly leveled.

In the epilogue, Solas looks weak, defeated, and desperate. He literally looks like he’s running back to Mythal with his tail between his legs. Contrast this to Mythal, who looks composed, prepared, in control, even maybe...triumphant?

While it might seem like Solas is taking Mythal’s power, could it not be the opposite- that Mythal has manipulated or planned for him to take her power, so he could be the fall guy for something bigger she has planned?

Which leads me to the next issue since Tevinter Nights was released.

We’ve learnt Solas needs the red lyrium idol, and he plans to use it somehow to complete a magic “ritual” which is years in the making, to tear down the veil.

You don’t just tear down the veil with normal magic. I assume this ritual involves a lot of lyrium and magic...blood magic that is. Whenever you hear of a ritual or something involving immense power in DA, you can probably assume blood magic and corruption is involved in some way.

I still haven’t really wrapped my head around this, because Solas said himself in DAI that he doesn’t know blood magic, and that using it would weaken his ability to enter the fade. It just seems so out of character for him, and we know from DAI that he is one of the most assured companions who absolutely loves the fade. The inquisitor can even comment on it. “not many people know themselves like you do..”

So it seems strange to me that while Solas is known for being compassionate and caring underneath his veneer, he is also willing to make massive sacrifices for his cause. Is this just his hypocrisy talking or has his character really done a 180 since DAI?

Granted, we don’t really know his true motives, we just have this vague idea of him wanting to destroy the veil...but the implications of his ritual I assume means A LOT of blood on his hands. Not only this, but the fact that he will likely need massive amounts of (red?) lyrium to complete this ritual as well. And so far, all we have to go on is that red lyrium is bad news and not to be taken lightly.

===

The fact we have a chance to “redeem Solas” at the end of Trespasser implies there is still something redeemable about him. This is all despite the fact that we are now assuming he’s using red lyrium and blood magic to complete his ritual.

So the big question, was this Mythal’s plan all along, and is Solas doing her dirty work?

Did she plan for him to wake up, give his orb to Corypheus, and ultimately fail?

Fen’Harel was always seen as a rebel god by the Dalish, but in the Temple of Mythal we only ever see him as a “guard dog”. Literally. So if he is Mythal’s right hand man, the general that somehow became a “god”, someone that she leans on to do her dirty work, is he doing this willingly, or is he in some sort of deal with her? Is he self aware enough to know that his spirit has changed from wisdom to pride? “Sometimes only terrible choices remain...”

One thing that always stuck out for me was “no boon of Mythal’s was ever granted without cost”. Solas has absorbed Mythal’s power to rise as the dread wolf. What did he have to pay to get that power?

Did the cost somehow change his purpose- corrupting him and turning him fully into some behemoth wolf dragon demon? “I would not have you see what I become”

He acts like he *must* carry out these actions - even if he’s in love. Know who else acted this way? Anders, and he was fused with a spirit. Except the spirit side was stronger.

hmmm look familiar?

Perhaps Solas comes back in DA4 as some mega dragon hybrid boss we have to fight? Maybe we can choose to kill him, or save his spirit by releasing it from its cage, mirroring his personal quest in DAI?

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da lore #thedas lore #solas #mythal #red lyrium idol #dai epilogue #tevinter nights #da4 #dragon age 4 #da theories #drabble

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dinrenan · 3 years

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Explaining my characters. Dinrenan and Dirthrenan

This is basically why my character gets called Jules instead of Dinrenan, and why Dirthrenan took it instead. This explains how and when she gets adopted because that is when the whole name-changing started. I hope this helps to understand!

---

Name meanings:

Dinrenan: Din(death)renan (voice) I translated as Voice of the dead or Dead's voice - I prefer the first

Dirthrenan: Dirth(used for knowledge or secrets)renan(voice) I translated as Voice of secrets or Secret's voice.

Ashallen/Asha'len: I translated as Child Woman. Mother of Dirthrenan, Healer of clan Lavellan. Her family had always had the gift of magic but she doesn't know from what clan they came from.

Adahlin/ Adahl'lin: Tree's blood or Blood of the tree (am not sure). Father of Dirthrenan. Hunt Master of Clan Lavellan.

Amelan'lin (Mentioned): Blood of the guardian or Guardian's blood

Backstory/Info (If one can call it that) for the sisters

Dinrenan was the High priestess of Falon’din, she was but a child that people thought to be an adult thanks to an amulet she wore that held the Evanuris magic, an illusion in shorts, the "God" couldn't let the People think a child was given better treatment than them, she wears no Vallaslin for she wasn’t a slave but a precious child Falon'din wanted to keep near because of her voice, it soothed the man once the war came. She was called Priestess by the People because it was known for her to go around the Uthenera temples and sing to those who were going into Uthenera and those already asleep, they could hear her in the beyond and knew someone was there to watch over them, it gave them a sense of peace and comfort. Slaves were wary of her because whenever she was near, Falon'din wouldn’t be far away. When Falon’din's vanity made him sacrifice his people, she sang to them, hoping for their spirits to forgive and forget, in that moment she knew her beloved Master had gone too far, but he cared for her, to the child, that was enough to forgive.

She met the Dread wolf once, young and rebellious, dangerous her Master told her but the Wolf did not harm her, his men did, they tried to capture her before she could give the alarm, to them, she was but a noblewoman going to alert the whole temple of their presence, She knew how to shapeshift into a dragon, the Master wanted her to learn it, but in the moment of panic, she forgot everything, how to focus on herself and shape her form. The wolf took the temple, the Master had fled, there was no one to protect the child now. Many slaves told the wolf that if the High Priestess was to live, Falon'din wouldn't cease his search of her, the god was like a madman treasuring his vanity and jewel. The wolf had refused to put an end to someone's life only because they were used as a tool, his men did not agree and when the time came, the leader away on a mission, they forced her into Uthenera, she cried, pleaded even, her Master was coming for her after all, she had to be awake, they did not listen.

----

When the World of Elvhenan fell and the magic with it, the illusion broke and she was a child again, sleeping in a tomb, silent and dark. Millennia later she was awake again, confused, in pain, but her memory was hazy, she started to sing and cry, she couldn't remember much, she had a Master, the one who treated her like his own child, then what was after? A rebellion of sorts maybe, some evil men looking down at her like she was the worse child on the planet....only, she wasn't a child? She could feel the presence of Spirits, but they were twisted, they did not harm her, her voice kept them enraptured. This is how a hunter found her, and from there, the rest is history.

Joining the clan- The Keeper knows

It had rained the day before and the soil was full of mud puddles when the hunting party came back, some of the hunters had caught hares and some even wolves and deers, one of them though, the hunt master, had no prey in his back but a little girl who didn't appear more than 7 years old with brown shoulder-length wavy hair, in his arms, she clung to the man's neck like she was afraid to look around. Keeper Deshanna asked her first, Dirthrenan, to go and bring some blankets and prepare a bed in the healer's tent. Once the order was given the girl sprinted towards the Healer's tent, not even giving a glance towards her father or the strange addiction in his arms. The keeper greeted the Hunters back she asked Adahl'lin where he found the girl and he seemed all too wary to answer.

"She was in the ruins in the north, Keeper, she was surrounded by demons and she was...singing to them...as soon as she noticed us the demons vanished and she started to talk, but she seems to not know any trade..."

The woman then put her gaze on the child's back and started to speak in Elven, although she found it difficult.

" Turn around, child, no one is going to hurt you"

The child sniffed once and turned her head around, that's when her greenish eyes met the beautiful sky blue of the keeper.

"The same the wolf said but then the Master was no more and everyone lied, so why would I believe you?"

The woman looked confused for a moment, what the child had told made no sense to her, but then she asked her name. The shock hit her like a wave once the name was out of the child's lips. Keeper Deshanna had heard of The High Priestess of Falon'din in the legend Keeper Amelan'lin told at the last Arlathvhen after his hunters found new ruins. He had told of the role the figure had in Ancient temples and Keeper Deshanna couldn't believe the child, the legend says it was a woman, but again, the legend could have been wrong.

-----

Keeper Deshanna had left the child with Asha'lin and her family, the girl showed ability in magic and bonded quickly with Dirthrenan, referring to her and Asha'lin as kin, Deshanna had yet to tell everyone the girl's name and wasn't sure on how to proceed, there were city elves among them who would certainly think of the girl as nothing more than a demon, she wasn't sure as to how even the other Dalish clans would react to such a thing.

When the time came to announce that the new girl was to be kept as a member of the clan Deshanna said that her real name was a mystery, so from then on, the clan could call her Jules, the girl was to answer only to that name.

To Dirthrenan that made no sense, so she chooses to apply the name to herself, fearing to forget it in the years to come, the Keeper always called her Dirthrenan but she refused to answer toward that name. Jules appreciated it and always made sure to keep her sister from danger.

------

In the years to come, the name Jules was the name she always told people that met her, it was the name the clan gave her, although she refused to take the Vallaslin when she was ready for it, the clan was in dismay, she fought both in elven and trade, then explained in the Keeper's Aravel that she wasn't going to put a slave mark on herself, and then explained to Deshanna what really those tattoos were for. The pain in the Keeper's eyes told her it wasn't what she wanted to hear but understood her point of view, so suggested another option.

Dirthrenan was told to reach the Keeper's Aravel and once inside saw the ink that was used for the Vallaslins, only it was different. She was left alone with her sister, the Keeper had to go out and attend daily matters in the clan.

"So...why is this?"

"I refuse to take your sl-... Vallaslins, the Keeper understood and proposed you paint it on my face instead of....you know..."

Dirthrenan only smiled and shook her head, she didn't ask the reasoning, she took her Vallaslin just the day prior and did not want to know whatever trespassed between the two.

"Alright, so I just have to paint it on your face?" "Yes, it's the same ink you used yesterday, but instead of Dirthamen's...I wish for Falon'din's...the Ink has to be dried as soon as it settles and then I shall cast a spell that basically fixes it and stop it from fading for few months...can you do it?"

While Jules laid down and closed her eyes Dirthrenan took a thin paintbrush and started to work, when both girls exited the Aravel the whole clan was waiting, once seen the Vallaslin they clapped and hugged her, not knowing of the trick.

-------

I probably have burnt the keyboard. I really hope this made sense to you all! (Also sorry for the bad English)

#dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #Dragon age #Dinrenan Lavellan #Dirthrenan Lavellan

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actual-mammal · 4 years

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Solas and the Original Elvhen Gods

For about five years I've been sitting on my theory regarding Solas's origins and the true Elvhen gods, and the new BTS trailer has me just revved up enough to post this. (Buckle up, this is gonna get long...)

Since Solas's first concept art was released back in 2014 I couldn't shake the impression that his design strongly resembled a monk/priest of some kind.

Let's attribute this assumption to 50% my loving ALTA and another 50% because I spent a ridiculous amount of time watching The Mummy movies in my youth. And not for Brendan Fraiser, oh no.

Ahem... anyway.

Aside from his very bald, bald head, Solas tends to wear robes and other more ceremonial looking garments. You could attribute that to him being a "god", but I think Solas himself would probably dislike the comparison. Before the DAI came out, we also got some shots of the companions on the armor inventory screens - including some of Solas in his all white base armor.

The Ancient Dreamers

At the time, this was a super exciting detail. I could count on one hand the amount of information we had on the ancient elves, but it was made pretty clear back in DAO that dreamers who achieved perfect Uthenera were clothed in all white. Once my theory of Solas being an ancient elvhen dreamer turned out to be true, I nearly forgot their cultural importance until long after Tresspasser came out. Mostly because I didnt realize so many people believed the rest of the Evanuris were dreamer mages as well.

So quick question, but do we have any evidence to assume that the Evanuris besides Solas were dreamers? Pre-inquisition codex entries made the dreamers seem a separate group of individuals - tasked with the protection of Arlathan specifically - and slain by the elvhen citizens once their magic failed to protect the city from Tevinter. If this lore hasn't been retconned or "misremembered" by the Dalish, Solas was part of an ancient order separate from his involvement with the Evanuris, which he would have felt deeply connected to because of the rarity of their shared magical ability (Marethari tells us dreamers have always been rare in DA2 when you assist with Feynriel).

