#i have been awakened from my uthenera

[awesomeblogwellnotreally]

[loredrinker]

Tearing Down the Veil - Solas, Immortality, and the Chaos of Mortals

In further exploring Solas coming into form through lyrium before the Veil existed, something occurred to me that got me thinking about immortal time vs mortal time. (My Solas thoughts are always shifting.)

Solas's mission to tear down the Veil didn’t actually exist until we’re introduced to him in Inquisition. We are led to believe that while Solas purposefully created the Veil to banish the Evanuris and the Blight, he did not foresee the devastation it would create ("...a wound inflicted upon this world. It must be healed").

So, in reality, from Inquisition to Veilguard, Solas has only held this mission for a total of about 12–14 years - which, in comparison to his previous life of up to 8000 years and then thousands of years in deep sleep, is hardly any time at all (I am not ignoring how his previous regrets would affect him, just keeping this as simple as possible for this post). Also thank you to @abelas-inan for clarifying that Solas was in slumber for thousands of years "he slept ~3750 years".

In this previous post, I explored what his time in Uthenera may have been like. I thought he might have been active in the Fade, but after just finishing Trespasser (again), thoughts have changed. 

Solas tells the Inquisitor in Trespasser, “The orb had built up magical energy while I lay unconscious for millennia.”  

So, questions/thoughts:  

"Unconscious" refers to a state in which a person is not awake and not aware of their surroundings or themselves. In Solas’s context, he says he was "unconscious for millennia," suggesting he spent thousands of years unaware of everything happening in the world.  

What was Solas’s unconscious state like? Was he completely unaware, or could he reflect within the Fade? His description of “dark and dreaming sleep” suggests he may have perceived slight ripples in the Fade, reflecting the chaos of the world. Perhaps he became gradually more aware as his awakening approached.

I initially wondered if the killing of Felassan occurred while Solas was in Uthenera, but the timelines don’t align. The Masked Empire ends just before Inquisition, making it likely that Solas killed Felassan in the year before the Temple of Ashes explosion. This would have been a highly emotional moment, marking his first year in this new world.

No shit his awakening in modern Thedas is an intense shock.

Which aligns with his description of waking in a world that felt “tranquil”. It also explains his decision to approach a Dalish clan to reveal himself - only to be met with threats of violence and rejection. It suggests that Solas wasn’t fully caught up on Thedas’s history or the Dalish’s disconnection from their roots and how history had reshaped them. These were supposed to be his people. Small wonder he carries bitterness toward them throughout Inquisition. 

Now, Solas is faced with the horrifying consequences of the Veil, burdened by a new and excruciating regret. If he was unconscious for millennia, he likely jumped back into the Fade upon awakening to uncover everything he’d missed. When he tells the Inquisitor about the battles of Ostagar, he’s recounting what he learned from the Fade, piecing together history during his first year awake.

It’s speculative, but plausible, that he studied the world’s changes extensively through the Fade - gathering insights on different factions, cultural shifts, and political landscapes. He may have also consulted spirits, seeking to understand how the Veil had twisted them over time.

So, the world he once knew is gone, and the consequences of his actions are catastrophic. 

Tearing down the Veil becomes his new mission - not a goal forged over centuries, but one born of immediate and overwhelming regret. How could it not? Because of him, the elves and spirits lost everything. 

Add the fact that he is living in modern Thedas, navigating a timeline vastly different from his timeless, immortal existence.  Naturally, it begs exploration.

Immortal Time vs Mortal Time 

Solas now lives in a world of mortals - a world where time is compressed and perceived differently through a mortal lens. 

For a mortal: 

Ten years is a significant portion of life. For a 30-year-old, it represents one-third of their existence.  

The briefness of mortal life lends a constant urgency to decisions; ten years is a narrow window, carrying immense pressure to achieve goals, foster relationships, or experience growth.

Memories are shaped by a finite brain, which can create the sensation of time passing faster as life progresses.  

For an immortal: 

Ten years might feel like a brief moment in the vast expanse of their existence. To someone who has lived for millennia, a decade to an immortal could feel as a single season does to a mortal. 

Time for immortals would be more likely measured in milestones, not years and there would be an absence of a fixed endpoint. Without the pressure of a ticking clock, serious actions could be delayed for careful years of planning, viewing a decade as barely a delay at all.

Immortals, with an infinite capacity for memory, might not experience the passage of time as mortals do. Memories unmarked by significant emotions (intense regret or joy) could fade away becoming indistinguishable from a vast expanse of their existence.

Through fiction and media, we are told how immortals perceive time differently. Without the looming pressure of mortality, immortals can take the time to plan, reflect, and deliberate - luxuries that mortals can't afford. 

Solas – Forced into Compressed Timelines 

Solas previously lived in a world of endlessness. Even massive, horrible events, like the war against the Titans, the rebellion against the Evanuris, unfolded over long arcs of time.  He could carefully plan rebellions, build alliances, and execute long-term strategies without concern for immediate deadlines.  If a decision led to disaster, he could step back, reevaluate, and take a century to rebuild if necessary.  Imagine how long it would have taken him to plan the ritual to banish the Evanuris – and then execute it?  

Solas had centuries to adapt to change, to plan.

But mortal time? Solas is thrust into a world where time moves quickly. The lifespan of these mortals means alliances and relationships are fast and fleeting, and any delay risks losing key opportunities or allies - as well as risks of unforeseen curveballs.

I imagine the pace of change in a mortal-dominated world compared to the cadence of an immortal existence would feel relentless.  For someone accustomed to thinking in terms of centuries rather than a year or two, this rapid tempo could be dizzying, even destabilizing. It sheds light on some of his mistakes and misjudgments - he wouldn't have the centuries he’s used to for recalibration. The constant need to react and adapt could prevent him from fully processing his doubts or mistakes, like seeing potential future consequences or that there might be another way forward.

Since tearing down the Veil isn’t a millennia-long goal but a relatively recent mission, and because he is now operating within a faster-paced, mortal timeframe, it becomes entirely plausible for Solas to be thrown off course - and for his mind to shift. And we see him being thrown off course repeatedly. He is forced to recalibrate and remain fluid in the face of unpredictability: 

"It wasn't supposed to happen this way"  "I could not foresee..."  "I had plans..."  "When he survived, my plans were thrown into chaos." 

The immediacy of interactions and the pace of this time force Solas into a reactive state, disrupting his certainty and positioning him to being open to changing it. 

Other factors at play? 

He is physically vulnerable, weakened and far from his full power. This vulnerability forces him to rely more heavily on strategy, manipulation, and alliances - skills he mastered but now must deploy with urgency and limited resources. 

For the first time in his existence, Solas must also conceal his identity. In the ancient world, he had no reason to hide who he was. In modern Thedas, however, his initial attempt to reveal himself to a Dalish clan ended badly. What would this have felt like for him? To see the stories about him so twisted, his people fragmented and hostile, and to realize that he must now hide who he is? 

Solas has to now operate from the shadows, finding agents and using the Fade to manipulate minds and make connections. He orchestrates getting the orb into Corypheus’s hands to unlock it. Corypheus’s survival and the Inquisitor gaining the Anchor throw everything into chaos - again. 

He recalibrates, pivots. He investigates the explosion, offering his services, but now, after the Dalish incident, he knows he can’t reveal his true identity. Solas must understand the situation, study the Inquisitor who holds the Mark, and observe the world he now inhabits. This leads him to join the Inquisition. 

Life for this immortal continues to move at a fast speed. The chaos and unpredictability of modern Thedas - and the mortals who inhabit it – seem to continuously throw him off balance. It’s no wonder we meet a Solas who is guarded, observant, thoughtful, and careful. He even admits to the Inquisitor, “You throw me so easily,” - an acknowledgment of how unsettled he is. 

Solas in a Constant State of Flux 

From Inquisition to Veilguard, Solas seems to be in a constant state of flux, and this ongoing reaction and disruption can become fertile ground for change. It forces adaptability, disrupts entrenched beliefs, and opens pathways to new perspectives. Constant flux pushes someone to operate outside their habitual framework - else they succumb to despair. But Solas never crumbles. He is nothing if not resilient and persistent in his goal (pride is stubborn). 

A reactive state is also usually emotionally charged. Being reactive demands constant observation and quick decision-making, while a state of flux necessitates collaboration and communication with others. For Solas, this means engaging and working with mortals in crisis - and crisis forges bonds. 

You know what I find hilarious? Solas telling Rook it took him centuries to build bonds during his rebellion, but when Rook asks about the Inquisition, Solas is like, “Yeah, I made friends, created bonds and grew fond of a bunch of them despite myself (maybe even fell in love) - IN A GODDAMNED YEAR". Don’t tell me this constant flux didn’t affect him. 

Perhaps this is why he goes into isolation after Trespasser (addressing the shift from agents flocking to his cause to him suddenly being alone). He knows he can’t have anyone around who might create further disruptions or entanglements - because those connections threaten to throw him off course yet again. 

And this whole time in the 10 years after Trespasser, he knows he's being hunted – so he needs to stay one step ahead to get to his ritual.  But then Varric and Rook show up, bringing more disruptions and forcing Solas to react once again. Killing Varric, Rook throwing his plans into chaos - forced into a literal prison where he can't do anything (where all he can do is think and reflect). Rook's appearance pushes Solas further off balance. The improvisation of Rook is great because it continually derails Solas’s efforts to dig in, as external forces keep dragging him out of the certainty he’s trying to cling to. 

And then, at the very end, Rook delivers the final blows: reminding Solas that he doesn’t get to choose for the entire world, throwing the Inquisitor at him - a respected friend or love from his recent past (and to an immortal, 10 years might as well be a year) - and then Mythal (and we all know his reaction there – UGH). He’s thrown again, raw and exposed. 

His 12–14 years of certainty that the Veil must come down, lived amidst the constant flux and disruption of mortal lives, filled with heightened emotions and entangled relationships, gradually wore away at that conviction. We see this unravel throughout the games - his evolving thoughts and shifting perspectives.

And maybe those sobs at the end aren’t just about the culmination of everything or the release of being free. Maybe they’re also because he finally sees it - the truth he’s been blind to. A truth revealed through one chaotic moment and mortal relationship at a time. Blind, because the compressed timeline of mortals forced him to act so quickly, leaving little room for the reflection he once had in abundance: that another path could exist.

Always open to other thoughts and perspectives - my ideas are constantly evolving. I’m also not suggesting Solas isn’t deeply reflective; his immortality has honed that skill over millennia. I’m simply speculating that, compared to the endless time he once had, the modern world would give him less room to reflect.

[uchidachi]

Dragon Age Fanfic Self-rec thread!

Dear fellow writers, the Veilguard draws near. The fans are awakening from uthenera, and they are hungry. For fic. To help them, I’m starting this post to collect everyone’s recommendations of their own fic to read!

Keep it short & sweet! Title (with link!), rating, ao3 archive warnings (if applicable), pairing (if applicable) & 1 sentence summary only. If you want to include more than one rec, put the rest under a readmore. The idea is to have a reblog chain of many different authors, so this might become a long post.

Don’t know what to recommend? Here’s a list of possible categories to use, if you want:

Author’s favorite

An ode to my OTP

Meet the OC

Rare Pairings

A gift fic I’m proud of

A bit of fluff

Absolute angst

That time I tried something different

Canon? What canon?

In Another Universe

An overlooked gem

Good for a new DA fan

Have fun, and happy reccing!

I’ll start off the chain:

A gift fic I’m proud of: The Maker’s Forgiveness, Teen & up, Florianne de Chalons/Female Trevelyan. Grand Duchess Florianne tries to seduce and manipulate Trevelyan, only to find out that the Inquisitor is not as naive as she assumed.

Rare Pairings: Blessed Are the Lovers, General Audiences, Cullen Rutherford/Sebastian Vael. Cullen has been secretly in love with Sebastian for years, but can’t hide his feelings after seeing him at a friend’s wedding.

Absolute angst: This Is What Would Happen, Mature, Major Character Death, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus. Bull’s POV through to Trespasser as he remains Ben-Hassrath and falls in love with Dorian after sacrificing the Chargers.

That time I tried something different: Same as the Day Before, General Audiences, Avexis & Minaeve. Genfic in present tense where Avexis finds herself stuck in a time loop, receiving news of the Tranquil cure over and over again.

An overlooked gem: Rescue Mission, Teen & up. Merrill & the rest of the DA2 crew go to rescue Fenris after Hawke sells him back to Danarius.

[possessiveandobsessive]

The Spirit of Determination

Nyra "Rook" Thorne is somehow responsible for the fate of all of Thedas. If she's going to pull it off, she's going to need a hell of a lot of determination. Lucky for her, she knows a guy and his demon who can help her out with that.

This is the final part of the main story! I can't believe I made it here, and thanks to everyone who has read some or all of this story! This was a huge step for me as a writer and it was wonderful to see some people enjoying it :) I hope this ending is satisfying, and there is an epilogue to come!