Prior to Tresspasser, I assumed Fen'Harel was a lone wolf because he turned his back on his "pack", the other elvhen gods. But Solas paints a very different picture in his way of talking about the Evanuris throughout the game. In fact, he seems intent on not associating with them at all, even before their murder of Mythal or his open rebellion. I never get the impression that Solas was fond of the other Evanuris, or considered them enough of a family to warrant the "pack" analogy.

So who were the members of Solas's first "pack" that the Evanuris never lived up to? Probably the original bearers of the other foci. Wolves, up until the fall of the Dale's were seen as guardians and protectors in Elvhen myth (see the Emerald Knights). Perhaps they were also the sigil of the ancient dreamers of Arlathan, who were the city's protectors? That would certainly make more sense as to why wolf statues are everywhere in Thedas, despite Solas full tilt rejecting godhood. This is backed up by the murals in Vir Dirthara, full of wolves, individuals with bald heads, and foci. And they're fighting the titan.

But more on the Titan later.

I find it hard to believe that Solas personally had more surviving sculptures than all the rest of the Evanuris, particularly after he rebelled against them. It would make more sense to me if the wolves represented something greater than Solas individually. Particularly since he's titled, very specifically, The DREAD Wolf, as if there are other wolves that are not.

The Dreamers and Foci

In his first moment of really opening up, Solas tells the Inquisitor that the foci were used to channel power from "our" gods, which is the first time we hear him sounding so connected to Elvhen religion in 20 hours of gameplay. Solas never refers to the Evanuris as gods in a serious tone, so on replay this dialogue caught my attention. Why would a god need to channel power from himself? Do we ever get any hint of a foci belonging to another member of the Evanuris? Checking back on this topic throughout my playthrough, I can't find any instance of the foci being tied to the Evanuris. However Dorian is happy to tell us about the association between the orbs of Tevinter and the Ancient Dreamers. And Solas having one certainly lends credibility to his statement. My next thought became "so what if there were gods that predated the Evanuris, who were powerful spirits worshipped by the Ancient Dreamers using foci?." This assumption certainly makes sense given everything we know after JoH, since it uses the same structure of the Avvar religion (which Solas feels is highly enlightened for their time). It also provides a stronger story link for why we got that DLC in the first place, and hints what may have happened to these god spirits to facilitate the rise of the Evanuris.

The Original Gods

Surely we would have some hints as to who these dieties were this far into the games though, right? Oh wait, we do. My brain hurts to realize the writers even call them THE OLD GODS to make it easy for us. ::headesk:: Combining the lore of the old gods with the myths from the Astrariums and the archetypes of the Evanuris who supplanted them, we could try to guess their original forms. So let's line up the potential original pantheon:

Dumat/Silentir: The God of Justice, the Dragon of Silence. Supplanted by Mythal.

Zazikel/Kios: The God of Freedom, the Dragon of Chaos. Supplanted by Elgar'nan.

Toth/Ignifir: The God of Love, the Dragon of Fire. Supplanted by Sylaise.

Andoral/Servani: The God of Unity, The Dragon of Chains/Slaves. Supplanted by Andruil.

Urthemiel/Bellitanus: The God of the Artistry/Craft, the Dragon of Beauty. Supplanted by June.

Razikale/Eluvia: The God of Wisdom, the Dragon of Mystery. Supplanted by Dirthamen.

Lusacan/Tenebrium: (Owl) The God of Purpose, the Dragon of Night. Supplanted by Falon'Din (Lethanavir)

This makes so much sense when you consider Solas's hatred for the Grey Wardens, who have been systematically destroying the souls of the old gods once they're corrupted into archdemons. But how on earth did ancient elvhen god spirits get bound to dragons and trapped underground anyway?

The Fate of Gods and Dreamers

Back to Vir Dirthara and the Titan murals. We know the foci were used to seal away the blight in some way, because Solas told us (the angry red eyes are always the blight in his murals):

The rest of this will be pretty tin foil, but I think this mural helps illustrate my assumptions of the dreamers' involvement with the Evanuris.

The (bald) dreamers of Solas's order assisted Mythal in defeating the titan.

Sometime afterward, the "dead" titan returned in the form of red lyrium and threatened all of Elvhenan. This assumption is supported by the last codex entry in Tresspasser" where the Elves attempt to "seal away" a danger in the deep roads.

However they accomplished this, part of it required the dreamers to use the old gods power by binding their spirits to the forms of high dragons (just like JoH). These old god dragons are keeping the Blighted Titan "sleeping" which is why darkspawn seek to corrupt them (to free the source).

I believe the sinners judgement from the temple of Mythal also indicates that the dreamers themselves were the high dragons (taking the form of the divine), and why their foci were passed on to the Evanuris after the binding. The Evanuris were then able to use the power of the foci, as well as the vacuum left by the dreamers' absence, to establish themselves as the "new" gods.

So... thoughts?

#solas #dragon age #dragon age theories #evanuris

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ahrorha · 3 years

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Flame of Winter

Chapter 34

Solas guided Eirlana back through several eluvians until they came onto another plateau in the crossroads with several eluvians. To her surprise, there was a large gathering of elves here. It looked like this was a base of operation. A table had been set up, and a hooded figure was just giving directions to a group leader, pointing on a map. Another group just came through another eluvian, they clearly had been in battle, but it looked like no one had any significant injuries. She noticed a few healers going around, treating the wounded.

As soon as the elves noticed it was Solas who had joined them, many stopped what they were doing to salute him. They bowed slightly with their arms crossed across their chest as a form of greeting. The hooded figure at the table looked up, and to Eirlana's surprise, she recognised him. It was Abelas. He immediately went towards them but stopped when Solas raised his hand.

“The Viddasala has been dealt with. Proceed as we planned. I will return shortly.” he said.

Then he took Eirlana's hand and guided her towards an eluvian flanked by wolf statues.

Eirlana could feel everyone watching them; most looked at her in curiosity, others were frowning. They were clearly wondering who she was and why Solas, no Fen'Harel, held her by the hand. Seeing all those strangers staring at her made her uneasy, and it made her realise that things would change for her just because Solas was Fen'Harel.

At the eluvian, Solas motioned for her to step through. They emerged onto an arrival square, but this time it was back into Thedas. It was warm and sunny, and they were at the edge of a forest. In front of them was a road that led to a larger town, whose buildings were of elven architecture. This place once had been a ruin, and Eirlana could clearly see where the buildings had been repaired, while others looked completely new. Many people were moving on the road and between the buildings, and she suspected there were all elves. Several defensive positions had been built on the square itself, and warriors in full armor were guarding the eluvians. There was also a makeshift infirmary where the more seriously injured were treated. The guards here reacted the same as the other elves before and greeted him with a slight bow and their arms crossed across their chest.

Not paying attention to anyone, Solas moved on, pulling her with him. He walked towards a magical circle and stepped onto it. Activating it, they teleported away.

They appeared in a great bright open hall, decorated with tapestries and plants. Looking up, she saw several floors above them, connected by stairs and walkways. Several lifts moved up and down, bringing groups of elves to their destination. There were also guards here, as were other elves. They saluted, and some of them watched them curiously. Solas went to one of the lifts that brought them to the top of the building. Then they went up some stairs and through corridors, passing a couple of doors until he stopped at the top door.

“These are my... No, our chambers. That is if you want.”

He opened the door and let her into his room. At first, she thought they stepped into a small library. The walls were covert with bookcases, its shelves bulging with books and scrolls. There was an armchair and a big desk covered with strange objects, books and a lot of papers. On a smaller table stood a pitcher of wine, several glasses, and a glass jar filled with baked goods. The room was separated by a set of golden embroidered green curtains.

Solas held them open for her to step through. She came into his spacious living quarters. There were a pair of comfortable couches and armchairs, accompanied by a set of low wooden tables. There was also a high table with cushioned chairs. There were another two bookcases filled with books. All of the woodwork was elegantly carved. The floor was polished wood dotted with green-tinted rugs and several furs. Through the high windows, sunlight shone, and a set of windowed doors led to a balcony. Everything had a distinct elven design, from the windows to the carpets' patterns.

Solas pointed towards a door at the other end of the room. “Over there, you can freshen up. And,” he pointed towards another set of curtains, “through there is my sleeping chamber. I am sorry, but I have to leave again. I have still much to do.”

This surprised her somewhat, but she understood. This hadn't been part of his plan. She nodded. “Be careful.”

He wrapped an arm around her and pressed a kiss against her temple. “I will be back as soon as I can.” Then he turned around and left.

Eirlana took a deep breath. She couldn't believe that she had somehow convinced Solas to change his mind. Nor could she believe she was here now. She felt strangely nervous now she was alone in his living quarters. Would he return to her, or would he have a change of heart and order some of his men to take her away to whatever place he had prepared for her. Curious, she tentatively moved through the room. She could tell immediately that it was Solas who was living here. Not only was his desk burrowed in books and papers, but there were also several books spread through the room. There were also items of clothing casually discarded over some chairs. She also noticed a few small plates here and there that undoubtedly contained pastries and other sweets at one time.

She huffed a laugh and shook her head, realising that that part of Solas hadn't changed. It was a relief to know that she had seen parts of his true self when they were living together. Looking around, she wondered if it will be difficult for them to be with one another again. She knew it had been a struggle for him to tell her the truth. He really feared that he was going to lose her because of who he was. She only hoped that she got through to him and that he would be honest with her in the future. And share with her whatever his plans were.

His plans...

She went outside onto the balcony. She could see that she was in one of the most prominent buildings of this elven settlement. She had a great view over the town, and it was bigger than she thought. There were many buildings, old and new, with people moving in between. There were sounds of smiths being hard at work, and in the distance, she could see a field where warriors were training. It reminded her of the training fields next to Skyhold, only here they were using magic as well, judging by the flashes of fire and force unleashed. Beyond that was the forest.

Solas was really preparing the elves for what was to come. As great as it was to see elves not living in slums, it made clear to her how different the world could look once the Veil was gone. Though he had said he didn't know for sure what will happen to the humans, he was right that there had to be a reason the humans only arrived after the Veil was formed. Her thoughts went to the cook at Skyhold that turned a blind eye whenever Rosie would take some of the better food for her. She thought of the children she had helped deliver. Dorian, Varric, Cullen, Aveline; who she met in Kirkwall. Would they all suffer?

And what about the elves that didn't want to get involved. They already faced prejudice and discrimination in their daily lives. Wouldn't that only get worse, now the Inquisition knew about Solas and his plans?

A shiver ran down her spine, thinking about all the cruel things that could happen.

And what about her? Was she really okay with choosing Solas' side?... She didn't know. How could one possibly choose between the elves and the rest of the world? But it was a choice she had to make. Or was there a way for everyone to coexist? And what about the Evanuris and the corrupted titan? Could she help to put a stop to them?

Not having answers to any of those questions, Eirlana walked back inside. Her exhaustion was catching up with her. It was already in the afternoon, and she had been up since early yesterday morning. Looking down at herself, she felt filthy, and her head and bruises hurt. However complicated the situation with Solas, the Veil, and the other things were, she couldn't solve them in a day.

She went to the room Solas had pointed out and stepped into an elaborate bathroom, with a bath provided with magical runes to regulate the water and heat. On a shelf were several soaps and oils, and in a cupboard, she found clean towels. Now she just needed to find a change of clothes.

Her search led her to the sleeping area. She slipped between the other set of curtains and froze. It was a smaller room with the same high windows; in the middle stood a large bed. But that didn't halt her steps. It was the painting that adorned the wall to her right. It was clear that Solas had made it, though it had more detail than the murals he had painted at Skyhold. It depicted a giant wolf lying down. The background was covered in silhouettes of trees. The wolf was asleep or resting with its six yellow eyes half-closed. Next to its head sat an elven maiden dressed in blue robes. Her skin was white, as was her long white hair that fanned out behind her. Several elfroot plants grew around her. One of her hands was outstretched, petting the wolf. The air surrounding them was dotted with golden stars and white snowflakes.

Eirlana gasped. It was her and the Dread wolf. Tears escaped her eyes, realising what this painting meant. She was important to Solas, and he had been thinking of her in the two years they were apart. She also realised how dangerous this was. It showed Solas' vulnerability. She only hoped she could live up to the painting's meaning and be a place of peace and rest for him.