Part 13: The Dread Wolf’s Lament

Solas

Solas had to admit, the child was surprisingly adept in her role. He watched from a distance, half hidden behind the broken base of an old pillar, as Rook dodged and danced around a furious Elgar’nan. He had been doubtful upon their first meeting, that she would be remotely helpful, let alone a main player in bringing down his old nemesis. Yet, he was proven wrong again, for the umpteenth time since re-awakening from uthenera. She had revealed herself to be  a powerful individual with a great aptitude for leading causes so much bigger than herself, much to his surprise and later chagrin. 

Solas felt a sigh leave his chapped and split lips, wincing slightly when his breath stung the large cuts around his mouth. He needed her to move faster. Elgar’nan was mortal now, he himself had killed the Archdemon. Well, with the help of the other she-elf… Solas thought back briefly to the shock he had felt when the Archdemon had been wrenched off of him, and that feeling only magnified when he had turned his head to see a mortal elf, a Dalish elf wearing the vallaslin of Dirthamen, compelling the blight to grab and hold the stinking demon in place. He was glad his surprise had not completely frozen him at that moment. He had been able to take advantage of the opportunity to finally end the twisted dragon’s miserable life, and the memory of the tainted blood on his tongue still had him suppressing the urge to gag.

Solas had, however, hesitated in his actions when he had transformed back into his elven form only to see the same Elven woman fall to her knees. Her near unconscious state left her completely vulnerable to the blight surrounding her. It would have been smarter to simply leave her to her fate. He couldn’t even remember her name, but he knew she was a member of Rook’s team, so she knew what she had signed up for. Plus, she was already blighted. There was nothing to be done about her fate in the end. 

So why had he found himself hurrying to her side? His body had seemed to move on its own, crouching beside her barely awake body and tearing away at the blight that was trying to consume her. Solas cursed under his breath at the tendrils that seemed to keep coming back every time he tore them away. He was getting really tired of these distractions from his goal, and it was bad enough he was even taking time to do this irritating task now.

“Fenedhis!” He had hissed, finally giving up and resorting to dipping into the small pool of mana he had left to will the blight tendrils off of her pallid skin. Now completely free of any lingering blight (on the outside anyway) Solas gently placed her on her back in the center of the room, quickly getting back to his feet and hurrying quietly to the place he hid out of view now.

His attention was pulled back to the battle unfolding in front of him when Elgar’nan began to rant and rave in complete rage at Rook, who continued to move lightly around his large form, slashing out with her blade in time with the flares of her magic emitting form the orb in her right hand.

“Insolent children!” The fool screamed in a broken voice at the three mortals surrounding him, “How DARE you! My perfect creation! Impossible! To fall to mortal hands is an OUTRAGE that will not be tolerated!” 

Solas rolled his eyes at the once mighty Evanuris’s childlike shouts of outrage. Not only was the supposed “King” acting like a babe in his sure defeat, but he wasn’t even being entirely accurate in his statements. Solas had killed the Archdemon (he ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that again, unhelpfully pointed out the elven woman’s role), not these mortals who stood before Elgar’nan now.

“You! Rook.” Solas’s eyes snapped back to the fight upon hearing Rook’s name come from the great fool’s mouth in a sneering hiss, “This is your doing. Small, weak, fragile little mortals should know their place. I will take great pleasure now in showing you yours.”

That statement made his stomach churn. Even now, Elgar’nan was a very very powerful opponent, especially for a small, mortal woman like Rook. Indeed, Solas wasn’t entirely certain that he could defeat his nemesis in his current state, weakened as he was, so what chance did Rook stand if Elgar’nan wanted to seriously take her on alone? Not for the first time since he had reunited with Rook in that square, Solas’s fists clenched at his sides, and he found himself silently hoping for her to surprise him again with her victory over impossible odds. 

The entire space in front him was suddenly filled with complete darkness and his hopes plummeted. Solas heard Rook’s companions shout for her, fear clear in their voices as they fought their way out of the darkness, only to realize that Rook was lost to it. Cursing again, Solas began to make his way down towards the dark void. He needed to be prepared to act when Elgar’nan appeared from the darkness victorious. Solas had never known someone to escape this particular trap of the “King’s” alive, and he was done wishing for miracles by now.

A miracle did occur just then, however, and Solas froze just as he had reached the outer edge of the destroyed balcony that Rook and Elgar’nan had been using as a battlefield. The ancient elf stared as Rook re-appeared in front of him, the darkness dissipating just in time for him to see her blade come out of Elgar’nan’s chest and bury itself into his neck. Solas’s breath caught for a moment, disbelief at what he was seeing coursing through his veins. 

She… did it. She killed Elgar’nan. Solas was momentarily struck motionless and silent by the incredible turn of events he never thought to witness. Varric, I see it. I see what you must have seen, now. A wave of nausea hit him at the thought, and as much as he wanted to blame his injuries, Solas knew it was the gnawing grief and guilt over Varric’s death and the way in which he had died. That same small voice in his mind cruelly pointed out the flaw in that statement; Varris hadn’t just died, Solas himself had slain him.

Shaking his head, Solas grimaced and looked to where Rook now stood with the possessed assassin. She downed a healing potion and he found himself frowning further. The last thing he needed right now was this woman at full or nearly full strength, for she was absolutely not going to give him what he needed quietly and without a fight. 

Standing to his full height, Solas moved into her line of sight. He made certain to stand straight and confidently, his hands behind his back completing his nonchalant, godlike presence. “Rook, It appears congratulations are in order.” His voice felt hollow in his own ears, but the timing was perfect. It was at that very moment that the ground began to heave as a new breach began to tear across the sky. The Veil was disintegrating in places as its energy source had been suddenly cut down. Solas needed to complete his ritual now, or the Veil would fall apart in a way that would truly level this world. He needed to have it fall his way, as gently and with as little chaos as possible. He just hoped his loyal spirits still stood ready to do damage control.

Solas looked Rook in the eyes, watching with an impassive look as her startling green eyes narrowed and she took a step towards him. The man who had held her a moment previously reached out for her shoulder and Solas merely watched, curious, as she shrugged his hand off and shook her head at him, signalling that she would face him alone. Foolishly brave as usual, Solas thought mildly as she continued to approach him, her hand falling to the dagger, his dagger, on her belt.

“Okay Solas,” Rook spoke with a steady voice, no hint of fear to be found, “Here we are. What will you do now, Dread Wolf?” 

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

Rook

Uneasy. It was the only way to describe how she felt standing before his imposing figure as the world began to fall apart into pieces around her. It would’ve been easier, she thought, if she had just simply elected to take his blood by force. She could lunge forward, and cut him with his cursed dagger that had started this whole thing to begin with. As long as she drew blood, all she would need to do was cut into the Veil and shove his lying, pompous ass inside. It would be over quickly and easily, and she could find a soft bed and let Lucanis hold her while she slept for a full 24 hours.

Unfortunately, that just wasn’t who Rook was. Varric had chosen her to lead this cause in his stead because of the person she was, and making a decision like that would’ve been a dishonor to him in her eyes. No, Varric had wanted Solas to have every opportunity to change, to come back to them and be who he had been during the days of the Inquisition. Varric still saw him as he had been then: a friend, an ally, and a shield against the very darkness he now threatened them with. Okay Varric, if I die here, because of your soft heart, I’m going to find you in the afterlife and strangle you.

“Okay Solas,” Rook fought to keep her voice even and calm, which was incredibly difficult as she stood before a god, “Here we are. What will you do now, Dread Wolf?” 

She spoke his title with disdain, and it made some kind of impact as Rook was certain she saw something shift deep in his eyes. Then they narrowed, the purple of his irises flashing dangerously at her. Shit, she thought as anticipation and fear curled in her gut, not the reaction I was hoping for.

“It seems by now you are aware Rook, that the Veil will be coming down one way or another. The best thing you can-” Solas’s was cut off mid-chastising when Rook began speaking.

“Yes Solas, I am aware that you lied and tricked me again. I wasn’t even surprised when Bellara told us what would happen when Elgar’nan died, which is honestly sad.” 

Solas flinched. It was so minute someone else might have missed it, but Rook was watching his every move and response carefully, looking for a crack she could use to break his facade.

“Now, you are going to tell me that the only way my entire world doesn’t get obliterated, leveled, whatever flowery term you’d use for this particular type of destruction, is to give you the dagger and allow you to finish your ritual to bring the Veil down nicely. Am I on the right track so far?”

Solas’s mouth opened and closed for a moment, giving him the look of an arrogant trout. Rook would’ve laughed at his ridiculous expression, but she was too angry and filled with desperation at the moment for any kind of humor to penetrate her train of thought. She raised an eyebrow at him, “Well?” she prompted again, waiting for a clever response.

Solas’s face settled into a pissed off expression, “You have no idea the magnitude of the events you speak of. Your mind cannot fathom the outcome if I do not finish what you interrupted that night at the ritual site. There is no other way to ensure that some of this world survives-”

“Another lie.” Rook cut him off in a clipped tone, “Come on Solas, would it kill you to give me the respect of at least giving me the full truth? Especially now, as we stand here with the world crumbling around us in the wake of me doing the very thing you have been telling me I never could? Is it so impossible for Fen’Harel to name all of the options for repairing the situation we’re in? Or are you just avoiding the option that ends with you actually paying for and doing something to remedy your selfish actions?”

Ooooohhhh I’ve done it now. Rook thought sullenly as she watched Solas’s eyes begin to glow in response to her taunts. Probably should’ve backed off a little there at the end, he looks like he wants to-

It was Rook whose train of thought was cut short this time, as Solas rushed her and ripped the dagger she held from her grip. She gasped and fell back onto her ass as he shoved her from him, taking the dagger and beginning to walk to the crumbling edge of the balcony. He strode to the bottom part of a broken staircase that led up a short distance before ending abruptly in the air. Rook scrambled to her feet and went after him, this was her last chance before he backed her into the corner from which there was no returning.

“Solas!” She shouted at his stiff back as he began to climb the few steps that remained of the grand staircase, “You don’t have to do this! I know you don’t want to hurt people, you don’t want tens of thousands of deaths on your conscience!” 

Solas didn’t respond. Instead, he held the dagger over his head and prepared to cut into the weakening Veil.

“You aren’t going to save anyone by bringing down the Veil, Solas!” Rook continued shouting over the growing wind stirred up by the widening breach in the sky. “Your world is gone! And I’m sorry for that! I can’t imagine how it must feel, having fought so hard to save your people, only to wake up and find the world so different from how you remember it! I know that you see the current Elvhen people, mortal, fragile, and in many ways disconnected from the Fade, from our roots. But we are not gone! And we aren’t suffering! We found a new way to live and thrive in our new circumstances!  Mortality is in many ways a gift, it has shown us how precious life is, and stirred within each of us the desire to have a purpose, just as the spirits we came from do!”

Solas paused with the dagger held above his head. Rook’s eyes widened as she saw his hand trembling. He was hearing her, he was listening! 

“Solas, you can stop this. You can use your own life to sustain the Veil and protect the world you created all those years ago. It looks different, and the people who inhabit it are new, but they are still living beings. You alone can save them, save us, and the world we all love so dearly.”

Rook finished with a shaking voice, her words giving way to a raw emotion that burned in her chest. Fear, anger, grief, love, hope, all these feelings mixed within her, building and growing like a wildfire. Please, Rook begged, not even sure who or what she was speaking to in her mind, please let him see. Let him find the strength to stop. I’m not sure I have the strength to force him if he refuses. 

The corners of her eyes prickled with tears as she watched Solas seem to wage a war in his own mind. The two sides of every emotion battled for dominance: Justice versus vengeance, compassion and mercy versus fear and rage, hope versus despair and regret, wisdom versus pride. Rook could see the struggle of his twin natures and thoughts twisting and fighting inside him. She had felt something similar herself in the regret prison. 

“I…cannot stop now.” Solas spoke in a broken tone, his voice unlike Rook had ever heard it before. “To do so, it would dishonor the ones I have hurt and betrayed to come this far.” He let out a shaking sigh, and Rook could see him steeling his resolve again as he turned back towards the open air with the dagger raised. 

No! Rook took a step forward, her hand going to the hilt of the real dagger hidden between her underclothes and her leathers at her back. She grit her teeth, fighting back her angry tears, when she suddenly felt a gentle touch on her arm. Head whipping to the right, Rook was shocked to meet the steady, calm gaze of Alyss Lavellan. The Inquisitor shook her head at Rook, before turning and walking ahead of Rook to the first step of the staircase Solas stood at the top of.

“Even if those you’ve wronged asked you to stop?”

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

Inquisitor Alyss Lavellan

Alyss of Clan Lavellan decided one thing as she worked to scale the side of yet another ruined building and pulled herself to the top with a groan: she was getting far too old for this whole “the world is ending” bullshit. Her knees clicked and protested as she quickly got to her feet and took off across the top of the wall at a run, ignoring the thought that a single misstep would most likely mean her death. She fought a smirk at the idea, the great Inquisitor Lavellan, The Herald of Andraste, and the savior of Thedas, meeting her end tragically by tripping and falling between seventy and eighty feet and breaking her neck. It would be right on par for my luck, she thought, jumping a slight gap in her path, to make it through all that I have, only to die trying to save the insane man I love from himself.

A gasp tore through her throat and ripped her from her idle thoughts as the entire palace began to shake violently. What- Alyss didn’t even have time to guess at what horrendous, world ending event was happening now, because her question was answered as soon as she turned her face up into the night sky. 

“You… have got to be fucking kidding me right now!” She shouted out loud into the empty space around her as she found her feet again even amidst the earth’s continued trembling. A breach in the Veil was currently lighting up the sky above her, aggressively tearing itself and the Veil around it apart with a terrifying speed. “Rook, she must have killed Elgar’nan.” The Inquisitor muttered, “I am OUT of time.”

With that, Alyss took off at a dead sprint, nimbly jumping down from the wall using small platforms that had been created from falling stones as the Archon’s Palace was reduced to rubble. She had to get there in time, there was no other option. As much as she wished to believe that Rook could talk Solas down on her own, she knew better. Solas was a being of pride, he was stubborn as all hell. Alyss believed that who he was at his core though, a being of wisdom with compassion threaded throughout, was still there. He could still be reached, he could be saved.

She pushed her aching body faster, using her magic to maneuver the environment around her to create the shortest path to where Solas and Rook were. Memories danced at the edges of her mind. Alyss could see Solas as he helped her close her first rift, could feel his firm but gentle grip on her left wrist as he directed the anchor’s power through her hand. She saw him standing in front of the cabin in the back corner of Haven, flashing her genuine smiles as she questioned him eagerly about his life and travels in the Fade. Solas standing next to her, his quiet strength seeping into her weary bones in the aftermath of Corypheus’s attack on Haven. His devastated face and thunderous voice as he set upon the idiot mages who had bound and killed his friend. Alyss could see flashes of their entire journey together as they fought to heal the very Veil he now sought to bring down.

The Inquisitor fought the tears that threatened to collect in the corners of her eyes as she was hit with the memories that were too hard to remember these days. Solas kissing her back in that first Fade dream they had shared, Solas kissing her on her balcony as the sun sat low in the sky. He had murmured that it was a bad idea, but it seemed neither of them actually cared to consider the consequences as they continued to fall deeper and deeper in love with one another. Then, there was that night in the clearing. 

Alyss swallowed the knot in her throat that had formed at the memory of him standing in front of her, looking at her with the softest expression she had ever seen him wear. Solas had removed her vallaslin that night, something she still had confusing and difficult feelings about to this day. He had wanted her to be free of what he knew to be slave’s marks, and he had called her beautiful after her face was bare of them. But… He had taken something from her then, too. Whatever had been left of the person she was before the Inquisition, before him, disappeared in the chilly, nighttime breeze that swept through the lush green grass at her ankles.

Solas had given her everything, his mind, his heart, the parts of his very soul that he clung to as the remains of his true self. Alyss closed her eyes at the idea, tears finally slipping through her lashes as she paused at the edge of the stone precipice she stood on. Solas had taken everything from her as well. Her identity as one of The People, her faith and vallaslin, and her heart that had begun to beat for him and him alone. He called her his heart, his vhenan, and she had responded in kind because he was hers as well. And then he left. He left his heart behind that day she confronted him in front of the Eluvian. Solas had left a piece of himself behind as he stole her arm and left with her heart. 

The heart that still resided in her chest beat unevenly for a moment and Alyss had to take a moment to steady herself. Dwelling on that pain, it did neither of them any good. She was here to set him free of his pain and regret, and to set herself free as well. Alyss Lavellan was determined, determined to take back her heart, as well as return the Dread Wolf’s back to him.

Finally having reached the ground on the edge of the balcony, the Inquisitor fell into a crouch and crept towards the place at the bottom of a broken staircase where Rook stood, shouting at Solas’s back. The sight of him after so long almost made her pause, but she knew she couldn’t stop now, not when she was so close. As Alyss slipped into the shadows behind the younger woman and silently moved to sit at her right flank, she could finally make out the words Rook was yelling to Solas over the sound of the wind.

“Solas, you can stop this. You can use your own life to sustain the Veil and protect the world you created all those years ago. It looks different, and the people who inhabit it are new, but they are still living beings. You alone can save them, save us, and the world we all love so dearly!” Rook’s voice was hoarse, and Alyss imagined she had been standing here yelling at him for several minutes already.

Then, her attention was brought back to the man at the top of the stairs as he turned back to Rook slightly to speak.

“I…cannot stop now.” Solas sounded broken, an unfamiliar sound to her ears. It hurt her to hear him sound so utterly ruined. “To do so, it would dishonor the ones I have hurt and betrayed to come this far.” 

He shuddered then, before beginning to turn back towards the empty space at the top of the staircase and raise the dagger again. The light from the growing breach in the sky cast a green, otherworldly glow on everything. Shadows seemed to dance around them, and then Alyss saw Rook’s brow furrow as the elf took a step towards Solas, reaching for what the Inquisitor knew to be the real lyrium dagger at her back. 

Alyss moved then, standing from her hiding spot and placing her hand on Rook’s shoulder. Rook looked at her in surprise, her green eyes widening as the Inquisitor shook her head at her. Rook’s body relaxed, and Alyss placed a comforting hand on the woman’s lower back. Her rogue training with Varric over the years had paid off, and she was able to grasp and ease the dagger from Rook’s belt without her noticing. Then, she stepped forward and drew upon all of her remaining strength and confidence.

“Even if those you’ve wronged asked you to stop?” Alyss was relieved when her voice came out steady and clear instead of breaking to illustrate how difficult this moment was for her.

Solas swung his body around to face her so quickly, she thought he was going to lose his balance for a moment. Her blue eyes met violet as she watched his bruised and cut face crumple into an expression of pain. He took a breath to steady himself, but it didn’t appear to help much. 

“Vhenan.” Solas’s voice came out a broken whisper, as if he was giving name to a painful memory. His eyes took on a glassy sheen, and he looked so vulnerable as he began to take a shaky step towards her before stopping himself.

“You think you’ve gone too far to come back,” Alyss took several slow, measured steps towards him as she spoke softly, “But you’re wrong.”

He turned his face away from her, staring down at his feet and then closing his eyes, as if trying to block out the sound of her voice. She did not stop.

“I am here, walking the Dinan’shiral with you.” Her voice quivered slightly with the last two words. She couldn’t break now, she had to get through to him right here, at this moment. She owed him that much.

“I… lied.” Solas’s response came out husky and quiet, sounding like each word was painful to speak. He turned his face slightly to look at her, “I betrayed you.” Voice breaking then, Solas turned to hide his face again. 

He’s ashamed. The thought made her heart and spirit ache on his behalf. He held so much pain, so much blame and regret, too much, for a single man. “I forgive you!” Alyss’s voice rang out loudly, even against the rushing sound of the wind and the crackling of the breach. “All you have to do is stop, Solas!”

When Solas turned to face her again, his back was straighter and his face had returned to his impassive mask. Her heart squeezed at the sight. “Ir abelas, vhenan.” Even now, he spoke the word with reverence. Her love turned from her before speaking again, “I cannot.”

His voice regained some strength as he desperately tried to make her understand. “Before we met, I failed my oldest friend. She died for that failure. If I leave the Veil in place, I am destroying any hope for the world she wanted. And I will have-” Solas broke off for a pause, “She will have died for nothing.”

Alyss’s expression darkened. She remembered vividly the conversation she had with Morrigan just before this final push had begun.

“He is trapped by his unwavering loyalty to Mythal. A version of her that has not existed for many thousands of years to be precise. Fen’Harel blames himself for not only her death, but for the great horrors they committed together, with him following her orders, even as painful and against his nature they were. He believes his “abandoning” her is what led to the other Evanuris being able to trick and ultimately kill her. Everything he has done since then, the rebellion, the imprisonment of the Evanuris, the creation of the Veil, giving the orb to Corypheus, all of this he did in order to make it right. Solas believes the only way for him to atone, is to create the world Mythal always longed for.”

“If you are to convince him to stop, you must show him the flaws in his logic. Mythal was not a perfect being. Everyone, the first elves especially, we exist mostly in a state of grey. We can be selfish, we sometimes take from others what we want for ourselves, and we instinctively protect only who and what we value. That is the reality of existing on the mortal plane. Here, no one is just one thing, No living being among us exists for only one purpose anymore, not him, and not Mythal, all those years ago, either.”

“You, Alyss, must remind him that he is not the villain in her story, or in the history of our world. What evil he did, they did together. She decided her fate, even if his finally walking away from her allowed it to happen more quickly. Remind him that Mythal was not an all-knowing, purely benevolent force after she took on her physical form. She was flawed, she contained darkness as well as light. What she wanted then, not only does not matter now, but is not even an accurate reflection of what she would want if she were alive now.”

“Solas must let go of his past, of his deepest regret. And he must be reminded that even in the deepest darkness, we mortals seem to always be able to find the light.”

Alyss had been angry at first, before realizing that anger and regret were exactly the problem. What had happened, had happened. All that mattered was now. So, she pulled the small statue of Mythal that contained the other soul fragment of the slain goddess. Morrigan had given it to her before she broke off from the group to find Solas and Rook. The woman who had become her friend over the last ten years had leveled her with a serious look as she pressed it into her palm. 

“I trust that you will know what to do with it, when the time is right. Now, I need you to trust yourself, Alyss Lavellan.” She could still feel the weight of Morrigan’s words as she walked up to where Solas stood. She surprised herself when she reached out and grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to turn and look her in the face.

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

Solas

When he felt her grab his shoulder and pulled him to look at her, his resolve nearly shattered then. Alyss was just as beautiful as he remembered her, even though he had not seen her in eight years. Her red hair still glinted like fire in the light, and his hand itched to brush aside the few strands that had come loose from her hair tie and fallen around her face. Her big blue eyes held what appeared to be every emotion he could name, and many more he could not. She was like no one he had ever met or thought to meet before, and she had captured his attention and later, his heart, all too easily. 

But it was not to be. He had his duty, and he couldn’t let anything stop him from completing the promise he had made to a dead Mythal so so long ago. Yet, he so badly wanted to. Solas wanted nothing more than to forget about everything he had seen, done, and lived before her. He wanted to simply be the man he had become during his time with the Inquisition, the man he had become with her. He found himself nearly sobbing as she now stood before him again, after all these years, still trying to save him, even after everything. 

Alyss began to speak then, her voice just as enrapturing as it had been the first time he had heard it. “Solas, I know. I know why you’re doing this, why you feel like you have to.” He opened his mouth to deny her, to tell her she could not possibly fathom the depths of his regret, when she stopped him with her next words.

“I know about Mythal, Solas.” 

Solas flinched back as if she had struck him, but she took a step forward again and placed her hand on his arm before she continued to break his meticulously built walls down after all this time.

“I know what you did, what she asked you to do. I know that you blame yourself for her death at the hands of the other Evanuris after you walked away, and I know that she is the reason you are still chasing this mad dream after so many years.” She paused, seeming to take in his stiffened form and terrified expression. Alyss then surprised him again, as she did every time he saw her or listened to her speak.

“But Solas, it wasn’t your fault she was killed. Mythal made her own choices, some of them flawed, of her own free will. To take a physical form, to walk this plane, you expose yourself to more than your own purpose.” She smiled at him and her words seemed to echo in his mind even as she continued.

“Mythal was no more pure when she was killed than you are now, standing before me. She gave up being pure benevolence or justice when she used the blood of the Titan’s to walk among them. She acted the way mortals do, because being mortal means having to sort through every part of yourself to find an answer. We fear, we hate, we love, we conquer, mortals living here with physical forms are much more emotionally complex than spirits, it’s why we are so flawed.”

“Yet, we hope for a better day in the midst of a storm, and we love even when we know it will bring pain. It’s what it means to be alive in this world, and so so many of us are happy to be alive here, Solas.”

Her mouth twisted, and her eyes turned desperate as she looked at him. Alyss brought her right hand from behind her back, and Solas let out a sharp exhale. In her hand was a small, blue statuette of Mythal, and he could immediately tell it held a small fragment of her soul within it. Solas expected to be happy at the sight, a piece of his oldest friend right in front of him, but instead, he felt a pang of fear and resentment. Shocked, he felt the pieces begin to come together in his mind. He had been chasing a ghost, a Mythal that had not existed since the day she had asked him, begged him to take a physical form with her. Mythal had not been the friend he cherished for a long time, even before she was killed at the hands of the others.

“This is a fragment of Mythal that Rook discovered in the Crossroads. I, I think it’s time we allow her to rest, to have the opportunity to be reborn anew, just like your friend, all those years ago.”

A choked sob left Solas’s chest before he could stop it. She was right. Alyss had always been right. He had denied her, lied to her, betrayed her trust, hurt her, and run from her, and yet, here she was, standing with him on the hardest day of his long, long life. Shaking, Solas raised his hand and placed it above Alyss’s on the statuette. Meeting her eyes, he simply nodded, and without hesitation, she threw it to the ground on behalf of both of them.