Wiping away her tears, she took in the rest of the room. On the bed were cushions of different sizes, white sheets and a finely woven woollen blanket. At the footboard stood a low bench, covered with several furs. On the ground were also furs. On a low commode next to the bed were even more books. To her left was a large closet and armor stands with several different armors. Opening the closet, she finally found fresh clothes. It was filled with robes, coats and other types of clothing. Picking a clean shirt and a pair of leggings, she returned to the bathroom to take a bath.

As she slipped into Solas clothes after the bath, she was hit by a nostalgic feeling of how she sometimes wore one of his shirts. For a moment, it felt like she was back at Skyhold or Haven, in the room they shared. A part of her wished she was back there, sharing an almost simple life with him. Wondering how her life would be from now on, she went back into the living quarters.

To Eirlana's surprise, two elven women came through the curtains, chatting with each other.

“Do you know why Lord Fen'Harel has ordered tea? He never drank it before.”

They both were carrying a tray and fell silent when they saw her. She noticed that their eyes went from her towards Solas' sleeping chamber, back to her.

“Hello.” Eirlana smiled at them.

They looked a little uncomfortable, but then one of them made a small curtsy. The other followed her gesture.

“I beg your pardon, Miss. But Lord Fen'Harel has asked us to deliver these.” one of them said; her common had a heavy accent.

“Thank you.” Eirlana looked at the trays. One was loaded with soup, fresh bread, two small pies and a bowl of grapes. The other held a tea set and a plate with a piece of cake.

“That looks lovely. You can set them on the table.”

“Yes, Miss.” They sat them down, and after collecting a few empty plates, they left the room.

Eirlana sighed. Soon everyone would know she was here, and she could already tell that not everyone would be pleased. She could only compare it to some people's attitude to Josephine when she became Ryan's lover.

It made her wonder how this new group of elves was put together. That they saw Solas as their leader was apparent. But it worried her that they were referring to him as Lord Fen'Harel. For these people, he had taken on the mantle of the Lord of Tricksters again. Did they even know his name was Solas?

She also knew Solas' thoughts about the elves living today when he first awoke. Did the other elves woken from uthenera have the same opinions? Also, with the current elves having lived all their lives in the shadows of others, it will be difficult for them to rebuild their self-esteem. She had the same struggles after Solas had freed her. Of course, she had to see it first to confirm it, but she was sure there was an underlying hierarchy at work here. And she wondered if Solas was aware of it.

But that was a worry for later. After having eaten, she took the tea and settled on one of the sofas. Deep in thought, she watched the sun set.

It was night when Solas finally returned to his quarters. Dealing with the remaining Qunari and securing the eluvians had taken more time than he anticipated. For a moment, he hesitated, knowing Eirlana would be on the other side of the door. Silently he went inside. He lightened some of the candles with a gesture of his hand, bathing the room in soft light. He halted when he saw her sitting on a sofa deep asleep, her head leaning against the sofa's backrest. Her hair was loose, and he noticed a nasty bruise on her forehead. He hadn't seen it before with her covered in the dirt of battle.

It felt unreal to have her here, and his heart skipped a beat when she moved, finding a more comfortable position. Making as little noise as possible, he went past her to take off his armor, but before he disappeared into the bathroom, he grabbed a blanket and draped it over her.

When he had washed and changed his clothes, he carefully sat down next to her. For a while, he just looked at her sleeping. His heart fluttered having her here, but it was also concerning him. Was he making another mistake by allowing her back at his side? Images of the vision the nightmare had shown him slipped through his mind. Would they become true? Would he fail again and ruin the lives of everyone? Would he fail to protect that what was closest to his heart? He shuddered, remembering holding her battered, lyrium infested body.

But as he watched her, he also remembered the fond memories. Although they had spent only a year together, a blink of an eye compared to the ages he had been alive, he had very few memories that he treasured more. In the many lifetimes he lived before he created the Veil, he had not met anyone with who he was this comfortable. Who was seeing and nourishing the essence of his true self. It was both comforting and worrisome that he would find her now after he had committed one of his greatest mistakes. Though he knew creating the Veil had been a necessary evil, it was a mistake non the less.

Looking at her, he didn't know if a future with her was possible. Could she still accept him now she knew who he was and what he had done? But despite his doubts, he also felt hope. Being near her again made him feel alive. Even now, she wanted to hear and listen to what he truly thought. She saw him as Solas, not as Fen'Harel, a mantle that burdened him and replaced all but his name.

As he watched her sleeping, he hoped she would be strong enough to remain that way. Tenderly he brushed his hand over her cheek.

Disorientated, Eirlana woke up. At first, she didn't know where she was. When she saw Solas sitting next to her, she wondered if she was still in the Fade.

“What?” she asked, drowsy.

“You should have gone to sleep in the bed.” he draped the blanket that had slipped down back around her waist.

She noticed his eyes were lingering on the shirt she wore. Feeling a little bashful, her cheeks flushed.

“Sorry, but my clothes were filthy from the combat.”

“I don't mind. Everything here is free for you to touch and use.” he smiled. “They look better on you anyway.”

He noticed that she shifted nervously. Though they had talked, a lot remained unsaid. He knew he had hurt her, and it would take time for her to feel comfortable being at his side again. Feeling guilty, he took her hand, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of it.

“Vhenan.” he began but fell quiet. It was a habit of him to call her that. Unsure, he looked at her.

She saw him hesitating. She was still angry at him and hadn't forgiven him for leaving her. But at the same time, she wanted to be with him again. Though she didn't know if their relationship could be saved and if she could remain his vhenan. But deep in her heart, she wanted to take this chance. She smiled at him encouragingly.

Solas gave her a small smile back. “Vhenan.” he began again. “I do not want you to feel pressured. I have not brought you here expecting anything from you. What you have learned these past days was a lot to take in. I won't blame you if you decide at any point that you don't want to be involved any longer. I have a place prepared for you where you can live safely. I won't blame you if you want to take another path than the one we both wish for now.”

Her heart beat a little faster. “What do you wish for now?”

His hand caressed her cheek. “At this moment, I wish that we are allowed to love each other again and find a way to stay side by side. For you to remain true to yourself and not hesitate to share your thoughts. I wish to show you how deeply I care for you.” He leaned in and gave her a kiss; it was so soft that it almost wasn't real, just a flutter of his lips against hers. “To treasure every second we are together. To be able to hold and dream with you again.”

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach hearing his words. “I like that.” she smiled at him shyly.

He moved to kiss her again, and this time she kissed him back. Her love for him was a constant hum, resonating deep within her. It made her feel warm and treasured. As the kiss continued, her love rose higher and brighter. But there was also a taste of bitterness. There was sadness and anger, her fears and uncertainty. It tangled with her love. Feeling overwhelmed, she broke away from him.

Solas' heart clenched when he saw the hurt that he had caused. Feeling guilty, he brushed her loose hair behind her ear. “I am sorry that I left you.”

Tears shot into Eirlana's eyes, though she didn't want to cry. Angry, she looked away, willing the tears away.

Solas took her in his arms. Though she was reluctant, she allowed him to pull her closer. The memories of how they held each other in the past overwhelmed her, and she no longer held back her pain and sadness. She buried her face against his shoulder and cried. Stroking her back slowly, he held her.

His warmth and scent enveloped her like a warm blanket. The comfort and safety she felt by being near him was so familiar, and she had missed it for so long. It was too much for her to bear. Clinging on to him, she finally could let go. The hurt, stress and worry she had felt during their time apart flowed out of her. Solas held her firmly. Rocking them soothingly, he leaned his face against her head, whispering a few times, “I am sorry.”

Slowly Eirlana calmed down. Not letting go of Solas, she leaned into him and rested her head against his shoulder. For a while, they just held each other, drinking in the comfort to be finally together again.

She sighed. “I missed you.”

“And I you, more than I ever could imagine. I never thought I would be able to hold you in my arms again.”

She sat more upright and looked at him. “Why not?”

“I fear that by being close to me, you will endure many hardships. You will have to make decisions no mortal should ever have to. You face many dangers just by being important to me, not to mention the moral perils you will be exposed to by standing next to me. I also thought you wouldn't want to be with me again now you know the truth.”

“Solas, no one could predict what would happen after you created the Veil. It is true that you're actions have impacted every Elvhen that was alive thousands of years ago, but that makes you not responsible for what happened afterwards. The infighting under the elves, the appearance of the humans, the wars that followed, the enslavement of the elven people, the war between Orlais and the Dales. Those are things that have happened and maybe would have happened regardless. I won't deny that you have changed things and that things are far more complicated and on a bigger scale than I ever could imagine, but I know you. You wouldn't have created the Veil if you didn't think it was necessary.”

He didn't say anything. A part of him could understand her reasoning, but that didn't lessen his guilt. He was responsible that the elves were mortal, and their magic was all but gone. It was his fault that they were weakened and couldn't defend themselves against the humans. He was at fault that the entire elven race could be enslaved. She was right that he hadn't created the Veil without reason, but that didn't mean he wasn't responsible for what happened after.

“You don't believe me.”

Solas startled and looked at her. “I...No, the state of the elves living today is a direct consequence of my actions.”

“But...” She shook her head, knowing there was nothing she could say that would convince him otherwise. “I don't blame you.”

He studied her.

“I don't blame you for my slave life. My mother chose to sell me, and my former master decided to experiment on me. The bandits that used me afterwards, these are all things that you couldn't have prevented. You may have changed the elves, but the choices of thousands and thousands of people for thousands of years led to the state of the world as it is today. You are not that important that you are to blame for all of our lives.”

Huffing a laugh, Solas embraced her tightly. There were few who knew him that would reprimand him, and he loved her all the more for it. Maybe it was for the better that she was back at his side. It didn't lessen the guilt and the responsibility he carried, but somehow his burden felt not as overwhelming as before.

“I love you.” he said and tentatively started to kiss her.

They both felt the need to reconnect, to reaffirm their love for each other. As they kissed, their bodies began to move, feeling the need to touch, caress, and embrace. Their kissing turned more firmly and intenser as their passion ignited.

Eirlana teeth pulled on Solas underlip. He groaned, and his hand pulled her closer. Fluently, she moved in unison and flung her leg around him, sitting down on his lap. Straightening her back, she leaned forward, forcing his head backwards against the sofa. At this angle, she could domineer him. Her hand slipped under his shirt, and their tongues glided against each other, lost in a fiery dance.

As their bodies moved, she felt his arousal grow under her, and it set her own aflame. Their kisses turned hotter and wetter. Solas' hands slipped under her shirt as well. He shuddered, feeling her skin again. He could feel goosebumps erupt under his fingertips, and she let out a nervous laugh. Locking eyes with him, Eirlana rolled her hips against his erection, coaxing a deep groan from him. His hands went automatically to her ass, and he pulled her core against him.

“Solasss.” she gasped close to his ear and bit playfully down on his eartip.

Hearing Eirlana gasp his name and feeling her lips around his ear made something snap within Solas. Holding her firmly, he stood up. She yelped in surprise and locked her legs and arms around him. Laughing, she held on to him as he began to walk. Not wanting to miss a moment apart, his lips found hers again, and he carried her towards the bed. Using magic, he parted the curtains and lit the candles in his bedroom. Still kissing, he sat her down, and they both began to pull at each other's clothes. They both needed this. They needed to feel, to touch, to physical express how they felt. To be finally together again.

Somehow they managed to land naked on the bed. They both shivered in delight as their bodies touched. They revelled in feeling each other's skin and warmth. Feverishly their hands moved. At last, they could feel and touch each other again. As Solas rolled onto her, a whimper escaped Eirlana's lips. Her hands glided along his muscular back and broad shoulders.

“Vhenan.” he breathed out as her leg slid along his. His lips mapped out a trail along her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive spots.

Their bodies moved in harmony. They both needed this to be real. Their love and emotions rose higher and brighter with each touch. They kissed and touched each other as if they might be separated again tomorrow. But not now. Now they were together again. Two souls rejoicing and drowning in affection.

Solas mouth and hands explored her body, mapping out new scars and old scars that had faded away with time. Latching onto her breasts, Eirlana gasped and arched her back beautifully. His tongue, lips and teeth circling and stroking her stiff nipples. Her hand grabbed onto his head, encouraging and directing his attention. He switched back and forth between her breast with his mouth while his hands teased and massaged her body. Her hands also danced over him while her body curved and squirmed against his. Each sweep of his tongue and teeth sending pulses of heat through her, evoking gasping sounds and small moans from her. Until it was too much for her to bear.