Solas heard Rook gasp from behind him as white/blue light exploded from the statuette as it shattered into small pieces. The light seemed to swirl in the air for a moment, manifesting as a sort of cloud. It hung above he and Alyss for a moment, before he felt her consciousness brush against his own for a fraction of a second. Gratitude. That was the feeling Mythal conveyed to him before she moved on, back to the Fade, to become something new. The remaining blue glass-like shards turned to dust and blew away in the still intense wind that gusted around them.

Solas finally gathered the courage to look at Alyss again, and fell to his knees at the look in her eyes. Love. Unconditional love shone brightly from her beautiful eyes.

Her hand came down to cup his battered face, and then she knelt as well. Both of them now on their knees, she rubbed her thumb gently over his cheekbone, and he couldn’t help but lean into her touch.

“Banal nadas, ar lath ma Vhenan.” “There is no fate, but the love we share, my heart.”

Her voice was soft and layered with so many things they left unsaid. More quiet sobs wrenched themselves from his chest, but the deep ache he had been carrying for so many years seemed… lighter. Solas brought his hand up to cover the one Alyss had placed on his cheek and held it for a moment before he climbed to his feet and pulled her with him. 

Taking a deep breath, Solas looked from Alyss’s face to Rook, who stood exactly where she had been the entire time. The young warden had an unreadable expression on her face, but it soon lit up when she saw him raise the dagger to his own hand.

“Wait,” Alyss stopped him with a hand on his wrist, “It won’t work unless you use the real one.” She reached behind her and pulled what he now realized to be his actual dagger from her waistband. 

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

Rook

All Rook could think as she watched the Inquisitor pull the real dagger from her own waistband was that this woman was her hero. She had no idea how or when Inquisitor Lavellan had taken it from her, nor did Rook have any idea as to how she had the statuette of Mythal. The warden found that she did not care about either of those things at the moment though. 

Rook nearly took an involuntary step back when Solas turned to face her after gaping at the fake dagger in his hand, but controlled herself enough to remain planted where she was. For a moment, they just stared at each other, and Rook wondered if he was about to kill her where she stood. His face wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t really anything, so she remained wary. 

Her whole world seemed to tilt on its axis then, as Solas threw his head back and laughed. Rook couldn’t help but stare in mute shock as the Dread Wolf’s shoulders shook, and he soon doubled over with the force of his laughter. Looking up, Rook shot the Inquisitor a wild look that said, What in the actual fuck is happening right now??, and to her mounting disbelief, the Inquisitor simply gave her a crooked half smile before chuckling herself.

I am dead. Rook decided, unable to fathom the scene in front of her, Elgar’nan killed me, and this is some weird afterlife vision created from my clearly broken mind.

Finally Solas’s laughter ceased and he stood to his full height to address her. “Rook, you, you would’ve beaten me fairly, with wits alone.” 

Rook’s eyebrows shot to her hairline and she stared at him, not entirely sure what he was going on about.

“This dagger,” he waved the fake in the air before tossing it to her. She caught it in her left hand and looked back at him. “I believed it to be the real one.” Solas’s admission stunned Rook, but she held back her reaction to let him continue.

“You could’ve just let me attempt to use it on the Veil and overpowered me in my resulting stupor. It would have been easy for you to cut me with the true one, which I’m certain you had in your possession until very recently,” Solas shot a glance at Lavellan who grinned innocently at him from where she stood just behind him, “ and used my blood to bind me to the Veil before casting me off to rot.” He shook his head then, “I would have deserved it, after everything I’ve done. Especially after the things I did to you.” 

Solas then brought his head up again, and looked Rook deep in her eyes, “I am, so sorry for what I did to you Rook. And… for what I did to Varric, who clearly meant a lot to you.”

Rook stiffened, a swirling mass of emotion coming to rest at the base of her throat. She believed him. After everything, he had this look in his eye, one that she felt she could trace back deeply into his soul. Solas was truly sorry for hurting her. So, Rook nodded at him. The gesture communicated what she needed it to: She forgave him.

Solas’s eyes filled with gratitude, and he bowed his head to her, going to stand before the Inquisitor again. When he stood in front of her though, Fen’Harel, god of lies, treachery, and rebellion (depending on the story), said to her: “Thank you, Rook. For giving me one last chance, even when I didn’t deserve one and you had no reason to give me one.”

Rook felt her own eyes fill with tears as they start to run down her dirty face. I see him, Varric. Rook thought as she watched Solas use the real dagger to slice deeply into the palm of his hand, sealing his fate at last. I see your friend. I’m glad neither of us gave up on him. 

“My life force now sustains the Veil.” Solas spoke loudly enough for Rook and the growing crowd of straggling allies behind her to hear. 

Rook jumped slightly when she felt a hand on her shoulder, but quickly relaxed when she recognized Lucanis’s gloves. She leaned back into his warm body, letting him keep her upright as they watched Solas.

“With every breath I take, I shall protect the innocent from my past failures.” Solas looked to Rook now when he spoke again, “The Titans dreams are mad from their imprisonment. I cannot kill the blight, but I can help soothe its anger.” 

Rook felt her eyes go wide. Soothe… the blight? Could he? And if he could… would that mean the end of the Blights as she and the other wardens knew them?

Then, he tossed the real dagger to her. Before she could force her exhausted body to fumble and grab it out of the air, a hand shot out from behind her and snatched it from the air. Lucanis then placed the dagger into her hand, and grinned at her stunned expression. “For you.” He said, his tone and accent somehow making the words sound formal. Rook giggled at his proud look and relished the feeling of his arms around her when he returned to his stance behind her. Lucanis placed his chin on her shoulder as they both turned their attention back to the Dread Wolf and the Inquisitor.

“I shall go seek atonement.” Solas spoke the words firmly, with his chin held high, and turned to face a new rift that had appeared just above where he and Lavellan stood.

“But you do not have to go alone.” The Inquisitor’s voice made him pause, and Rook watched as Solas slowly turned to look at her. There was pain in his eyes as he seemed to take her in for a moment.

As Lavellan moved to stand before him, she grasped both of his hands with her own. Solas closed his speaking softer now, “Ar ghilas vir banal.”

Rook’s heart clenched in her chest, the place I am going is terrible. A rough translation, but any translations of elvhen tended to be rough.

“Tel banal ara'ma vir shiral ma'lasa belanaras.” 

“It won't be terrible if you're with me. We make this journey together, always.”

Solas’s eyes went wide and Rook watched as several tears made their way down Solas’s face. He was looking at the Inquisitor with more tenderness than Rook thought possible for someone such as him, but he had proved her wrong this time.

With that Solas, Fen’Harel, The Dread Wolf, Spirit of Wisdom, turned to face the tear in front of him. Inquisitor Lavellan stood just behind him, placing a hand in his and her other on his shoulder. She turned to face Rook one last time.

“Morrigan has letters I wrote in her possession,” Lavellan paused, “Please make sure they find their recipients. I…I need to know that they made it to the ones I love. I hate to ask more of you, but, will you promise me to take care of this, Rook?”

“I will.” Rook said, her voice wavering slightly as she swallowed down more of her tears. “I will take them myself.”

“Thank you, Rook.” The Inquisitor said softly. A beat passed, “And, tell Dorian I’m sorry. But this is my path, and I’m finally choosing it for myself.”

With that, the two of them stepped into the Veil tear.

Bright light flashed all around her as Rook watched every rift seal itself. The breach was the last to go, but it too, snapped shut with a final burst of light that illuminated all of Minrathous below. 

Then, it was silent. Rook could hear the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she stood frozen for several moments. Lucanis’s arms tightened around her and she sagged into him. Voices began filling the night all around her, but all Rook could feel was overwhelming exhaustion and sorrow. As much as they had won tonight, too much was lost. 

Davrin leaned down next to them and said something to Lucanis. Rook couldn’t make out every word, but she heard enough to fill her with relief. Everyone made it. The Veilguard had triumphed in the bitter end. Rook closed her eyes. Everything was too much, too loud. She was in pain and had too many thoughts in her head and feelings in her chest. Panic started to tug at the edges of her fragmented thoughts and she stiffened.

Lucanis murmured something in her ear that she couldn’t comprehend in her current state, and then she was being lifted off of the ground. She curled herself into Lucanis’s chest and let the gentle swaying of his gait calm her racing mind. Rook laid her head against his chest, and let the strong beat of his heart set the pace as she forced her own to slow.

It was going to be okay. They were going to be okay. Their enemies were defeated, the world was saved, and Rook was safe in the arms (and wings) of the man she loved more than anything. 

The End

Part 12 Part 11 Part 10 Part 9

Part 8 Part 7 Part 6 Part 5

Part 4 Part 3 Part 2 Part 1

DATV MasterList

[dreadfutures]

hello hi hello can I please have the directors' cut on Chrysalid mayhaps? 🥺👉👈

Fic: [Chrysalid]

Rating: G | Pairing: Cillian, Cillian & Solas | Multichap: 9/9

Cillian, once the First of Clan Ralaferin, set out to find ancient knowledge of the elven people. He discovered the path of the Arcane Warrior by meditating for many years in an ancient ruin; when the Breach appeared in the sky, he felt called to lend his skills to the fledgling Inquisition. That's all we know of his path, as a background NPC in Dragon Age: Inquisition, who appears solely in a war table mission and in the Multiplayer addition.

But how did he really get trained as an Arcane Warrior?

Honestly. This was Divine Inspiration at its finest. It was summer; I was missing my college town, where monarch butterflies go as a colony on their migration, stopping there to rest. I kept seeing a few of them flying by my current location on their way south. And I had the whimsical thought: isn't that magical?

I thought about how the inner sea region around Val Royeaux/western Orlais gives me California vibes, and the further south you go, the closer you get to the warm, nearly tropical Arbor Wilds. And I thought: sure, butterflies would work. But what do they lead to?

It was the Arlathan Exchange, and I had also been playing a lot of Multiplayer recently, and we were discussing Cillian one day and I said OH.

And the whole story just appeared.

It's my belief that "meditating in ruins" is either code for: Cillian read Elvhen writing and learned Arcane Warrior spec that way, OR, he communed with Spirits either directly, or by watching them reenact memories in the Fade. And honestly, teaching yourself to read a dead language with hardly a cypher to go off of, in a ruin, and teaching yourself this dead, historical martial-and-magical art that is like NOTHING ELSE IN EXISTENCE, seemed way more farfetched than "he found a cool Spirit."

@rosella-writes had just written a drabble of Valor, an ancient contemporary of Solas (Pride), being slain in a combat between Champions for the Evanuris. The way Rosella described Valor's body falling and lying in the center of the arena, dying, made me think: this must be immortalized, this must have left a scar, the very earth would remember, if not the denizens of the Fade.

Rosella and I have also often discussed how "pieces" of Valor might be left over, fragmented, and need to get pieced together again. How Solas might search for Valor after he awakens from uthenera, how he might miss her. So I figured, hey, I could leave a piece of Valor to be found.

Cuz boy, a spirit of Valor sure seems like a great teacher for this magical combat specialization!

Then it was just a matter of sprinkling in the luscious visuals in my mind, of giant hosts of butterflies and ghibli forests, of ruins that might be found in The Fall (2006), and of a magical circle of life and death worthy of Guillermo del Toro. Bring Valor back to life just as Cillian pieces together what the ruined temple is, and then handwave the fact that Valor teaches him as a ways to recover her own memories.

:)

[sea-side-scribbles]

Solas wakes up in the strange new world of his own making and it terrifies him. Frail and confused, he has to learn everything from scratch again. The more he learns, the more the world looks like a nightmare.

When he joins the Inquisition, he figures he's still not strong enough to withstand everything this world throws at him.

In the end, he made too many promises and he can't keep them all.

But who said the Din'anshiral would be easy?

___________________________                                                       

Part 1 | Chapter 1- ? | Right after uthenera, Solas is found by a Dalish clan. This goes well until it doesn't.

(Basically my excuse for world building and hilarious misunderstandings.)

Chapter 12

The bookshelf caught Solas' attention. After Temalas finally picked some and left, not without giving him one last suspicious look, he inspected the books himself. Curiously, he traced the leather spines with his finger. Some had titles debossed in them. It was when he saw written Trade for the first time after his awakening. He must've learned it in his sleep, because he could read the odd letters. All those hard edges, triangles and squares, as if they were originally carved into stone. A very straightforward and unadorned language.

This library seemed to be a collection of magical advise, historical essays and legends. However, an untitled book caught his eye. It was the most worn-out, with it's spine cocked and the leather bleached by the sun. It must've been written in older times. And indeed, as he opened it, it revealed the familiar, curved writing. Excited about his find, he hurried back to his blanket to read. But then he had to look twice.