Driven by need, she pulled his head back up towards her lips. Desperate, she kissed him, and she angled her hips, so her wet core glided along his erection.

“I need you.” she panted as she rolled her hips against him.

This was not the moment for slow lovemaking; their want was too powerful.

Groaning and overwhelmed by his own desire, Solas lined himself up and entered her. He stilled briefly, overpowered by the feeling. They sought out each other's eyes that were dilated and drowning with emotion.

“I love you.” she whispered.

Solas' heart soared, and he kissed her. “And I you.” he said between kisses.

Setting an unhurried pace, they began to move, both wanting to show the other how much they meant to them. Her hands wandered over his back and squeezed ass. While he embraced her, and his lips teased and kissed everything he could reach. As his tongue grazed her ears, he could feel her shudder under him. Slowly their pace grew more intense and faster. They moved as one, giving into their passion.

Solas growled when Eirlana nails left marks on his back. He grabbed her leg and angled it so he could even sink deeper into her, evoking even sweeter moans from her lips. Their bodies were hot and sweaty, and Eirlana laughed when a drop of sweat fell from Solas' nose on hers. It encouraged them both to relax and rejoice, to physically express their love.

Solas teeth grazed Eirlana's neck, and when she pulled him closer, he bit her.

“Solas!” she called out when the pain merged with her pleasure.

Angling her hips, she rolled them around, so she was on top of him. For a moment, he slipped out of her, but she quickly grabbed him and sheeted herself back onto him. His head fell back in pleasure, eliciting a deep groan from him. It was like when they were first intimate with each other. He looked at her while she rode him, whipping her tousled hair to one side. She was more beautiful than any desire demon.

He sat up and held onto her, drowning in the sweetest feeling. Smiling, she pushed him back down, increasing her pace. She was in control, taking her pleasure from him, and he was only too happy to be the instrument of her ecstasy. Shuddering in pleasure, his hands wandered over her body, wanting to feel every inch of her skin. To burn in his mind how she looked, how she felt, to worship her as she deserved.

Eirlana's movement stuttered. Gripping her hips, Solas trusted upwards, helping her to keep their rhythm. Overwhelmed, she grabbed his chest and let the feeling wash over her. It was intoxicating, and she let herself lean forward as he kept moving his hips. It was too much, her arms gave out, and she collapsed onto him. Hungrily she devoured his lips.

“Ma lath.” she panted desperately, not knowing if she wanted him to stop or go on.

Sensing her need, he rolled them both over so he was back on top of her. The pace they set could only be described as desperate, her body writhing under his relentless devotion, coiling tighter and tighter. Each movement felt faster, rougher, deeper.

“Ma lath, my love.” he moaned, his voice deep and out of breath.

“Solas!” she screamed as she finally climaxed. Clinging onto him with all her might.

He could feel her release over his whole body; it was like a signal for his own. Uttering a primal groan, he exploded inside of her. He grabbed her hands and pinned her to the bed, driving his release even deeper into her. Their bodies twitched and trembled as their orgasm consumed them like a wildfire.

Solas half collapsed on Eirlana, their bodies entangled in a sweaty mess. They were both panting as they revelled in the aftershocks of their pleasure. Not wanting to let go of her, he rolled on his side, pulling her with him. Breathlessly he kissed her.

“I love you.” he mumbled.

With a lazy, exhausted smile, she kissed him back. “And I you.”

For a while, they both lay there silently, bathing in the afterglow. As their bodies cooled down, she snuggled herself against him. Not wanting to move a muscle, he pulled the sheets over their bodies with his magic. Holding each other, they fell asleep and slipped into the Fade.

It was early in the morning when Eirlana awoke. The first thing she saw was Solas lying next to her, still asleep, his arm lying over her hip. When she moved to free herself, he crunched his nose and tried to pull her back against his body.

“Come... sleep.” he mumbled drowsily.

She smiled; he was clearly still half in the Fade. “I will be back.” she spoke softly and kissed his cheek.

As a reaction, he buried his face deeper into the cushions. It was strange to see him so relaxed, and she would have watched him longer, but nature was calling. Grabbing the shirt she had borrowed from him, she hurried to the bathroom.

Washing up, she looked in the mirror and noticed a prominent hickey and several small ones along her neck. It made her blush, remembering her night with Solas. It was maybe not the smartest thing to do. She hadn't forgiven him yet for keeping his identity a secret and for abandoning her. But she also knew how much she wanted last night to happen.

In thought, she stepped outside onto the balcony and stared into the distance, not knowing how her life would look now. Below her, the settlement was awaking. It was strange to be here and much different from what she ever could imagine when she arrived at the Exalted Council. So much had happened. But seeing the activity below her, she knew she didn't want to be anywhere else. She was finally back at Solas side, and she hoped she could help him find a solution to the problems they faced.

Last night having him with her in the Fade was bittersweet. She had called for him in her dreams for so long that now his presence felt almost unreal. They had talked more in the Fade about what they had done and experienced in their time apart. On Solas' request, she showed him the memory of how she met Falon'Din. She had also shown him an image of her teacher, and it confirmed that he was Dirthamen, one of the Evanuris.

What was maybe even more surprising was her encounter with the spirit wolf. It had jumped and barked excitingly around them before it nuzzled its body against her. Solas had laughed and greeted the wolf as Fen'Halani and asked where it had been all this time. Apparently, the spirit wolf was an old companion. He called its brother Fen'Ghilana, and soon the two wolf spirits were yapping and yowling in delight as they were reunited.

Solas explained that the two wolves were his spirit companions in the past. They had helped and accompanied him in many battles. It was one of the reasons he was so tied with wolves and why the Evanuris thought it was funny to call him Fen'Harel. When he awoke from uthenera, he had found Fen'Ghilana, but he couldn't locate Fen'Halani. He had feared the spirit lost after he created the Veil. Eirlana told him how she got in contact with the spirit after picking up a mage staff hidden under one of his statues.

Solas shook his head and mumbled, “Old rascal. After I went in uthenera, he probably sought a place that had a familiar magical signature. I noticed you carrying one of my old staves. He woke up when you took it and activated its magic. And it appears Fen'Halani has become attached to you.”

Eirlana petted the wolf who leaned against her. “But it is your spirit companion.”

He laughed. “Not anymore. You know spirits are no one's possession. They choose their own attachments. I will teach you how to become attuned with him and how you can summon him to fight at your side. I was planning on teaching you regardlessly. By being bonded to me, your magical abilities have changed. You already have tapped into the energy I share with you on your own. But I want to teach you how to fully seek out your potential. It will also ease my worries, knowing you will be able to defend yourself without limitations.”

He brushed the place, where in the waking world, she had a dark bruise from her head injury. Though she had healed most of the damage from Bull's attack, it would take a couple of days for the bruising and discolouration to completely heal.

Lost in thought, Eirlana heard a noise coming from inside the room. Puzzled, she walked back inside and listened, but she didn't hear anything. She checked on Solas, but he was still on the bed. It looked like he had fallen back asleep. She couldn't help but smile seeing him lying under the crooked sheets. Though she wanted to join him again, she was halted when her stomach gave a protesting growl. Remembering the jar with baked goods, she went to Solas' desk to steal a couple of them.

Just when she had her hand in the jar, there was a knock, and the door opened. The elf she met when she had trapped Solas with a barrier came into the room.

“We shouldn't enter without permission.” Abelas followed him.

They stopped when they saw Eirlana. She snatched her hand back from the jar and felt like a child who got caught by a parent. In silence, they stared at each other, and Eirlana grew uncomfortable. She felt exposed with only wearing the borrowed shirt and her tousled bed hair. She could practically feel their stares on her body; she felt naked and was aware of the hickeys adorning her neck.

Shivera glared at her. “What is she doing here?” His voice was venomous; clearly, he was displeased with her presence.

Abelas looked more curious at her. “I told you it was unwise to enter without permission.”

Unsure what she should do, Eirlana looked back towards the curtains, wondering if she should wake Solas.

“Tsssss.” hissed Shivera. “A shemlen shouldn't even be here. She can't even understand the language.”

This irked her. She didn't know who the elf was, but he had no reason to be this hostile with her. Ignoring him, she looked at Abelas. “If you are looking for Solas, he is still asleep. Should I wake him?”

“How dare she call Lord Fen'Harel by his chosen name?” Shivera snarled

Abelas looked at her with a hint of wonder in his eyes. He gestured with his hand for Shivera to be quiet. He was intrigued. As long as he knew Solas, he had always had the tendency to be absorbed in his work, often neglecting himself and the need for rest. He was always preparing the next step in his plans, calculating the different outcomes. Nothing Abelas had done the past two years could convince Solas to take care of himself. And now here she was, the woman he had seen in the Temple at Solas' side. The woman over which Solas received personal reports and who was being guarded by their agents. A mortal woman who had spent the night with their leader and could make him rest after their successful campaign against the Qunari.

“Waking him won't be necessary.” Abelas answered. “Lord Fen'Harel can join us at the meeting after he has awoken.”

“I will let him know.” she decided to ignore Shivera's glare and asked Abelas. “How have you been? Has your wound healed?”

“Yes, thank you. You saved my life that day, as well as several of my men who got knocked out by you and Lord Fen'Harel.”

“Glad to hear. I am sorry about what happened to the Temple and the Well.”

“That isn't necessary. Mythal's will has prevailed.” He inclined his head, “Please let Lord Fen'Harel know we have been here.”

Eirlana sighed when the door closed behind them. Sadly she was right that not everyone would be happy with her presence. Though Abelas had been polite, the other elf didn't hide his contempt. Calling her shemlen and suggesting she was unable to speak Elvhen. If he was here with Abelas, he probably was a man of importance, and if he had that opinion about the elves of this age, many of his comrades would think the same.

Taking a muffin from the glass jar, she ate it and went back to Solas. She sat down at his side of the bed and looked at his sleeping face. He looked tired, even in his sleep. The worry about all the things they faced had left its mark on him. Tenderly she brushed his face, wondering if she would be able to help him.

Solas stirred, and without opening his eyes, he pulled her back under the sheets. She let him manoeuvrer her, until she lay on top of him. He opened one eye when he felt she was wearing a shirt. Mumbling something she couldn't understand, he quickly pulled the shirt over her head and threw the offending clothing away. She giggled and let herself be pulled against his warm naked body.

It didn't take long before they engaged in a second round of lovemaking, though this time, they took their time.

“So, where do we go from here?” Eirlana asked.

Dressed back in the borrowed shirt, she lounged on the bed and watched Solas getting ready. It was already late in the morning.

“I need to go to a meeting.” He answered while putting on a dark brown legging and foot wrappings. “You are free to do what you want.”

“I think I want to go and explore the town.”

Putting on a grey shirt and a long black jacket with golden embroidery. He checked himself in the mirror before attaching a wolf fur to his right shoulder. “Yes, please do. If you're interested, there is a clinic. I know you won't be able to sit still for long.” he smiled at her. “I will come and find you as soon as I am finished. We still have a lot to discuss.”

There was a knock at the door, and Solas told them to enter. A short while later, Rosie peeked through the curtains and rushed towards Eirlana when she saw her.

“Miss! I am so relieved you are all right.”

“Rosie!”

They gave each other a hug. Then Rosie curtsied stiffly towards Solas. “My Lord.”

He smiled at her. “It is good to see you again. I trust everything has gone well.”

“Yes, we removed everything before anyone noticed something.”

“Good. I hope you are willing to continue serving Eirlana. I can see you two have grown closer.”

“It will be my pleasure, my Lord.”

Solas stepped to Eirlana. “I have to leave. I see you later.” He kissed her and left.

“Come, Miss. I have brought your possessions and breakfast. Let's get you dressed, and in the meantime, you can tell me what happened. The Winter Palace was in a state of alarm when I left.”

It was midday when Eirlana took the elevator down and went into the town. It felt strange to walk around on her own without having a templar or someone else watching her. Here she was just an elf among many. Though some noticed her because of her white hair and skin, for once, it wasn't because she wasn't dressed like elves elsewhere. Here most elves were dressed in well-made clothes and armor.

It felt good to see so many elves looking healthy and happy. The town wasn't like any alienage she had been to. The buildings and streets were clean and well maintained. Many allies were decorated with plants and flowers; she also noticed wolf statues and wall paintings depicting elven imagery.

She came to the road leading to the square where she arrived yesterday. She noticed it was crowded. Curious, she stepped closer and discovered they were new arrivals. Whole families came with guides through the several eluvians and were welcomed. Like her, most stared in wonder at the town and everything that was going on. After their identities were checked, some were led into the city, others left again with a guide.

Eirlana realised these people were all here answering Solas' call. They were the people he ordered to be brought to safety. They were his agents and people willing to help. The elves were carrying the few possessions they had, and many had children with them. Her heart ached, knowing that at first, Solas thought them not worthy of being saved. It was chilling to know that if the Veil would disappear, everyone alive would be impacted, and she wondered if Solas was right in his opinion that it would be wiser to remove the Veil like a band-aid.

What would happen if they let the Veil disappear on his own? Solas was right; it had suffered a lot of damage over the ages, and it wouldn't hold forever. What would happen to the people when it happened? How much would the innocent suffer?

Confused, Eirlana walked back into town. She followed a family with two small children that were led by a guide to a building that looked like it contained several residences. She watched as the mother hugged her children in happiness and relief that they were finally here. She could understand their joy as she walked further through the streets. This town was like a well-maintained human settlement and nothing compared to the overcrowded alienages that were often in a state of disrepair. Even if the elves wanted to escape their living circumstances, the humans made it extremely difficult. Governors wouldn't distribute funds to maintain the alienages, and elves couldn't find homeowners who would rent or sell their properties to them. The best an elf could hope for was to find a position as a servant with live-in shared rooms.

It was a stark contrast to the conditions here. This was a town fully equipped with bakeries, small shops, stalls with fruits and vegetables. And everyone was an elf, be it the shop owners or the guards keeping an eye out. It was also noticeable that the elves here looked less weary and less guarded than in the alienages.

A wagon passed her, bringing grain to a warehouse. Next to it, a tame ram was pulling a grindstone, producing flour. Children were happily playing next to a waterway flowing through the town. It looked peaceful, but there were signs that this community was preparing for war. She passed a street where many smiths were forging tools, armoury and weaponry. In workshops, staves, bows and arrows were produced.

As she walked through the outskirts of the town, she saw masons and carpenters working on new buildings. Then she arrived at the training grounds. Eirlana watched a group of mages at work here. It was nice to see them practice without a templar in sight. And it was good to see the confidence in these young mages as they practised their craft. They didn't fear their abilities. After watching them for a while, she went back into the town to look for the clinic Solas had mentioned.

She found it quickly after asking for directions. It was a two-storey building with several benches in front of it where people could sit. A sign at the door indicated the visitation times. Inside were even more places where people could wait. There was a row with a dozen beds separated by curtains for privacy. Doors to the left and right led to other parts of the building. Everything looked clean and organised.

A male nurse greeted her as she entered. “Hello. Can I help you?”

“Yes. I am a healer, and I was wondering if you needed some extra hands.”

“Are you one of the new arrivals?”

“Yes.”

“Don't you need some time first? To settle in your new accommodations.”

“Maybe. But if I can get to work, I will sooner feel at home here.”

“As you wish. One moment please.” he walked away and vanished through one of the doors. A short while later, he returned with an elven woman. She was of age, judging by her greying hair.

“I am Alawen. Welcome.” She looked her up and down. “I hear you are looking for work.”

“Yes, I would love to help here.”

“If you have skills, we can certainly use the help. We are expecting many new patients in the coming weeks. Have you worked as a healer before? Judging by your attire, you are not one of the new arrivals from the alienages. And what is your knowledge as a healer? Are you familiar with only herbal remedies, or are you also skilled in wound care or healing magic?”

“I am familiar with all kinds of healing methods. I also can perform healing magic. I have worked as a healer within the Inquisition. I was one of their head healers.” Eirlana answered her.

“The Inquisition? Then you must have a lot of experience with combat wounds. Come let's talk in my office, and I give you a tour.”

Almost an hour later, they walked outside. Eirlana had the opportunity to chat with Alawen and some of the other healers and nurses. Everyone appeared to be happy or excited to be here. Some nurses whispered to her that she shouldn't worry about living here. That it was safe here, especially for women. Two healers were introduced as being one of the ancient elves. The rest of the clinic looked like any other. There were rooms for supplies, herbs and washing. They had beds for long-term care, short stays and even a maternity ward. They discussed working hours and the possibility of her having a more mobile employment because of her healing magic and experience in the field.

“I am looking forward to working here.” Eirlana said to Alawen.

“We will make your schedule as soon as you have settled in.”

Suddenly there was commotion further down the street. People stopped what they were doing and made way for someone. She saw Solas slowly riding towards the clinic on his hart. He was accompanied by several men also riding on harts or halla.

“Oh my. That is Lord Fen'Harel, who has brought us all together.” Alawen whispered to her excitedly. “He stood beside those who we thought were our gods. I know you just arrived, so you probably haven't heard about everything. But you're in luck to see him on your first day.”

As Solas rode nearer, Eirlana could sense the air of reverence that spread through the small crowd that was gathering. To these people, he was a godlike being who had come to guide them to a better future. She couldn't help but wonder if all these people knew what he was planning. But at the same time, it was joyous to see the elves living here without fear and oppression, and she wondered if this could become a reality for all elves, though the price they had to pay for such a future was a brutal one.

“He is coming this way.” Alawen nudged her, her eyes filled with wonder.

Solas smiled when he spotted Eirlana and dismounted. He walked towards her.

“Vhenan. I knew you would be here.” He took her hands and brushed his thumbs over the back of them.

Whispers erupted around them, and she could feel everyone watching. There was no doubt that many rumours would spread through the town today. And judging by Alawen's look, there would be many questions the next time she would be here.

“Are you finished here?” Solas asked her.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Alawen just gave me a tour. It is a beautiful clinic.”

“Thank you for your work Alawen.” He addressed the healer. “Does the clinic have everything you need?”

Alawen curtsied. “Thank you, my Lord. Yes, we are fully stocked.”

Solas nodded and turned his attention back to Eirlana. “I have a surprise for you.”

A loud bellow of a hart sounded from behind his men, and she saw a hart push itself forward, almost knocking some of the men from their mounts. She gasped when she recognised her hart and immediately walked towards it. “Hey, friend. I thought I had lost you.”

Solas smiled, seeing them reunited and joined her.

“I thought he had died during our battle with Corypheus.” She petted the hart that pushed its head against her body, almost toppling her over.

“No. My men found our harts wandering in the mountains after the battle. Sadly I couldn't return your hart to you without raising further suspicion. Come, ride with me. I want to show you something.”

He lifted her onto the hart's back, and they rode out of the town. They passed many elves that stopped to look and waved or greeted Solas as they rode by. They went into the forest until they arrived at a steep hill with a watchtower overseeing the whole valley.

Solas gestured for his men to wait, and they climbed the tower. After dismissing the guards who were on the lookout, they stared over the valley in silence.

“What do you think?” he asked after a while.

“It is hard to believe you have rebuild all of this. Eirlana said. “I expect that this was an elven ruin when you started.”

“Yes. This is a valley deep within the Tirashan forest. There are also other settlements in the Arbor Wilds, far away from the prying eyes of humans and Qunari. We have prepared a place to live for every elf who wants to join our cause.”

She sighed. “It is beautiful to see, but I fear what will happen to those who don't want to be involved. After what you have revealed to Ryan and with me going with you, every elf in Thedas will have a target painted on their back. I can't imagine the Inquisition will trust elves any longer after what happened with us and the Qunari.”

“I know.”

She looked at him. “You want to use that distrust against them. You hope more elves will join you?”

“The more people we have, the better our chances are. As I told you, after my time spent with you and the Inquisition, I want to give the elves the best chance they can get when the Veil disappears. I and my allies have prepared these lands for that purpose. Here they can live safely and be educated and trained in preparation for what is to come.”

“It is wonderful to see how the elves live here in safety and without the fear of human oppression. It is also a joy to see magic being freely used. I wish this could be possible all throughout Thedas. But I fear the costs for that to happen.”

Solas face went sombre. “Sometimes great sacrifices must be made. I know it more than most. Though I wish it wouldn't be necessary but to save the Fade and restore the Elven people, the world as it is now has to change. It will be a brutal transition, but it has to happen nonetheless. There will be no joy in what I have to do.”

“I don't think things will go smoothly. Even when you succeed in removing the Veil, many problems will remain. Things are never that easy.”

“No, they are not, and now I have to deal with even more players of the game. Like Mythal and my former comrades.”

“Not to mention the red lyrium that is spreading.”

He nodded. “And the most basic of challenges of rebuilding the elven community.”

Eirlana huffed a laugh. “I noticed.”

“It is troubling that you picked up on some of the struggles already. You haven't even been here a day.”

“The difference in attitude is familiar.” she nudged him in the waist.

“I try to better my ways.” he smirked. “But yes, it has been challenging to get them to work together on equal grounds. There has been some improvement, but a lot of work has still to be done.”

“Prejudice is hard to erase.”

“True. But there is hope. You have managed to defeat mine. Not a small feat, I can assure you. My name isn't Solas for nothing.” he sighed. “I can't tell you how good it feels to be able to talk to you again. I missed you. And I am grateful you are able to still act normally around me. You have seen how everyone regards me.”

“You are their hero. The one they have regarded as a god for ages.”

“I never claimed god-hood.”

“I know.” Now Eirlana sighed. “By tomorrow, everyone will know that I am your lover. Everyone at the clinic will have so many questions.”

“I am sorry, vhenan. But I can't change who or what I am.”

“I know, and I don't want you to. It is just....”

“What is it.”

“We will never be able to go back to having the life we had with the Inquisition. With you being just Solas and me being just Eirlana.”

Solas looked remorseful. “No. And you are more than a lover. You are my vhenan, my bonded. Though I had not planned for you to be here by my side again.”

“You can't plan everything.”

“Something I learn time and time again.” he laughed. “Vhenan, I have a favour to ask.”

“What is it?”

“I want to assign you a guard.”

Eirlana looked at him, not knowing how to respond. She was finally free of the templars, and now he wanted to have someone watch her again. “What?!”

“Not like the templars.” Solas said quickly. “His name is Himel, and he is part of my security. It would put my mind at ease, knowing you have someone who can aid you when you ever need it. You have already realised what it will mean to stay at my side. He can't protect you from all the dangers. Himel is someone I have trusted with my life during my campaign against the Evanuris. He is a little quiet, but I know you will take a liking to him.”

She let out another sigh. “So if I say no, he will still follow me around regardless.”

Solas gave her a small smile.

“All right. Let me meet him.”

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age solas #fanfic #Solas #solas romance #solas x oc #eirlana #flame of winter

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mogwaei · 4 years

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Wolf Statues and the Tower of Bone tinfoil!

A theory about wolf statues crossed my dash again which...got me thinking along a somewhat separate train of thought of all the different places we find them. I’ve seen the posts about the Dales/Exalted Plains, but not much about somewhere like Emprise du Lion. I’m not sure if this has already been talked about, but I’ve been searching and can’t find any posts elsewhere.

This is going to be a long and rambling post about Wolf statues and Emprise du Lion, so a two in one theory 😂. I’ve never actually written a meta and I generally hoard my theories and write them in fic...because I’m not good at writing anything that isn’t in story format. You’ve been warned lol

First, some really long and tangential exposition about statues.

There are a ton of Wolf statues across the game. We’ve got a whole pack of them across the Exalted Plains watching over various locations. But they’re also located in a lot of the elven temples we run across as well. @serial-chillr and I were talking about the possibility that, assuming the Wolves are all Fen’Harel statues (unless the ones in the Dales are Emerald Knight wolves, but I kinda doubt that), then what is the likelihood of Solas himself having built these statues?

We know from Solas himself that elvhen nobility used to mark their slaves to honour the ‘god’ that they subscribed to. Sooo, why wouldn’t the more zealous ones build great big monuments in addition to marking their slaves?

What I fail to see mentioned in a lot of fics and theories is much mention of these nobles or the politics of Elvhenan. I’m sure that higher ranking elves probably owned land within Evanuris territory, and they probably needed permission before doing so, but I’ll bet that if a kiss-ass noble came up to one of the gods asking to build a pretty statue (hoping for bonus points) the narcissistic bastard god was probably like “You want to build a statue of moi? BUT OF COURSE!!!” and maybe gave the noble a pat on the head and a cookie for kissing butt.