Just as everything else in this world, the letters were silent, a mere imitation of what they should be. Just how one would paint a blue circle on a map to symbolize a lake. Solas had to study every single letter to suggest it's meaning. The result became something like “The sovereign and noble city of Halamshiral.” That or “Complimentary and elaborate equipment for desertion”. The former would make more sense, even thought the author would have forgotten to mark the name of the city as such. Solas felt lucky to know about Halamshiral, otherwise he would've been lost.

He shook his head at this. Perhaps it was a student's work. From one of the apprentices. When he turned the page, he was confronted with more silent letters. Sighing deeply, he began the tiring procedure of deciphering letter after letter, without the necessary markings or knowledge of context and he felt that even the grammar was off. After a while, he wished he could make notes. Wiping his brow, he glanced back at the shelf to find scrolls and a quill somewhere. Instead, his eyes fell on the silhouette of the First, who leaned against the wall and watched him.

A stone sunk in Solas' stomach. Yet he tried to keep his expression unbothered. Temalas eyed him a painful moment, before he said: “Find anything interesting?” Solas wondered how long he's been watching him. Judging by his look he knew what he appeared to read. The forgotten language.

“I suppose. The letters look fascinating”, he said in the most naïve tone he could manage. Offering the book to the First, he asked: “Can you read this?” Temalas didn't move. “Can't you?” Solas made an effort to look puzzled. “No...” It was even true. Solas realized it now. He wouldn't decipher this without help. This book was written by an unknown elvhen civilisation he would never meet. It was lost forever. Just like his own. He looked back at the page, not noticing how his face fell and his ears lowered.

Now Temalas was puzzled. He had been so certain he caught Revanas reading, but now he looked at the saddest elf in Thedas. Did he really just stare at the letters all this time? “But...what were you doing?” Solas mindlessly turned more pages and stopped at an illustration of an elven warrior wielding a sword. “I...I just find it interesting.” He stuttered looking back at Temalas. “Is it forbidden? Did I cross a line?” Revanas looked really worried. Temalas wished to drop it, tell him all was fine. But a nagging feeling didn't leave him.

He approached Revanas to hold out his hand and the elf gave him the book without hesitation. Then he eyed the open pages. “We agreed to not keep secrets”, he reminded Revanas. “If you're able to read this, you have to tell me why.” He could've been taught by another Keeper. He could've been abandoned by another clan. The sudden thought bubbled up in him. But that couldn't be, he forced the bubble back down. There were no other clans here. They would've met them by now.

“But Temalas, I can't...”, Revanas gave him another innocent look. The First wanted to believe him. It was all too ridiculous and he had no proof for his accusations. Still, he thought of telling the Keeper. “Do you?”, the elf went on, now begging with his eyes. “Would you read it to me? Please? If this is our history? Is this an Emerald Knight?” Temalas' wish grew even stronger. He could imagine sharing this with Revanas. Teaching him. So he closed the book and said: “I'll have to ask Keeper Avishalan about it. I'm sure she'd be more willing to agree if you behaved today.” Revanas gave him an eager promise. Putting the book back, Temalas hoped this was settled.

Later, he watched Revanas' training for a while. Him and Avishalan used that peculiar spot again, the one all the other elves shunned. He didn't mean to question his Keeper's judgement, but he wondered if it was wise to stir the veil especially there. The question pressed him so much, he approached Avishalan when she paused the training.

“I'm sorry, Keeper, may I have a word with you? It's about Revanas.” Avishalan seemed about to roll her eyes. “If you're still mad at him, you better talk to him instead.” “No, it's not that. I'm just wondering about his magic. It only works where the veil is thin, where he met the spirit. Is he a...Dinathe'dirthelan?” “I don't think so”, she said so firmly there was no questioning. “But he's indeed curious. How the fade bends for him. I doubt he's merely an elemental mage.” Temalas considered his next question. “You wonder if he's dangerous”, she guessed his thoughts. “Every mage is dangerous, you know that.” “Yes, but he...he has so much power and he knows so little.” “He has less time to learn than a da'len, that is true. But he's making progress. Besides, he doesn't have much power anywhere else in the camp. What he needs the most is for us to not abandon him.”

The notion reminded him of his suspicion. “I made a strange observation today. I thought I saw him read ancient elvhen language. He had this book about Halamshiral on his lap and...But the only way he could've learned it is from another Keeper. A Tevinter slave wouldn't know this.” Now he knew why he told her. He wanted her to soothe him, to laugh at his foolishness. To explain why he could forget about it. “Did he confirm he was reading?” “No, he asked me to read it to him.” “I think that settles it, then.” She gave him an expectant look, but her short answer left him unsatisfied.

“Forgive he, Keeper, but I know there's something you're not telling me. It must be something the creators revealed to you at the joining. You decided Revanas was innocent already before the gathering.” “You will make a good Keeper, Temalas. Dirthamen guides you well.”, she said with a smile. “I will tell you that much: in the play, Sylaise defeated the Dread Wolf and brought him to Elgar'nan for judgement. It was the first time we heard that tale, right?” Temalas nodded, pondering. “Now defeating the Dread Wolf – what would you think it means?” “I...I guess it's a good sign?” “I'd say so, too.” Temalas had to keep it at that.

Later again, he was very surprised to see Revanas, who was supposed to rest in his aravel, in a loud quarrel with Miadahl. He held a bow and stood where his odd magic was the most powerful. Temalas himself was upset when he approached them. “What's going on?” “Oh, you're finally here! Shouldn't you be watching him?”, Miadahl spoke first. “He's already causing chaos.” “I am not causing chaos, I'm practising”, Revanas snapped back. “With a stolen bow? Shouldn't he use a staff instead? Is this part of his training?” “It's not stolen! It lay there on the table and nobody used it.” Revanas pointed at a place nearby. “That doesn't mean it's yours to take!” Miadahl came closer. “Saw something else – lying there?” “What else?” “Empty your pockets!” “You take me for a thief?” Without answering, Miadahl sunk one hand into his pockets and with the other he fought off the protesting elf.

Temalas pulled them apart. “Calm down, you two!” He didn't say that Revanas could burst out in unwanted magic any second. “There's no need to get violent.” Miadahl crossed his arms. “Search. His. Pockets.” “Revanas”, the First said sternly. “I have to do this for your own sake.” The elf huffed but lifted his arms, allowing Temalas to search him. Stepping back again, he went on: “Alright, Miadahl, he's not a thief. Now what's with the bow?”

Solas turned it in his hands. It had runes carved into it's surface. He would have inspected them if he had the time. If he didn't have to think about getting himself out of this situation. “It lay here on the table”, he repeated. “I..I guess I should've asked someone about it but there was nobody in sight, so I thought I'd try it out and then put it back.” “If your eyesight is that bad, it explains your aim”, the hunter sneered. “Miadahl, this is uncalled for”, Temalas shut him off. “Revanas,...just why? Why does it matter to you?” “Is this not part of my training?”, he asked carefully. Now Temalas pitied him. Nobody had explained this to him yet. “No, not anymore. You're not allowed to carry weapons yet. Give me that.” He held out a hand.

“Aww, that's too bad. Now I'll continue to do it wrong”, Miadahl cooed. At Temalas puzzled look, he explained: “He said he'd show me how to do it right. Good old Revanas is a master hunter in his own way.” “I didn't...I'm not...”, Solas stuttered, inwardly cursing himself. He should've never let that slip. He took a deep breath and said: “I take it back. And I apologize for my behaviour.” “Do your demon friends like your archery?” Miadahl wasn't done. Solas only shook his head. “So they have more common sense than you.”

Temalas put a hand on the hunter's shoulder. “Leave him alone. He didn't hurt anyone.” “Not yet.” More confidentially, he added: “He's trouble, Temmy. He's too far gone. He cares more about demons than elves and he doesn't believe in the creators.” “You don't know that.” “Everyone knows that. He never said a prayer. Made the da'lens ask questions. Put weird ideas into their heads.” Solas gulped. He had been more open to the children since they weren't branded yet. And it would've hurt to tell them lies. They resembled spirits so much. Temalas didn't answer to that. He only left the conversation with a short goodbye, dragging the unruly apprentice with him after putting back the bow.

“What did you mean when you said he's doing it wrong?”, he asked when they were out of earshot. “I...Nothing, really. He made me angry with his accusations and he made fun of me...I just wanted to say something back to shut him up. I didn't think about it.” He gave him a begging look. “I didn't mean to cause any trouble.” Temalas pondered. “Why did you try it especially there, where you can do magic?” “It wasn't about magic....” Solas thought frantically. “It's just...Everything works better there! So why not this? Don't you feel it too?” “No. Not the same way you do.” “What does that mean?” Revanas sounded meeker now.

Temalas fell silent for a while, before he decided: “You will be punished for this.” The other elf visibly winced. “What will you do to me?”, he asked quietly. “You will pray.” “Pray?” “Exactly.” Revanas furrowed his brows. “For mercy?” Temalas huffed. “No, silly. To the creators.” “Ah...You mean all of them?” “Yes.” “The Dread Wolf too?” “Well, you've already paid respect to him, of all the gods. So I count him out.”

He chose a spot where they would be alone and sat cross-legged in the grass with the nervous elf. He began with a prayer to Elgar'nan. Temalas recited it and then asked Revanas to repeat:

“Elgar’nan, sou’nin i tarasyl’lahn. Sul’ama em’an leanathe...“

It went very slowly. Revanas struggled so much with the unknown words that he created inappropriate new phrases. Temalas also realized something else that made him pause. “You are afraid of the gods”, he stated. “It is a scary image, isn't it?”, Revanas pressed out with a forced smile. “They watch us all the time, they know everything about us. All we have comes from them and when they're gone, we're lost.” Temalas' suddenly thought he found the issue. His eyes widened. “Do they sound like masters to you?” “Yes, exactly!” He didn't know how thankful Solas was for the comparison.

“There's a difference, Revanas. Our gods are protectors, not bloodthirsty oppressors. They are well-meaning and generous and they want us to life a fulfilled life.” “Don't they punish us when we disobey? And they mark us and bind us to them. Isn't that what a master would do?” “It's not like we're possessed. We still have control over our life and bodies. The guidance of the creators is gentle and subtle.” “If you were possessed, you wouldn't know.” Temalas sighed deeply. “I hope you didn't give the poor da'lens such nightmares.” “I didn't.”

The First eyed him. His opinion was already staggering again. Perhaps the slave theory was right after all. Perhaps Revanas was so used to masters that he saw them everywhere, even in the creators. Perhaps that was why spirits have been his only friends his entire life.

Revanas seemed to worry about his reaction. He studied his features closely. Taking a deep breath, Temalas just said: “Continue.” He hoped the strange elf would one day feel comfort thinking of the creators.

He didn't notice how every word of the prayer burned on Solas' tongue.

Notes:

“Dinathe'dirthelan”: Necromancer “Elgar’nan, sou’nin i tarasyl’lahn. Sul’ama em’an leanathe.” : Elgar'nan, Wrath and Thunder, Give us glory.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

Like Teeth Against His Heart

Solavellan prose-poem, originally written for the Solamancy charity zine @solamancyzine

Summary: After Solas wakes up, he has many conversations with a variety of spirits. Sometimes they tell him what he wants to hear, and sometimes they don't. Mood: Contemplative/angsty. 1800 words

On AO3 here

NOTE: The formatting cannot be input as intended into tumblr (no right-align option). For optimal viewing please read on AO3 or in the Solamancy zine.  

_________________________________________________________

              Pride drags him from the quiescent depths of Uthenera.

                     Awaken, pretender.                                 Your seeking to prevent one future                                 annihilated the civilization you aimed to save.                                 Any left now know you as you are:                                 Disgrace inherent in the falsehood of your name.           

                     Restore the world, or it will all have been for naught.                                 Right this, or your legacy ends at genocide.           

i.

Solas is dreaming. He is dreaming because the world he awoke within cannot be real, cannot be the finality of a lifetime of suffering and rebellion and desperation. He is dreaming because the cold sensation of dread that sinks like teeth into his heart would paralyze him otherwise, with the knowledge of what he has done. What he has destroyed. So he sleepwalks his way across the land, searching for a way out he is becoming increasingly sure does not exist.

              Regret comes to him, and says:

                   The ache within you sings a hole into the world.                               We can only brush against the edges of your grief.                               Lie still. Tell us of the past. Let yourself weep.           

        Solas says: Forgive me.         All of this is my doing.         Forgive me.

 ii.

The Fade-scorched prisoner lies frail and pallid beneath Solas’ hands, the stillness of the crypt settling over her like a shroud. He steadies her spirit from both sides of the Veil as it tries to flee the battered ruin her body has become, while the shards of his Orb — the shameful remnants of his last desperate grasp for power — work to shred her being from within her flesh.

The humans allow him, an apparent apostate nobody — an elf — to heal their only living witness to this disaster because they are too desperate to ask the questions they should. Their eyes slide off him with the vague dismissal they default to for his people, in this fractured timeline. The ignominy of their disregard is necessary. It fills him with sorrow. It fills him with rage. He forces the anchor into stillness the same way he forces down the hammering of his heart, beating like a war-drum against his breast.

                   What will you do now?           