For posterity:

That being said, because I can’t help but mention my own worldbuilding fic, The Guardian, I’m assuming the statues were built of Fen’Harel, and while Solas might not have really approved (or maybe wasn’t even able to stop them from being constructed ‘nu stop I’m not a godddd‘) he would instead have found a way to use them to his advantage. I write that he begins placing statues where allies (both agents and freed slaves) can find them and follow them back to safe places marked for the Rebellion. I go into slightly more detail regarding these special wolves (how he would get statues into the temples/palaces of the Evanuris and how to distinguish them from regular ones) in a plot involving infiltration of a compound in Chapters 111-120. I can’t give away all my secrets!

Anyway, moving onto statues in specific locations:

The one in Emprise du Lion

hewwoh big boi

What I find fascinating about this one specifically is that it’s also located in the same region as Suledin Keep (which also has wolfies inside of it ofc). Because of the landmarks codex in Emprise I’m hedging that this land used to belong to Elgar’nan. Look at Pools of the Sun for reference - THAT’S ALL I GOT FOR NOW

Anyhow, floundering, but my attention was next drawn to the Tower of Bone

In this story, a blood mage summoned a greater pride demon, who then possessed the entire tower. When the mage died, his sons were unable to control the demon, so they commissioned eight monstrous iron chains intended to hold it. The touch of the cold iron chain is the only thing holding the stone abomination in place. Should they break, the tower will pull itself off its foundations and walk, destroying everything in its path.

I know that they found human bones in the tower, but bear with me. I’m tinfoiling hard and trying to read deeper and tie it all together but I’m just a humble apostate hobo.

Anyway, some blood mage summoned a greater pride demon who in turn possesses the tower - of the companions, Solas has the Tower tarot card. The next sequence in the story, the sons bind the tower with 8 chains. The only mention I could find of the number 8 is in the Draconis codex where it mentions there being a possible 8th Old God being stricken from records.

Should all the chains break, the Tower will destroy everything in its path.

The Tower tarot, as we’ve seen in a hundred other tin foils, is commonly interpreted as meaning danger, crisis, destruction, and liberation. It is also associated with sudden unforseen change. WHICH ISN’T NECESSARILY A BAD THING! (Look, despite everything, I’m hanging to that thread of hope that Solas will have a good ending).

So, again, I’m probably totally wrong but the symbolism here has some pretty interesting potential if it is referring at all to Solas and the Evanuris.

Recap:

>random thought (because I’m totally writing this on the fly) but IF the 8 chains symbolise something more, then maybe it’s possible that the 8th ‘God’ could be the Sun that is briefly mentioned in elven legend (referring to the codex I mentioned above). And the Sun could be symbolism for yet another thing we aren’t aware of. Whether that’s some sort of dragon or spirit or entity we haven’t been introduced to in game (yet).

>The chains themselves could also be representative of holding back...again, something we don’t know. Blight? Something worse? (thinking about the Dread Wolf Rises mural and the seals, but there are only 7 there. Maybe the 8th is the thing they’re holding prisoner if it isn’t free?) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

>While I’m down this rabbit hole, maybe the 8th is part of this: “A final eluvian is situated in a peaceful bolt-hole where Solas has painted murals. Fen’Harel was here and wanted to make sure nobody ever found what the other gods were doing.” - this can be found in the game files under bolt_hole (in other words, maybe it has to do with whatever they found?)

>A big ass, greater Pride demon (more Sooooolllasss symbolism? looking at Tevinter Nights and some other cool theories on Dread Wolf - Pride demon connections)

>Reoccuring tower symbolism (does the little wolf Rook that Mark Darrah tweeted a while back count?)

>Breaking chains (liberation?)

>ALSO THE TOWER IS COVERED IN RED LYRIUM (AAAAAAAH)

>Someone’s gonna go wreak havoc when a Specific Thing Happens (*cough* Solas? *cough*)

I realise I flew off the handles here and I’m not sure if anyone is going to even be able to follow this tangent 😂

Anyway, that’s it for now until I think of something else. If you’re into a long winded fic of worldbuilding and lore weaving, check out The Guardian where I do a lot better job of putting my thoughts into words. I swear I’m not usually this scatterbrained and I spend a LOT of time weaving theories...that I then hoard like Smeagol. :3

As a closing message, I’d like to include this shot of my dear friend @schoute ‘s Piper Lavellan who doesn't know where the fuck she is.

Thanks for reading and I apologise if you’ve lost any braincells in this thought spaghetti orz

#dragon age #solas #the dread wolf rises #dragon age 4 #dragon age inquisition #fen'harel #Solas and Abelas tinfoil over tea

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pikapeppa · 4 years

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Felassan/f!Lavellan: Imshael

Chapter 14 of The Love That Grows From Violence (Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is posted!

In which a lot of lore is discussed, including the story from Tevinter Nights that’s narrated by a character named Hollix. A note before we start: Hollix is a master of disguises whose gender identity is non-binary or fluid, but in this fic, I have Dorian calling Hollix ‘she/her’ because that’s what Dorian calls Hollix in the Tevinter Nights story — he gets the impression that Hollix is a ‘she/her’ based on Hollix’s disguises, an impression that Hollix doesn’t correct because they easily and cheerfully slip into either gender identity/role as part of their position as a Lord of Fortune.

~6000 words; read here on AO3 instead.

**********************

“Listen closely now,” Dorian said jauntily. “My story begins with a series of unsolved and rather gruesome murders that had been going on in Minrathous for some time. Rumours had started to circulate that the perpetrator was a creature that came to be called the Cekorax.”

“Cekorax?” Varric asked. “What does that mean?”

“It’s a butchering of the old Tevene word for ‘headsman’,” Dorian said. “The creature earned this charming name because its victims were all found without their heads.”

Tamaris grimaced, and Felassan laughed. “This story is exciting already.”

“Not quite so exciting for those who lost their heads, but I digress,” Dorian said delicately. “No one was doing anything about it, unfortunately, especially since the beast hadn’t attacked any of the altus class yet. So I put out a bounty for the perpetrator’s head, and the person who came to my aid was a wily little thing whom I’ll affectionately call Hollix.”

Tamaris raised an eyebrow. “That you’ll call Hollix? What was their actual name?”

“I haven’t a clue,” he said cheerfully. “I called her Hollix on a whim. She decided to keep the name while she was in Minrathous, and who am I to argue with the adoption of a silly nickname?”

“Fair enough,” Varric said.

“Of course you’d agree,” Dorian said drolly. “In any case, Hollix did some unsavoury investigating for me — for a fair price, of course — and discovered that the creature doing all the killing was…” He sighed. “Frankly, it was a creature of unearthly and uncanny horror. And you know I don’t say this lightly, considering all that we’ve seen together.”

“No kidding,” Tamaris said flatly.

Felassan sat forward and rested his elbows on the table. “What did it look like? This uncanny creature of horror?”

“I can only tell you so much firsthand, as I was high above the action when the creature presented itself,” Dorian said. “But Hollix described it more fully. It was…” He hesitated for a moment before going on. “It was an enormous fleshy mass as large as a house that was able to peel parts of itself away to produce… tentacles. Unbelievably long tentacles bearing human eyes that it had stolen from its victims’ heads.”

Tamaris exchanged a horrified look with Varric. “So it just took the victims’ eyes?” she asked Dorian.

“Unfortunately, no,” Dorian said. He sounded very serious now. “In the deepest part of this fleshy mass, it was harbouring the heads of all of its victims. Over two dozen heads, Hollix said — all perfectly preserved as though they were still alive. And the monster was… animating the heads. Speaking through their mouths.”

A cold ripple of revulsion ran down the back of Tamaris’s neck. “Oh fuck,” she breathed.

“Shit,” Varric muttered.

Felassan narrowed his eyes. “It was speaking through the heads? Using their mouths to express its own thoughts?”

“Apparently,” Dorian said. “Hollix said it was trying to lure her into joining it. To ‘keep her safe’, it said.”

Felassan leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the table. “So it seemed to have motivations of its own. That’s fascinating.”

Tamaris tilted her head. “Do you know something about this?”

He grinned. “Are you asking if I’m responsible? That hurts. I’m clever, but I’m hardly diabolical.”

She tsked. “Of course I don’t think you’re responsible. But is it an ancient monster or something like that?”

His smile faded slightly. “I… honestly can’t say.” To Dorian he said, “How did you defeat this creature in the end?”

“An ingenious plan that I regret to admit was not mine,” Dorian said. “The creature had entwined itself in one of the city’s finest public gardens, which happens to be just below my apartment. Hollix cleared the gardens and exploded the fountain with gaatlok so the creature was drenched, and Maevaris and I electrocuted it from the upper balcony of my apartment.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “So wait, you weren’t even in the garden during all this? I thought you said you were involved in the disgustingness.”

“I was involved,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I was in it. Can you imagine?”

Tamaris snorted in amusement. “You’re such a spoiled noble.”

“I do miss your loving insults,” he said. “In actual fact, though, Mae and I had to keep distant so the monster wouldn’t suspect anyone else but Hollix was involved. I do feel sorry for Hollix though, poor thing. The creature popped like an enormous filthy balloon when we zapped it, and she got rather, er, moist in the process. When all was said and done, only the creature’s skin was left behind.”

Varric grimaced. “Like a sausage casing?”

“Ugh,” Dorian said. “That’s what Hollix said. Believe me, you wouldn’t be thinking about food if you’d seen what I had.”

Tamaris looked at Felassan. “So? Does it sound familiar to you?”

He twisted his lips. “Yes and no, actually. It almost sounds like one of Ghilan’nain’s delights, but not completely.”

Tamaris blinked in surprise. What did Ghilan’nain have to do with a horrific murderous monster in Minrathous?

“Ghilan’nain?” Dorian said. “Isn’t that one of the Dalish gods? Er, so to speak.”

“Yes indeed,” Felassan said. He raised his eyebrows at Tamaris. “Would you care to start us off?”

She groaned. “Do I have to?”

He chuckled. “No, you don’t. But it would be informative for everyone.”

“Uh-huh,” she said skeptically. Then she addressed Varric and Dorian’s crystal. “The Dalish say that Ghilan’nain was the mother of halla, and the goddess of navigation and wayfaring. She was actually a mortal who was raised to the status of a goddess thanks to Andruil, who’s the goddess of hunting.” Then she frowned at Felassan. “But in the Temple of Mythal, we found an old inscription that Solas translated. It said that Ghilan’nain created all kinds of creatures, but the creatures ran rampant through the elves’ lands until the Evanuris offered her godhood in exchange for destroying them.”

Felassan grinned. “Fen’Harel translated that for you?”

“Yes, he did.”

Felassan chuckled. “I can just imagine him screaming on the inside while he read that to you.”

She offered him a slightly bitter smirk, and he folded his arms. “Well, that inscription had the right of it. Like all the Evanuris, Ghilan’nain was a powerful mage, and her favourite hobby was creating new forms of life.” He held up a finger. “Wait, I should be specific: she created new forms of life from ones that already existed, blending and forming them into new creatures that were increasingly spectacular and powerful.”

Tamaris harrumphed. “Until the Evanuris got sick of her shit, it seems.”

Felassan smiled at her. “Blunt as always, avise, but yes. This was before my time, but my understanding is that Andruil became enamoured with Ghilan’nain, who created increasingly insane creatures for Andruil to hunt. Andruil praised her efforts, which spurred Ghilan’nain’s experiments on.” He smirked. “They encouraged each other’s insanity, just as any good couple should.”

Dorian chuckled, and Varric ruefully shook his head. “Very romantic, Jester.”

“I am, aren’t I?” he said. “In any case, Andruil and Ghilan’nain’s… activities eventually drew concern from the other Evanuris, who offered to raise Ghilan’nain to the status of a goddess if she destroyed her more disturbing creatures. By that time, she had already gained a measure of infamy among the people, so it took little propaganda for them to believe she was a goddess like the others.”

“Let me guess,” Dorian said. “Her experimenting didn’t stop just because she became a goddess.”

Felassan widened his eyes in mocking surprise. “How did you know?”

Tamaris folded her arms. “But you don’t really think that this Cekorax could actually be one of Ghilan’nain’s creatures. That would mean it was thousands of years old.”