             Curiosity asks,              as they both watch the faint rise of her chest;              the way her breath stutters with each exhale. 

                   What will you do when the world ends again?           

       I will wait, he says.        I will wait and see.

iii.

He didn’t expect to like them, this stumbling crowd claiming itself an Inquisition. He didn’t think the easy camaraderie would ache so sharply, the smiles and conversations blurring together in this fragment of a future he must condemn. The Inquisitor is lively and vibrant against the severity of the spring snow, a magnetic hum that is more than the flicker of the anchor. A Dalish elf who listens so intently to the skeletons of his stories, the half-lies he shares of the world that once was. Listens — and asks for more.

Wisdom’s friendship is older than he deserves, and its hands take his, almost, in the only space left they can share.

                  You make ghosts of your past.                              So much less than memory,                              these echoes you fear to feel.                              You tell yourself distance is better,                              a focus beyond the great swelling of grief                              that rises like a tide beneath your skin.           

                  Yet — I can feel the thrum inside your chest,                              reverberation of heartstrings taut as a bow.                              She holds the last shreds of hope beneath her skin;                              you think of her as the jaws of a wolf                              waiting to close around you.             

        I cannot forget what I have done.         I cannot let this path continue.  

                   Is it such agony, to become a part of their reality?                               To learn the pyre you built                               could be for warmth, instead of sacrifice?                               You did shape this world.                               Choose to live in it.           

 iv.

He thought in dreams he would be stronger, but here in the domain of his shaping, self-restraint fails even faster. The cloak-shimmers of memory that disguise his careful constructed shell of a self are in tatters, his conviction abandoned from something so simple as her caress, as soft as sunlight. He stands in the Fade-ruins of Haven far longer than he should after Lavellan tumbles back to the waking world.

                    I can feel it, Hunger says.                                I feel the way you want it to swallow you whole,                                this longing. You could drown in it.           

       It is more complicated than that.

                    How long, how long,                                since someone touched you without malice?                                I could feel when it broke you. Not the kiss,                                but the tenderness behind it.                                You did not lose control, you                                abandoned it willingly. And why should you not?                                It is a delicious thing, to yearn so keenly.                                You remember her warmth. You remember                                the soft, sharp gasp when you held her,                                pulling her closer, not ending, not yet.             

                    Is it such a terrible burden — to want?           

             Solas says nothing, knowing Hunger can be just another name for Desire, in places such as these.

                 We are a reflection, Trickster,                             in this distorted mirror of a world.                             How could I resist such desperation?           

                 The cavern of your chest cannot be filled                             with the mourning you have chained there.                             You gorge yourself on sorrow,                  pouring the endless years                             into the cracks of your heart while the world yet turns,                             as though anything so far gone could offer                   absolution.           

                 The worst thing in the world is to be empty, after all.           

He opens his eyes to stone and plaster, and the shame that demands he hold himself separate from the shattered era he hovers at the edges of. Almost, he can still feel the press of her lips. Almost, the solemn gravity of this world releases its grasp.

 v.

The next time he meets Wisdom, it is too late. There is no time for debate; barely time to say goodbye. He sits for a long time, in the place he and the spirit used to share, watching the slow revolutions of the fog, the remnants of essence that will never be enough.

                    someday, something new,           

       Endure, he tells them.        Endure, so we may meet again.        Endure, so the next world I build holds you softly.

 vi.

Each time he goes to her he hesitates, despite the catch of his breath, the tidal wave of longing that surges through him at her touch. Despite how each time Lavellan reaches back he has failed to pull away. She has cracked his whole to pieces; rent the purpose from his being and embraced the jagged, broken thing she found inside as though it somehow brings her warmth, as though she doesn’t deserve more.

He could be happy. He could be safe. He could tell her, or not. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a century; maybe somehow he was wrong, and she isn’t cursed to fade to mist, and he could spend a thousand years by her side and finally be free of the weeping grasp of the past.

Maybe he could become someone else long enough to believe he could ever be forgiven for what he cost them.

                    I can hear it, Hope says,           

              as his heart thrums inside his chest.                                                        

       It is a distraction, Solas says.        It is more than I deserve.

                  There is no deliverance                              in the denial of self. Each moment passes                              and passes again, and again, and again.                              Tell me, fair wolf,                              have you not suffered enough?           

                 Let yourself be gentle.                             Let this world be your atonement, not your sin.                           The earth holds warmth through winter, however deep,                            and spring’s green shoots turn over the decayed past                            to reach the radiance of day.           

                We bury the dead not for their sake, but our own.           

 vii.

They are a tangled thing, this knot of hearts and chance intersections. His universe narrows to the circle of her embrace, and he pretends she could live within the future he must build. The leisurely lethality of the past falls closer and closer, and he closes his eyes against it.

              Solas kisses her, and Desire says:

                    Taste it, the deliciousness of the inevitable.           

His fingers twist into her hair and the morning light gleams against the starkness of the snow, his lungs crackling with each frigid breath as he lets the vividness of the now sweep everything else clear.

              Sloth says:

                    The easiest thing is to do nothing at all.           

Vhenan, he calls her, and that this oldest word has outlived so many forgotten is, perhaps, a testament to the world she insists to save. He follows her through brambles and battlefields, across the stained-parchment land he would forsake.

              Compassion says:

                    You seem happier this way.                                Brighter, both of you.           

His heart quivers and Lavellan is almost, almost enough to fill the chasm of it.

              In the Fade, Purpose follows him, its words sharp and mocking.

                  Have you truly forgotten all that you promised?                              You claim your cause righteousness yet cast it aside.                              You forsake your goal. You forget your people.           

       “Forgive me,” Solas breathes against her skin.        “For what?” she asks him, and he cannot reply, so he kisses her again instead, wrapping himself in her belief and the bittersweet haven of dreams.

              When they plummet through the rend in reality itself, each word Nightmare speaks is a maw opening wide to devour him:

                    Pride will be your doom.           

In the dark silences of her absence — when, despite how he attempts to ignore it, the fate of the world turns his heart to grief — he knows:

       No matter the decision,        the choosing costs everything.

 viii.

It ends in disaster, as all things do, the slow arrow of his mistakes finally plunging through him. Lavellan deserves more; her birthright is the future he unwittingly stole. So he holds her as his heart outside his chest and builds a wall between them, closing himself so that this time she cannot reach into the abyss within and call him back. He cannot accept the desolation of the world he would consign her to — a slaughter of the present as well as the past.

He is cold and still as winter, as the frost that chokes the last green life from the world.

       This is what it means to be alone, he thinks,

              and Despair whispers back:

                    Here is where the dread will overwhelm you.                                Here is where you build the end of the world.           

 ix.

When he leaves, he sheds the self he has built like a second skin. He has failed through subtlety and subterfuge, too long he has faltered at the edge of the things that must be done. He told himself for years he was simply a person: not a symbol, no longer a revolution. His hesitation has made him now into something harsher: a reckoning.

He re-shoulders the burden of the world, and begins the work.

       Endure, Fen’Harel tells himself:        This is what it means to be a god. _________________________________________________________ Thank you for reading! This work can also be found on AO3.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Tin Foil Hat Time!

So, earlier I had stated I was donning my tin foil hat? Well, I think it’s time to let that baby shine, so let’s get crinkling! I shall put it under the cut since I’m rambler! >:3

I had had these thoughts before, but I saw a post once upon a time that literally made the idea reemerge from the depths of my scattered little brain.

Basically that thought was: Is Solas a spirit that has taken a form much like Cole has, albeit in a completely different circumstance?

There are three things that make my mind whirl with this concept and has me going, “Wait, wait! That makes sense! Are they seriously--? Waaaait!” I’ll go down the line.

1. Solas’s intimate knowledge about the nature and purpose of spirits.

Obviously, Solas is an expert on matters of the Fade due to that fact that he created the whole realm in the first place. However, there’s something more..deep in the explanations he gives and how passionate he gets when spirits are looked down on or misconstrued. I mean, yes, in the time of Arlathan, spirits were part of the world and were common place, so it would stand to reason that most ancients elves were intimately tied to spirits. But Solas...it seems like more to me. He pinpoints the nature of a spirit almost immediately, he can sift through their cryptic meanings with relative ease (i.e. Cole), and the way he speaks at times is like he’s detecting the flow of person’s thoughts or emotions. He’s even, calm, thorough, and it’s how I imagine a spirit of Wisdom would speak. It’s a shame we didn’t get to hear much of his friend’s speech patterns because it would have been cool to compare.

2. How Solas often times consoles or relates with Cole.

Solas and Cole’s relationship has always been a point of fascination for me. I love listening to the dialogue between them and trying to piece it together without looking it up because it’s amazingly profound. I also have to ‘Awww..” when Solas actively tries to help Cole acclimate himself to the physical world such as this banter sequence:

Cole: It's brighter here. Glittering. Glaring. Glinting. I can't...

Solas: It's a mild tremor in the Veil. Nothing to worry about. Focus on what is here, in this world.

Cole: But... what is here?

Solas: Feel the ground, the breath in your lungs, fabric rustling against your skin.

Cole: (Breathes.) Thank you.

Solas: It's nothing. It can be overwhelming for anyone.

The way Solas guides Cole through this moment of panic and anxiety practically screams to me: “He can do this because he’s felt this sensation before.” It could be simply that after awakening from Uthenera that Solas had a similiar experience as the moments in which Cole feels overwhelmed, but the fact that Solas pinpoints the exact reasoning behind Cole’s discomfort is mind boggling to me. Again, it could be just that Solas can detect distortions in the Veil since he created it, and therefore, it’s practically his magic, but the speed at which he responds to Cole’s nervousness is immediate--subconscious. 

3. (This is the big one for me) Cole’s one line of dialogue in Trespasser.

"He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face."

This. This line had me going, “Wait. What?! Hold on, hold on! What?!” Let’s break it down.

He did not want a body. 

This could mean one of two things. First, it could simply be referring to the fact that Solas did not want to be awakened from Uthenera--that he wanted to continue to exploring the Fade and believing that what had transpired was but a dream to be reflected in it. OR it could mean he didn’t have a body to begin with--that he was a spirit that manifested, much like Cole, because something resonated with his purpose so much that he decided to form physically. What that purpose was or is, I’m not sure, but it has something to do with the next line:

But she asked him to come. 

Assuming that ‘she’ is Mythal then it would lead one to believe that she ‘summoned’ Solas for a specific reason. Was it for justice? Revenge, as Flemeth stated? Or was it simply to be bound? Because the next line:

He left a scar when he burned her off his face.

This I believe refers to the vallaslin. I don’t believe we know precisely if Solas himself had vallaslin, but this insinuates he may have and it might have been Mythal’s design, which again, points towards the last line that states Mythal asked Solas to ‘come’. Had she branded him once he took a solid form? What were her plans for him? Did she take advantage of his purpose, whatever that may be? Wisdom or his namesake: Pride?  Is it linked to what will happen in DA4 since we still aren’t sure what Mythal precisely wants? Is she using Solas for something darker or grander? 

Did she warp a spirit into perceiving themselves as elven to achieve something before she was murdered? 

I mean, if we really wanna jump down the rabbit hole I could ask: Is it possible that a person, a solid person, could be made into a spirit? If Solas isn’t a spirit, could he have been made into one or did he himself do so, like how Cole made himself human? 

Tin foil hat. Tin foil hat. Thank you for crinkling it with me. Again, I could be over analyzing the fuck out of this and misinterpreting a lot of shit, but there’s something going on and, of course, it’s all about Mythal. What the hell does she waaaaant?!

[segadoraa]

Blinded Part Two: Chapter Two

Read on A03. Part Two: Chapter One. Part One.

Summary: Solas awakens in a world unrecognizable. He meets with his council to discuss their next move and he considers his role in a world he did not expect.

Maps, books, and crumpled pieces of parchment littered the desk at which Solas had fallen asleep. He swept some of them to the floor as he arose, stretching. He hadn’t slept nearly as long as he had anticipated he would after tearing the Veil, but he was still regaining his strength and napped frequently. His own well-being had surprised him at first, but as he learned more about the state of the world, pieces started to fall into place.

As he suspected, the tearing of the Veil had a ripple effect across Thedas. Where the Veil was weak, hundreds of rifts formed which pulled spirits from the Fade and created demons in their wake. What he had not anticipated was the concentrated strength of the Veil in a few cities. Instead of the Veil disintegrating across the world, as he had intended, it had doubled back and with even more tenacity and settled in the cities where its concentration was strongest. The energy used to tear the Veil had rebounded and burned across the sky, decimating entire cities and destroying countless resources.

It was altogether both better and worse than he had expected.

While the partial survival of the Veil meant that Solas’s power had not overwhelmed him when it was torn, it also meant that the re-assimilation of elves and mages into the human world was more challenging than expected. A twinge of annoyance crossed his mind as he remembered the work that was to be done, but it was quickly gone. As a knock sounded at his door, he stood and turned his back to his desk, mainly to hide his yawn. Trying to shake the drowsiness from his mind, he clasped his hands behind his back and flexed his shoulders. As he heard the small room fill with footsteps, he turned again to face them and leaned over his desk. The members of his council shuffled as they regarded Solas and his room, unsure of where to start. Solas gazed at them impatiently, but when it seemed no one was willing to break the silence, he retreated from his desk and broke the silence.