Varric shrugged. “It’s not impossible, Cuddles. Think about some of the old shit we’ve encountered. Corypheus, the Titan…”

“A certain person in this room,” Felassan said blandly.

Tamaris snorted a laugh, and he winked at her. Then Dorian spoke through the crystal. “Whether this creature is new or old, what was it doing roaming around beneath Minrathous?”

“That is an excellent question,” Felassan said thoughtfully.

“Can you answer it?” Tamaris asked.

He shrugged. “I can try.” To Tamaris and Varric he said, “Recall that I told you about Mythal’s Sentinels, and how the other Evanuris sought warriors who were equally dedicated and fierce?”

“Yeah,” Varric said.

Felassan nodded. “Ghilan’nain’s efforts involved attempts to make hybrid… species that would be good fighters and soldiers. And her experiments didn’t just use non-sentient animals anymore.”

A cold stone of horror dropped into Tamaris’s gut. “She started experimenting on slaves?”

“Yes,” Felassan said. His manner was completely serious now, without a hint of levity. “From what we gathered at the time, she wanted her… creations to have some level of sentience, but not so much that they would try to rebel. Which is why I wonder if this Cekorax wasn’t just a simple monster, but a monster possessed by a spirit, since it sounds like it had more… motivation than Ghilan’nain’s surviving creatures had.”

Varric sighed and rubbed his chin. “A possessed monster? As if a regular monster wasn’t bad enough.”

Felassan didn’t reply, and Tamaris looked at him; he had an oddly absent-looking half-smile on his face.

“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

He met her eye, then let out a little laugh and shook his head. “Oh, nothing. Just an idle thought, really.”

She narrowed her eyes, but Dorian spoke before she could press Felassan further. “This still doesn't explain why one of Ghilan’nain’s creatures might be roaming around beneath Minrathous now.”

Felassan sobered once more. “Ghilan’nain had multiple hidden… laboratories, for lack of a better word, where she was creating her so-called soldiers. I don’t know where they were located as her activities weren’t my particular area of focus, but if one of Ghilan’nain’s laboratories was recently… activated, or disturbed, then it’s possible that this Cekorax broke free.”

Dorian sighed. “The murders started shortly after some surviving Venatori opened an underground cavern of some kind.”

Felassan grimaced. “That could explain it. You should probably look into where that cavern was, in case you start getting more lovely visitors from the deepest pits of Ghilan’nain’s twisted imagination.”

Dorian tsked. “Fasta vass. Of course. We’ll look into that.”

“Felassan,” Tamaris said.

“Yes, avise?” he said pleasantly.

She frowned slightly. “You mentioned that you thought the Cekorax was possessed by a powerful spirit.”

“I did, yes.”

“Do you know the spirit that might have been possessing it?”

A slow smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Why do you say that?”

“Why are you dodging?” she said quietly.

His smile faded. “Force of habit,” he said ruefully. “I apologize. I did wonder if the spirit might be one that I was acquainted with in the past.” He smirked and rubbed his chin. “Possessing a many-headed and many-eyed monster that can shape itself at will would be in keeping with this particular spirit.”

“What spirit?” Tamaris asked.

“It called itself the Formless One,” he said. “As you can probably guess, it didn’t have any particular shape that it preferred, nor a name to go by.”

“A name?” Dorian said in surprise. “Spirits have names?”

“If they want one, certainly,” Felassan said. “Though many of them are boring and keep the name of the virtues they embody.” His tone was bland once more, and Tamaris shot him a chiding smirk; he was clearly taking a jab at Solas.

Dorian’s voice was keen with curiosity through the sending crystal. “What are some of the spirit names you’ve known?”

Felassan casually laced his fingers behind his head. “There was an amusing group of spirits who were banished from Elvhenan long before I was born. Or were supposed to have been, at least,” he added with a smirk. “The Formless One was one of them, though it obviously didn’t have a name. Gaxkang was one, and Imshael was another—”

Tamaris straightened in surprise, and Varric interrupted. “Imshael?” he said.

Felassan’s eyes widened, and he smiled. “Don’t tell me you met him.”

Varric and Tamaris stared incredulously at him, and Dorian answered. “We didn’t just meet him. We killed him.”

Felassan’s face slackened with surprise. Then he laughed. “You’re kidding. Well, now you have to tell me how that happened.”

They told Felassan how they’d met Ser Michel de Chevin during their travels to Emprise du Lion, and how Michel had asked for their help defeating Imshael at Suledin Keep. When they described how Imshael had been directing and guiding the growth of red lyrium in the Red Templars and peasants in the quarry, Felassan laughed and tugged his ear.

“Well, I suppose I did tell him to have fun,” he said dryly. “Not the sort of fun I would have chosen, but…”

Tamaris recoiled slightly at his flippant reaction. “Were you friends with Imshael?” she asked.

“More like long-time acquaintances who made deals sometimes,” he said. “He was supposed to have been banished from our lands along with the others I mentioned, but he, er, stuck around.”

His tone was curled with mischief. She eyed him shrewdly. “Did Solas know you made deals with a spirit who was supposed to be banished?”

“He knew, but... unofficially,” Felassan said.

“Why unofficially?”

“Because Mythal didn’t know,” Felassan said slyly. “She was one of the Evanuris who banished him, you see.”

He was grinning now. Tamaris frowned more deeply. “How is this funny?”

“It’s not, actually,” he said. “Not at all. Can I ask if Fen’Harel was present when you met Imshael?”

Varric nodded. “Yeah, Chuckles was there.”

“And he didn’t say anything?” Felassan said. “Any… recognition or anything?”

“Not a fucking word,” Tamaris said bitterly.

Felassan let out a snort of laughter. “I bet he was fuming on the inside. If I wasn’t already out of the picture, he probably would have skinned me.” He snorted again and rubbed his mouth, then suddenly burst into laughter.

Tamaris’s heart clenched; the quality of his laughter was wild and uncontrolled. She took his hand and squeezed it. “Hey,” she said quietly. “Just breathe.”

Another blast of laughter left his lungs. Tamaris stroked his arm with her metal fingers. “Look at me, brat,” she said softly.

He wheezed as he met her eye, and Tamaris nodded encouragingly. A few breaths later, he was calm again.

She squeezed his hand before releasing it. “Why did you say Solas would skin you?” she asked.

“Because it’s my fault Imshael was free to run a red lyrium farm in Emprise du Lion,” Felassan said. “And whatever shortcomings the Dread Wolf has, he does not like red lyrium.”

“No one in their right mind does,” Varric said flatly.

Tamaris frowned. “What do you mean, it was your fault Imshael was free?”

He looked at her, and her belly jolted; for a split second, an odd flash of wistfulness had crossed his face before his usual pleasant half-smile returned. “Imshael had been summoned and bound by a Dalish clan,” he said. “My… lack of involvement, shall we say, led to him being set free.”

Her gut twisted with apprehension. A Dalish clan?

Dorian’s words echoed her thoughts. “You were with a Dalish clan?” he asked.

“For a very brief time, when I was travelling with Briala and the others,” Felassan said. His tone was light and pleasant, but he was still gazing steadily at Tamaris, and there was something about the neutrality of his expression that she didn’t like.

Then Dorian spoke in a peevish tone. “I beg your pardon, but what in Andraste’s sacred underthings are you talking about? I’m feeling terribly left out.”

Felassan finally looked away from her to face the crystal. “I travelled for a time with Celene, Briala, and the illustrious Michel prior to the Orlesian civil war breaking out in earnest,” he said. “At one point during our travels, we were hosted by a Dalish clan.”

“Hosted?” Dorian said. “The Dalish hosted Celene and Michel?”

Varric spoke up. “I didn’t think Dalish hospitality extended to humans. No offense, Cuddles.”

She didn’t reply; she was too focused on Felassan, who was now wearing a little smile that somehow made his face look empty.

Felassan shrugged. “Well, they tied Michel up and beat him, and they kept Celene under guard. Does that count as hospitality?”

Tamaris’s gut twisted. Something awful had just occurred to her. “Felassan, what happened to the Dalish clan after Imshael was freed?” she said quietly.

His eyes returned to her face. “Imshael killed them all.”

A jolt of shock stabbed her in the gut. She stared at him for a second before finding her tongue. “Imshael killed them?” she said weakly. “The… the whole clan?”

“All but one, yes,” Felassan said. He was still wearing that empty little smile, and he sounded so casual, and it… it didn’t add up.

“Wait,” she said. “He…” She trailed off; her heart was thrumming now, and it was making it hard for her to breathe. She forced herself to inhale. “Imshael went after the clan because you let him go free?”

“Yes,” Felassan said.

She dragged in another breath. “Did you know that Imshael would attack the clan?” she demanded.

“Yes,” he said.

He wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked so serious now — no, not just serious. He looked…

Her heart twisted. He looked wolfish, somehow. Dangerous. This wasn’t the Felassan she knew.

She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. “So you… you purposely let a demon go free, knowing it would kill an entire Dalish clan.”

“Yes, Tamaris,” he said. “I did.”

She stared at him in shock. His face was so forbidding and his voice was uncharacteristically hard, and … and he’d purposely given a demon free reign to kill a Dalish clan.

She hadn’t known. She hadn’t known about this. He hadn’t told her about this, for obvious reasons — he’d gotten a Dalish clan killed, for fuck’s sake, so of course he hadn’t told her. But if he hadn’t told her this, what else was he hiding from her? What other ugly secrets was he keeping?

Nauseous with horror, she gazed into his violet eyes — his beautiful violet eyes that were usually full of warmth and humour, and that she’d been growing to trust more and more with every passing day.

Beautiful violet eyes that were probably hiding all kinds of deeds that Tamaris knew nothing about.

She rose from her chair, and his hard expression cracked. “Tamaris,” he said.

She shook her head and took a step back from the table. Felassan stood up and reached for her hand. “Tamaris, don’t—”

She whipped her hand away. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled. She turned on her heel and ran up the stairs.

She went straight to her room and shoved open the window, then climbed up to the roof and started pacing. Her heart was pounding in her chest and behind her eyes, and her fingers shook as she dragged them through her hair.

Felassan had gotten a Dalish clan killed. He had purposely let a demon run rampant and kill an entire clan, and he hadn’t told her. They’d been living here for weeks and he hadn’t… she had no idea.

She was so stupid. She was so fucking stupid to have thought she could trust him. He was thousands of years old and she’d only known him for three weeks, and — she knew basically nothing about him. How could she have thought she could trust him at all?

It’s Solas all over again, she thought. Once again, she’d been lulled into a false sense of safety with a compelling older man, and once again, he’d betrayed her trust.

Her ribs felt like they were swelling with misery. She sat down abruptly and leaned back against the chimney, and for some uncounted time she just sat there ruminating on her own idiocy.

Eventually, she heard the distinctive soft shuffle of bare feet joining her on the roof. She clenched her jaw and looked away, but Felassan sat beside her anyway.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

His voice was back to its usual warmth, but this only made her feel worse. She shot him a venomous look. “Don’t act like you know everything about me. You’ve only known me for a couple of weeks.”

He elegantly lifted an eyebrow. “Can I speak without you biting my head off?”

“Why should I let you?” she snapped. “So you can talk circles around me?”

His eyes narrowed. “I have never done that to you and you know it.”

A pang of remorse penetrated her anger, and it was enough to make her relent. She shrugged and looked away from him. “Fine. Talk.”

“As I said, I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You’re thinking that I’ve withheld this terrible tale from you, and that if I was hiding this, there must be an entire thaig’s worth of villainous secrets that I’m keeping from you. I am extremely old, after all. There must be hundreds of skeletons in my proverbial closet that you don’t know about, so how can you possibly trust me?”

His tone was annoyingly playful, but what really rankled her that he was right. “Look at you, using your spy skills to figure me out,” she said snidely.

“I am only using the information that you told me yourself,” he said. “I know you’re on alert for reasons to cast me aside. I am not going to give you any.”

A sudden throb of pain in her chest took her by surprise. She swallowed hard and lifted her burning eyes to the sky as Felassan continued to speak. “I was not purposely hiding this from you. If the topic had come up before, I would have told you.” He lowered his voice. “And I think you know that.”

Fuck, her lips were trembling. She looked away from him and didn’t speak, and Felassan was silent as well.