“Well?” he asked, still mildly irritable after being woken. “I take it you have news.”

Varayla, his chief diplomat, spoke first after a furtive glance at the other two advisors.

“Sir,” she began in Elvhen, shaking her long white hair behind her, “our efforts to make contact with the humans have either been lost or ignored.”

As she spoke, her nose turned up and she poorly suppressed a grimace.

“If it is the latter, establishing a foothold where we mean to may be seen as an act of aggression. We could, no doubt, quash any resistance they put up, but if your goal of peace still remains, we may have to be more delicate.”

To Solas’s surprise, Varayla managed to refrain from rolling her eyes; instead she held his gaze with the full intensity of her pale gray eyes. She had been one of the first of the Elvhen that he had awoken from Uthenera. While the two had never quite gotten to the point of being friendly toward each other, they had established a mutual respect for each other’s strengths. She was curt, arrogant, and cold, but she was the best diplomat he knew and he needed her talents to establish his presence in the new world.

Xenyah, who had been leaning against the wall, snorted, bringing Solas’s focus back to the present.

“If peace is still the goal, you might want to alert the rest of the world. We’ve had to keep a league of bandits and Orlesian soldiers at bay just this afternoon.”

She strutted up to Solas’s desk as she spoke, lifting a leg to half-sit upon his desk. As she moved forward, Solas strode sideways a few steps and noticeably away from her perch on his desk.

“They don’t seem to respond to our warnings against their trespassing and they bring more and more weaponry with them each time. If it’s peace you want, perhaps we will try laying down our arms next time? I’m sure that will go over well.”

Solas clenched his jaw against Xenyah’s mocking tone, biting back his response. Waking her was a risk, one he believed was worth it. She had served under him when he and Mythal had plotted the revolution against the Enuvaris. They had worked well together—her ruthlessness and apathy balanced well against his empathy and restraint. In the end, they had both sought justice and had fought side by side. The physical relationship they had was no more than a pleasurable side benefit—a release for them both—at least he had thought. Since she had awakened, however, it seemed she bore some bitterness toward Solas for his disregard of her and the intimacy they had once shared. He regretted this; he knew the time that had passed since he had seen her last had passed in the blink of an eye for her. It would be disorienting for anyone to fall asleep feeling one way and wake up expected to feel differently. Hoping she just needed time, he tried to give her as much space as possible and politely ignored her overtly sexual advances.

He cleared his throat and paced, keeping his gaze away from his desk.

“Abelas? You’ve been quiet. What are your thoughts?”

The room looked to him, awaiting his response. Abelas frowned and opened his mouth, then closed it again. He took his time gathering his thoughts, then shifted his weight before speaking.

“The Orlesians do seem to be gathering what forces of theirs remain. Given that the Exalted Plains are in Orlesian territory, perhaps it would be wise to make peaceful contact before establishing anything too permanent. Our forces would overcome theirs, without doubt, but since you remain focused on peace, I do not see what other choice we have.”

He did not meet Solas’s eye as he spoke, rather, he frowned at the maps on his desk, then averted his gaze.

“Meanwhile, our own people remain displaced, living in tents at best, waiting for us to make a plan,” Varayla snapped. Solas somewhat hastily covered the paperwork on his desk as she spoke, nudging Xenyah off his desk.

“How long do you think they will wait?” she continued. “We’ve awakened as many as we can, but they have loved ones still asleep. We need to give them some sort of timeline, at least.”

“At the very least,” Xenyah added grumpily. “I’d say we need to show them that they woke up in this world for a reason. They’re sick of twiddling their thumbs.”

Solas pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting a headache.

“I’m aware of their desire to settle, but the situation here is delicate. These people have suffered greatly; I stand by my decision to pursue peace. Otherwise, we run the risk of losing even more people on both sides.”

“Both sides?” Xenyah stormed. “You’re still concerned about their well-being after everything they did to elves in their time? They made their choices, what do you care if they live or die?”

“Clearly, you’ve had the privilege of never having the fate of two worlds in your hands,” he snapped back moodily.

Xenyah opened her mouth to respond, but Solas held up his hand to stop her.

“Of course I am still responsible for our people and their fate, but do not blame me for considering this world as well. I’ve lived among the best of these people and their destruction is both my responsibility and my fault. Until you know that kind of responsibility, you will not question me again.” His voice was dangerously close to cracking, but his point struck home and Xenyah backed away like a child that had been reprimanded. His council stilled and looked at him in shock. He fought back the shame settling in his stomach. No matter what he did, waves of shame were always at bay. He felt like he was coming apart.

“Sir,” Abelas began quietly, “I’ll send a group of scouts to an Orlesian outpost with a message of our peaceful intentions and desire to negotiate with Empress Celine. Perhaps we could send them with a small caravan of supplies, as a gift of good will? If we desire peace, we need to approach them peacefully.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Varayla responded. “We have only ever responded to their scouts with armed forces. A gesture of good will could go a long way.”

Xenyah rolled her eyes, but Solas nodded.

“Very well,” he said curtly, still recovering from his outburst. “Make it happen.”

Xenyah stormed out of the room and the others turned to follow.

“Abelas?” Solas called after him. “A moment.”

[ladylike-foxes]

Abelas meeting Halesta

EEE!! Thank you, anon! I’ve been meaning to address this for awhile, actually! Some Abelas POV for @dadrunkwriting​ 

As you might already know/guess:

Vir'Abelasan - Way of the Well of SorrowsTelanadas - Nothing is inevitableTel'las Fen'Harel ma ghilana - Do not allow the Dread Wolf to guide you.

“There are other places, friend. Other duties. Your people yet linger.”

        The words held a second meaning. As familiar as the Elvhen had seemed in the Petitioner’s court, Abelas hadn’t recognized the man. Now he knew the one they called Pride. Initially it had appeared his companions had no inkling as to his actual identity, but now their leader, the small elven woman, was watching her friend with veiled distress.

“Elvhen such as you?” Abelas looked at him with a renewed perspective.

“Yes. Such as I.”

“You have shown respect to Mythal, and there is a righteousness in you I cannot deny,” He sighed, turning back to their apparent leader, “Is that your desire? To partake of the Vir'Abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?”

“I’d rather it had been left with you safely, unknown to my enemy. The memories of the People deserve more than to serve as an advantage in war…” She had looked away sadly, now her eyes met his, “I wouldn’t drink of the Well without your consent.”

“It is not a matter of consent. It is a matter of having earned the right,” She nodded in understanding, visibly wounded by his dismissal of her.

“And I haven’t earned that right.”

“It does not appear to be for me to decide. The Vir'Abelasan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend,” He had started away, but turning back, “Brave it if you must, but know this: You shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.”

“Bound to a goddess that no longer exists, if she ever did—” The Witch sneered again, but he interrupted her.

“Bound as we are bound. The choice is yours.”

“So she still lives,” The small one breathed, eyes searching his face.

“Anything is possible.”

“Elven legend states that Mythal was tricked by Fen'Harel and banished to the Beyond.”

“‘Elven’ legend is wrong—”

“Fen'Harel wasn’t involved in Mythal’s murder,” The small one cut in, waving her hand almost dismissively at the Witch; he looked at her with new eyes, nodding in confirmation.

“She was slain,” He looked at the Witch, “If a god truly can be. Betrayed by those who destroyed this temple. Yet, the Vir'Abelasan remains. As do we. That is something.”

“That is something,” The child was strangely emphatic, “Are you leaving?”

“Our duty ends. Why remain?”

“There is a place for you, Lethallin…if you seek it,” The one called Solas spoke up again, a masked invitation.

“Perhaps there are places the Shemlen have not touched. It may be that only Uthenera waits for us. The blissful sleep of eternity, never to awaken…. If fate is kind.”

“You could come with us,” The little one offered, brow furrowed with concern, “Corypheus has killed so many of your people. All of you that remain would be welcome.”

        As gentle and well-intentioned as the child was, and as unusual the blood beating in her veins, he felt the bitterness sharp on his tongue.

“We killed ourselves long ago.”“Malas amelin ne halam, Abelas.”

         He considered their Solas briefly before turning away, his words thick with implication. He must leave. The Well was no longer in his hands. He was nearly at the bottom of the stair when he felt the lightest grip on his arm. Recoiling, he looked to see the small one, having run after him, now apologetically withdrawing her hand.

“I know that you don’t see me as one of your People, but I see you as one of mine,” She looked up at him imploringly with wide lilac eyes. “I know that we are separated by centuries, the Veil, and the ignorance of my kin. That you see the world now as strange and twisted from what it once was, that its children are blind and foolish and unworthy of your interest or compassion—and maybe you’re right. "But I beg you, should the curiosity ever cross you, come to Tarasyl'an Te'las. If I survive Corypheus, I will be there. My deepest wish is only to learn. Perhaps you’ll see, as other Elvhen have, that we deserve a chance.”

“Halesta! Inquisitor!” The calls came from above, and she looked back to see the one called Solas watching from the landing.

“Vhenan, we are running out of time,” He called down to her.

        She looked back at Abelas, eyes emphatic and hand once more on his arm, squeezing gently.

“He will betray me, but— Please. Please remember: Telanadas. Tel'las Fen'Harel ma ghilana.”

        As she ran back up the stairs, he reeled at her words. Solas nodded at him once again as he led the small one back towards the Vir'Abelasan, and Abelas returned the gesture. As he fled, he dismissed the child’s words. Fen'Harel had called her Vhenan. Would he use a term so lightly, only to betray this one who seemed to know so much about the People?

        This replayed in his mind for months: her beseeching, the Dread Wolf’s offer. Slowly, be began to remember more oddities about the girl. Her golden Vallaslin, the lilac of her eyes. Her name, Halesta, fell from his lips more than once when he had thought back to that day. Thread of the Fox, Changer of Fate. When Fen'Harel found him again, he and his men had heard that Corypheus had been defeated, that the Guardian of Mythal had been summoned. He listened to the Dread Wolf’s plan, and along with the other remaining Sentinels, joined his army. He learned of the Wolf’s betrayal of his Vhenan. Still, the child’s words rang in his mind.

        Fen'Harel had appeared surprised when he asked to visit Tarasyl'an Te'las. Abelas withheld what she had said, but mentioned that she had invited him. The place was already crawling with the Wolf’s spies, what harm could it be to allow the Sentinel his curiosity? So, he had been sent with three others to visit Skyhold and see what closely guarded secrets he might uncovered. He couldn’t have anticipated the true character of this Halesta, even if Fen'Harel had bothered to warn him.

[buttsonthebeach]

prompt: the first time solas realized he -wanted- ellana

…..I hope you wanted an angsty prose-poem, anon….. because that’s where my brain finally went with this one. Whoops?

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Solavellan, Inquisition era, pre-relationship

Rating: Teen for a vague sexual reference

It was the simplest thing.

Ellana came out of her tent on the Storm Coast, slipped wordlessly past him, and went to the edge of the nearby cliff to greet the sun.

Solas had had the last watch of the night, and dawn was a dim smudge on the horizon. He was tired, and numb, and the Veil was an anvil on his chest, an insistent, mocking reminder of all his grand hopes, all his failures. He had not minded that she didn’t speak to him. He was too enveloped in the scent of wet dirt and seaspray and the ache behind his eyes that never seemed to dull. In the thought that perhaps it would have been better if he had simply never awakened from uthenera.

But his eyes were drawn to her where she stood on tiptoe and stretched up high and arched her back and in that moment all the air in the world rushed into his lungs. Just to see her, one with herself and the sky above her and the earth beneath her - to see how alive she was - to know that if he called her name now she would turn and smile at him - to see the narrow strip of brown skin peering out from beneath the hem of her tunic, the dimples at the base of her spine, the shadow of new hair curled around the sides of her head -

He wanted her.He wanted her in all the ways one person could want another.

He wanted to go to her and crush her to him and breathe in the smell of her skin.

He wanted to sit here forever and watch her be herself, with no thought for anything but the breeze coming off the waves.

He wanted to see her move beneath him, above him, to see her at her most bare and unraveled.

He wanted her like he wanted the air still filling his lungs to bursting.

He wanted to feel this alive forever.

She turned to him, and he had to bury that feeling deep before she walked back towards him. She could not know how she had broken him open, stripped him to the bones of his longing, without a single word. By simply existing between blue-black earth and gray morning sky.

He swallowed it down. His lungs shrank. She smiled at him. He managed a smile back. They began their day.