When Tamaris was able to control her face once more, she shot him a hard look. “Tell me why you let that clan get killed.”

His shoulders loosened slightly. “The practical reason is that Imshael had something I needed: a keystone to unlock the eluvians. Setting him free gave us access to the keystone, which ultimately ended up in Briala’s possession.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” she said coldly.

“I do know what you mean,” he said calmly. “The real truth is this: I could have gotten that keystone in other ways. I knew Imshael, and I knew how his mind worked. But I wanted that clan to suffer.”

“Why?” she demanded. “What the fuck did they ever do to you?”

“Nothing,” he said. “They did nothing to me, and there was nothing they could have done to harm me.” He paused and clenched his jaw, and her gut twisted; his expression was hardening again in a way that she didn’t like.

“It was the way they treated Briala,” he said. “Briala had been supplying information to that clan for years through me. She’d pinned her hopes and dreams on them, and do you know what they said to her when they finally met her?”

“What?” Tamaris said faintly.

“They called her a flat-ear and said that she was not their people,” Felassan said.

For a moment, Tamaris stopped breathing. That was what Abelas had said to her at the Temple of Mythal, and she still remembered the way his disdain seemed to stab her straight in the heart.

Felassan went on. “Their Keeper, Thelhen…” He curled his lip in disgust. “It wasn’t that he was blind to the plight of the alienages. He knew what they suffered, and he didn’t care. He was no better than the human nobles that beat and killed city elves for looking at them the wrong way. He knew the problems that city elves faced, and he chose to do nothing, claiming that they were not his people.”

His voice was growing angrier by the second, and Tamaris held up a hand in surrender. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Okay, I… I hear what you’re saying.”

He took a deep breath and nodded, then leaned his head back against the chimney, and for a moment they were both silent.

For once, Tamaris broke the silence. “Was that the only clan you ever had dealings with?”

“No,” he said. “But I had dealings with Clan Virnehn for as many years as I have known Briala. No matter how many times I told them that a city elf was the one to thank for their knowledge of Orlais and how to avoid the shemlen troubles that plagued the country, they still refused to accept her as their own.”

“I hear you,” she said gently. “Honestly, I do. And that’s… it’s fucking awful, and I’m sorry Briala had such a shitty experience with the first Dalish clan she finally had a chance to meet. But do you really think that’s enough reason to let the entire clan get killed?”

He exhaled heavily. “Tamaris…”

She pushed on ruthlessly. “What about the kids in that clan? There had to be kids. Did they deserve to die because their Keeper was a piece of shit?”

“You don’t understand,” he burst out.

“What don’t I understand?” she asked.

“The…” He dragged his hand over his hair and glared at her. “The frustration of living through the same short-sighted stupidity from thousands of years ago. The fact that our people are still so divisive and blind. You can’t understand how frustrating it is to wake up thousands of years later to realize that the worst attitudes of my time were one of the things that survived.”

“You can’t judge all of the Dalish based on that one clan’s attitudes,” she said firmly. “That’s you and Solas’s biggest problem. You’re judging all of us based on just a few.”

He let out a rather tired-sounding laugh. “This kind of sparkling optimism is a strange look on you.”

She couldn’t tell if he was complimenting her or insulting her, but it didn’t matter right now. She shifted a little closer to him. “My clan isn’t like that, Felassan.”

“You’ve said that before,” he said. “You told me you take in city elves who run away from the alienages.”

“Yes, we do,” she said.

“And the elves who can’t run away?” he said. “Those who are stuck in the alienages with no means of escape? You told me you knew of the massacre of Halamshiral’s alienage. What did you do about it?”

His tone was calm but piercing somehow, like he was trying to dig beneath her skin with his pointed words, and Tamaris forced herself to reply just as calmly. “Me personally?” she said. “Nothing. By the time I heard about it, it had happened six months before and I was travelling to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to spy on the Conclave.”

“And once you became the Inquisitor?” he said. “Once you had power? What did you do then to help your brothers and sisters in the alienages?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I allowed the Empress of Orlais to be murdered in order to make a city elf the real power behind the throne,” she said quietly. “Or have you forgotten that already?”

His eyebrows rose. After a brief pause, he smiled and bowed his head to her. “Fair enough, avise.”

She relaxed slightly. “I can’t speak to that clan you ran into,” she said. “And… fine, all right, I’ve known some people from other clans who… who feel like we don’t owe anything to the city elves.” She scowled at him. “But Clan Lavellan is not like that, okay? I’m not bullshitting you. We don’t look down on city elves that way. My clan purposely went into Wycome to protect the city elves, for fuck’s sake.”

He looked at her in surprise. “They did?”

“Yes,” she said. “This was a couple years ago. The Duke of Wycome was involved with some Venatori, and they were trying to frame the elves for red lyrium getting into the water supply. The humans tried to burn the alienage down, and my clan interfered to help the city elves fight back. After the Duke was killed, my clan stayed in Wycome to support the city elves, and my Keeper and a city elf got sworn in on the city council along with some human merchants to run Wycome. A third of the clan is still there.”

He nodded slowly. “And the rest?”

“They didn’t want to stay in the city,” she said. “Most of us prefer the woods. But a number of city elves wanted to leave the city with them, and guess what? My clan adopted them.”

He gazed at her appraisingly and didn’t speak, and she gave him a pointed look. “What, nothing to say? That’s new for you.”

“It is, yes,” he said. “It’s an interesting change. It’s not often I’m struck speechless.”

“You do talk a hell of a lot,” she said.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” he retorted.

She scoffed, then realized she wasn’t feeling angry anymore. And then she felt weird about the fact that she wasn’t angry.

He tilted his head. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t… really know,” she said slowly. She was feeling oddly at a loss, and she couldn’t say why.

He gave her a slow smile. “You’re not used to winning arguments about the virtues of the Dalish, are you?”

She lifted her chin. “So you admit that I’ve won.”

He chuckled and flicked her knee. “Yes, avise, you’ve won. You can gloat if you like.”

She didn’t laugh. Instead, she studied him thoughtfully. “You really care, don’t you? About the elves of this time. The city elves especially.”

“Why wouldn’t I care about them?” he said.

She didn’t reply right away, but instead continued to study him. The more she thought about it, the more she understood where his attitude about present-day elves came from. Felassan might wear vallaslin and know things about the elvhen gods, but his origins as Andruil’s slave gave him far more in common with city elves than the Dalish.

A little pang squeezed her heart. That was why he cared about the city elves and their suffering. He’d essentially been one of them, back in the times of ancient Elvhenan.

He lifted one eyebrow quizzically, so Tamaris replied. “Solas didn’t care about the city elves,” she said. “Not like you do.”

Felassan sighed. “I suspect the issue is more that he couldn’t care. He couldn’t afford to. With all that guilt hanging over his head? He couldn’t afford to carry any more by caring about anyone else that he couldn’t save. It would crush him.” He suddenly grinned at her. “I imagine he must have been furious with himself when he realized he was in love with you.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You think that makes it okay that he… how he treated me?”

“No,” Felassan said. “Not by any means. A stronger man would have distanced himself from you.”

She huffed, then shrugged. “He tried to. Sort of.”

Felassan shot her a half-smile. “Meaning what exactly?”

“He warned me more than once that getting involved with him was a bad idea,” she admitted. “I guess I… I should have listened.” She scowled. “But he was saying one thing and acting a different way… fucking Solas.”

Felassan smiled to himself, and Tamaris shot him an exasperated look. “What’s so funny now?”

His smile widened. “If I tell you, you’ll say I’m full of shit.”

“Well, now you have to tell me,” she said.

He huffed a little laugh and shook his head, then looked her in the eye. “Fine. I say a stronger man would have distanced himself from you. But it would require the strength of Titans to resist your brassy charms.”

She stared at him. Then she started laughing. “You are completely full of shit.”

He placed one hand on his chest and bowed his head politely. “Acknowledged and accepted.”

She smiled at him, then chuckled and shook her head before taking a joint out of her breast pocket. She lit the joint and took a drag, then offered it to Felassan.

He accepted it with a nod and lifted it to his lips, and as she often did, Tamaris appreciatively watched his lips as he drew from the joint and released the smoke into the air.

He took another drag and blew a perfect series of smoke rings before offering back the joint, and she carefully took it from his fingers. “You know,” she said, “for someone that he tried to kill, you sure spend a lot of time trying to make me forgive him.”

“That’s not my intention,” Felassan said. “I told you before: I’m not defending him, only explaining him. Know your enemy, blah blah and so on.” He shrugged casually. “Besides, there is only so far that sheer anger can take you. An adversary as unexpected and subtle as Fen’Harel can be requires an approach that’s equally unexpected and subtle.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What approach is that?”

He gave her a fond look that made her heart flip. “This is one thing I won’t tell you,” he said. “Think about it, avise. You’ll figure it out on your own.”

She harrumphed, but with no real ire. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” She took a drag from the joint.

He gently took the joint from her fingers. “I will say this: of everyone who is working against him, you stand in a unique position. You are someone who knows Fen’Harel, loved him, and still wants to defy him. You may be the single most dangerous person to him in all of Thedas.”

She shot him a sharp look. “Is that really what you think?”

“Of course,” he said. “I always tell the truth. To you, at least,” he added with a smirk.

“Then you’re just as dangerous,” she said firmly. “You know him and loved him, and you’re defying him too. You’re just as dangerous as me.”

He raised his eyebrows, then brought the joint to his lips. “How about that? What a team we make. The woman who dances with fire and the slow arrow.”

Her heart did a little squeeze. He’d called himself a slow arrow, not a broken one.

She smiled at him, and he smiled back at her. Then she reached up and plucked the joint from his lips. “I still think you’re a fucking asshole for letting a demon loose to kill that clan.”

“I know you do,” he said. “And I’m not asking your forgiveness. But I will ask you to recognize that I did not lie about this to you.”

She eyed him appraisingly for a moment, then nodded. “I know. And… I do appreciate that.”

They smoked together quietly for a moment, and the silence between them stretched like warm taffy. From the corner of her eye, she watched as the joint met his lips and moved away to let the smoke bleed from his perfectly sculpted mouth.

She had no reason to trust Felassan. There were thousands of years’ worth of heinous things he could have done and hadn’t told her about. But he had been honest with her about his reasons for doing this one heinous thing. He hadn’t tried to sugarcoat anything, and he hadn’t tried to prevaricate. He’d even followed her to the roof in order to tell her the truth, knowing full well that she wouldn’t like it.

He offered her the joint once more, and she took it. But instead of bringing it to her lips, she leaned into his side and rested her head on his shoulder.

He shifted slightly so her head was tucked more snugly against his neck. When he turned his head to speak to her, his words wafted over her forehead in a soft murmur. “You walked away from me.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “It gave me an excuse to watch you walking away.”

She snorted a laugh. “You’re such a fucking rogue.”

He chuckled and took the joint from her fingers, and for a time they simply sat pressed together on the roof with her head tucked against his neck. The longer she sat there savouring the steady warmth of Felassan’s neck against her temple, the more she realized how strange it was to feel this relaxed and at ease after a fight. How strange it was to feel so… resolved.

“Any particular thoughts on your mind?” he said.

His voice was low and warm, and it was just as comforting as the warmth of his neck. She shrugged and nibbled the inside of her cheek as she considered her reply. She was having plenty of thoughts, thoughts about Felassan’s mischievous smirk and his righteous anger and how patient he was with her, even though she’d walked away.

She was having thoughts, all right. But nothing that she was ready to say out loud just yet.

“Not really,” she said. “I’m just… content.”

“Ah, contentment: my favourite,” he said. “It really is an underrated feeling, you know.”

“You said that before,” she said drolly. But in the privacy of her heart, she knew what she was really feeling.

Athdhea’lath, she thought: the precursor to love. A feeling which Felassan had openly admitted to having, and which he was so carefully fostering in the closely guarded garden of Tamaris’s heart.

A little jolt of nerves plucked at her gut, but she took it in stride. She drew from the joint once more, then exhaled and closed her eyes. She breathed in the scents of herbal smoke and Felassan’s skin, and she enjoyed the feeling of being… content.

#felassan #save felassan #felassan romance #felassan/lavellan #felassan x lavellan #felassan/inquisitor #felassan x inquisitor #the love that grows from violence #pikapeppa writes

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