[wootensmith]

Crossing

“Do not forget the words, or you will find the Crossroads closed to you,” Solas warned. “Watch, listen, but don’t risk yourselves.” He paused, felt the heaviness of the reality of it all. “Ultimately, the Qunari’s plan is a small threat compared to what we soon face. But we cannot abandon our friends if we are able to aid them. Skyhold and Kirkwall will have many new faces— the Inquisition’s efforts are moving those who have escaped from Tevinter at a rapid pace, and it is easy for spies to slip in. Not just our own. Be vigilant. I will be waiting for word from you.” He let them go, the sea of faces winking out around him as they slipped from the Fade. Abelas, only, remained.

“They deserve to know the real reason this concerns you,” he said. “That is what I have given them. If the Qunari destroy the titan in southern Thedas, it might destabilize the entire continent.” “The same continent that will be consumed by Blight within a few years. Or war in less.” “The outcome is still uncertain. We may yet—” began Solas. “No,” said Abelas, “there is nothing uncertain about what happens when the Veil falls. Six centuries ago, perhaps we had some hope of altering it. Not any longer. What these Qunari do— what any kingdom does now, it is a shadow play. Short lived and pointless.” “Perhaps, but I have no wish to see people suffer, even in the short term. The Qunari will not hesitate to harm any who stand in their way or enslave those willing to submit.” “So it is with every war. This one would be no different, except for one variable. It does not threaten Arlathan. It will not touch our people or their work. How many conflicts have passed through Thedas since you entered uthenera? No mere political shift has roused you in a thousand years.” “I was wrong,” Solas admitted. “I thought they were— simple. That their wars were no more painful or meaningful than a pack of hounds scrabbling over a piece of meat. If I had understood, if I had not been such a fool—” he broke off, the bitterness of it creating ripples in the Fade. “I am awakened. And I cannot stand by and watch them suffer.” Abelas stared at him. “If that is so,” he asked, “then why do you delay? It could be over in moments. A simple spell and it would all be done. Instead, you build an army to battle the Evanuris. Yet, we both know the Evanuris will defeat them. But now it will take years. It suits my own purposes, but theirs? We only draw out our fate, we do not change it. And you encourage this useless search for some— cure, some way to conquer this terrible plague. I thought, at first, you’d given her this task to keep her from the madness that being idle can cause. But now— you seem to believe it, Solas. And you linger and linger. You should have departed weeks ago. This— vendetta against the Qunari, this is not about Thedas. Had they chosen the human kingdoms you would not have blinked. Had they chosen to invade the Imperium, you would not have altered your course, and that would be far more dangerous for Arlathan. You are delaying for the Inquisitor. And going to war for her. And delaying for her.” “No—” “Yes. I do not fault you. Neither would the others. They would still follow you. It is a desire we all share. They, too, are doing this for love. Their families, their people, their world is also threatened by the Qunari. But they deserve to know.” He shook his head. “I am whistling into a hurricane, for it would mean admitting the truth to yourself first. Dawn approaches and there is still much to be done. Dareth shiral, Solas.” Abelas flickered out. He woke slowly, the now familiar dwarven shapes of Anaris’s tower still shadowy in the early morning light. He resisted moving. Resisted the flood of thoughts that cropped up in the wake of the dream. He tried to focus on the sharp angles of the roof above, the precise cuts of each geometric carving. Underneath, he felt it building, the sorrow thickening and pressing into his conscious functions. “Cold and creaking, aching, dry dread as if the spells of Dirthamen were crawling under the skin again—” Solas sat up, but did not look toward Cole. “I would sooner have endured a hundred years of that torture than these past two. It has been far worse.” He shook his head and felt a bitter smile twist his face. “You don’t believe me. You think I have forgotten—” “No,” said Cole, “I can hear. You remember every moment. There are days that you wish you had never met her.” “Yes,” he muttered and pressed a hand to his eyes. “But they are few compared to the days I wish she had never met me.” “I have never heard her think the same.” “That does not make it better,” he said, looking over at last. “I know,” said the boy, wringing his hands. “I’m sorry.” “Why have you come? I did not wish you to see me this way. It can only cause us both more pain.” “To steal a place.” “A place? Has something happened to Skyhold?” Cole shook his head. “I cannot take them there. The world wants Skyhold back. It is trying to take the Inquisition from her. She’ll let it go, soon. Skyhold is emptying, until the end. Until you say. They are all going, one by one, draining away. If Orlais finds the gryphons there when—” “Gryphons?” asked Solas sharply. He stood up. “Valya’s gryphons. Blackwall and Brosca fought to keep them free, but they were forced out. Gone down into the dark with the Inquisitor. She keeps them safe, but she cannot save the gryphons or the recruits.” He held out a hand toward Solas. A slim vial lay in his palm. “Brosca switched them, the antidote for the poison. But the gryphons—” “It won’t help them,” said Solas. “I’m not even certain it will help any of the recruits who aren’t elves.” “It will. Warden Brosca took it. And the King. But the gryphons need a place.” He took the vial carefully. “I’m sorry, Cole. Arlathan is tainted. They cannot come to the city.” “The lighthouse then. The green forest. There is no blight there. It will not spread until the end. They can help. They want to.” Solas hesitated. “I know very little about raising or caring for gryphons.” “Valya knows. And there are a few among your people who remember. I only need the words to speak. I can pass by the spirits who watch, but Valya cannot.” Cole grabbed his hand. “Please Solas. They just need a place to be free. Others will use them. Or destroy them.” “This Valya…” he trailed off, not even certain what he wished to ask. “Who is there to betray you to?” asked Cole, sensing the question beneath. “The only other who would help her is the Inquisitor, if she could. Valya needs you. And you need her help. Or— Abelas does.” “Very well, if you trust her, then I can hardly argue,” said Solas and repeated the passwords slowly. Cole’s smile was brilliant and Solas barely caught his arm before he slipped away. He froze, turning back, his excitement already fading into sorrow. But Solas could not help himself. “Has the anchor grown again?” he asked. “She sent me away,” said Cole. “She sent me away to go down in the dark. I can’t feel her so far from here. I don’t know.” “Why did she send you away? What happened?” “She thought I’d be happier. That I could help more with Hawke. With the people hiding from Tevinter.” He let go. “Are you? Happy?” he asked. “Hawke is kinder now. She was angry when I first came. Suspicious and worried. She thought I was like her friend. I think that I helped. Her hurt isn’t so loud anymore. And the people who came on the boats— they were tired and frightened. I help them rest.” “But you Cole,” Solas insisted gently, “Are you happy?” The boy rocked from foot to foot for a moment before answering. “I think— I could be. Someday. When the worry isn’t like the ocean. I liked it when the hurts were small. I liked helping. Everything is so much now, and I feel— less. In the dark with Cole again, starving and pinched.” Solas wished he could tell him that it would ease, this feeling of helplessness, that in time, the worst fears would prove to be smaller than their shadows. This time— this time he feared it would be a lie. “When you were there with the boy, you could not take his hunger or his pain.” “No,” admitted Cole. “But you did help. You comforted him in his last hours. The things you do now— sheltering the gryphons, remaining beside the Inquisitor when she was ill, helping those escaping torture and slavery to rest— they have meaning.” Cole clutched at the brim of his hat. “Not enough.” He folded the boy in an awkward hug, all limbs and angles and doubt. The hat tumbled off, but he didn’t chase it. “It means more than you know, Cole. And there are moments in this world that comfort is all we can give. The kindness helps, even when deeds cannot.” They stood that way for a few moments, until Cole drew quietly away. Solas picked up the hat and bent it back into shape before handing it to the boy. “I will find Abelas. He’ll send word to the lighthouse to expect you.” “You want me to return to the Inquisitor,” he said flatly. Solas sighed. “You are your own person, Cole. I want you to be safe. I want you to find some peace, and I hoped the Inquisitor would be able to give you both. But I have been wrong. And what you wish for yourself is what matters most.” “I think— I think I want to go home,” said Cole. “Is that wrong?” He peered at Solas from beneath the fabric. “No. No, that is not wrong. I thought you might.” “But not yet. You are going to save her?” “I will try,” said Solas, knowing the boy could sense the lie. “You’ll take her with you?” “Yes, if she will come.” “Until then, I will remain. She thinks it will not help her. But I know it will help you to know she is not alone.” “And if she will not yield?” he asked, feeling the dread press against his ribs again. Cole tilted his head. “Then perhaps she’ll find a way for you to yield,” he said, “Or maybe you’ll stay anyway, when she cannot.” And then he was gone. Solas pulled himself into his armor, feeling weary and bruised though he had just arisen. He had asked Wisdom, once, what was to be done. After Mythal’s death. In the intense panic of the days between.

“I have found no other way, and yet it falls so far short,” he’d cried, drooping over the cluttered work table. He’d been exhausted, sleepless and frantic. But his fear was failing him. He looked up at Wisdom who paced restlessly across from him. “I could retreat,” he said. “No,” said Wisdom, “You have nowhere to retreat to. The Evanuris will continue to chase you. They have risked too much now to fail.” “It will give me more time to…” Solas trailed off and waved vaguely at the multitude of books. He ran an ink-stained hand over his skull. “It will give you more time to panic,” said Wisdom. “You will not find another way on the run. Your thoughts will be turned only to the next haven, the next battle, the next death of your people.” “What are we to do?” Wisdom stopped its restless movement. Came toward him. “The path is before us,” it said. “It is not the one we would choose, but it is all that we have found. We will walk it, one step leading to the next, for as long as we must.” He shook his head, but felt Wisdom’s tingling touch on his shoulder. It waited until he looked up at it again. “We will walk it, Solas, but watch for crossings. There is always an opportunity to change one’s course, if we do not blind ourselves to it.”

One step leading to the next, he thought, pulling the glittering helm back over his head. Until I can change the course of the world. He knew, now, why he cared about the Qunari. Why he was bothering. He could admit to himself that Abelas had been partly right, but it was more than the Inquisitor. It was more than just one woman’s fate. There was a fork in the path, somewhere, he knew. He knew. And until he found it, he’d behave as if the world was going to survive, even as he drew closer to killing it. The tower rang with the sound of his footsteps. He had approached the place with something like a soft regret, an identification with what had driven the man to this madness. He glanced back, now, at the lonely spire, in relief. He was not Anaris.

[wyrdsistersofthedas]

Well Shit: Dirth of Knowledge (Part 3 of 4)

Previously on “Well Shit”, we deduced that Mythal’s Well was used to keep sensitive information in the hands of loyal (*cough* geas: ie magical binding for instant loyalty and controlability) followers, and that it may have originally been used to help elves and spirits manage emotions and personality which would make it more difficult for them to live in the Fade.  

The Well appears to have been essential to the Sentinels’ ability to preserve Mythal’s wisdom.  So why wasn’t the Well despoiled along with the rest of her temple?  Did the Well only contain the knowledge of the priests who survived the attack on Mythal’s temple?  Or was the destruction of her temple merely meant to break her worshipers’ will?  Could the geas binding the will of the Well’s recipient been enough to keep her rivals at bay?  Or did they already have all the knowledge they could have gained from Mythal’s Well from another source?  There was, after all, an elven god devoted to knowledge and secrets...

It would stand to reason that Mythal wouldn’t be the only Evanuris to have an ultra secure pool of knowledge just for the most faithful of followers.  Of all of the elven gods, Dirthamen seems even more likely than Mythal to keep a repository of hidden knowledge.  Does Dirthamen have a Well of Sorrows?  There is a pool of water in the inner sanctum of Dirthamen’s Temple.  Could this be the remnants of Dirthamen’s Well of Sorrows?  Or could his Well have been secreted somewhere else?  There are some interesting hints in the Lost Temple of Dirthamen that may indicate what happened to the knowledge collected from ages of priests who served The God of Secrets.  And it seems to be more of a horror story than a sad tale.

In visiting Mythal’s temple, we gained insights into how the ancient elven religion functioned.  Supplicants seeking her aid, judgement, or merely worshipping their goddess would complete rituals to show their devotion and worthiness to receive Mythal’s mercy.  Dirthamen’s temple seemed to have worked in a similar fashion, although supplicants had to demonstrate their worth before they ever reached the temple.  Elves seeking Dirthamen had to find his temple first!   Cue the quest for veilfire runes in the Exalted Plains:

“The elven glyphs discovered in the Dales might prove valuable. Cursory inspection suggests they predate the ruins in which they were found──possibly transferred onto the stone from a much older edifice that dates back to the original elven nation or even earlier.”

Although the runes were moved when the elves reclaimed the Dales, their purpose remains the same.  Those who sought knowledge or aid from Dirthamen first had to prove their intellectual merit.  

Once the seeker found the temple, what would they have found?  Most of Dirthamen’s Temple look like catacombs a nightmare might question hanging out in.  Was it always like that?  And were Dirthamen’s followers always so...messed up?  

I see couple of possibilities: 1) The outer areas of the temple could have been another trial for supplicants, testing their mental toughness.  2) The temple was retrofitted to become a burial place after Dirthamen’s priests became so paranoid that they locked themselves in the temple and took their secrets to their graves (in the truest sense of the phrase).  3) It is also possible that Dirthamen’s priests once worked in tandem with servants of Falon’din to teach elves entering uthenera how to let go of their mortal forms to reach deeper levels of the Fade and find the knowledge they desired.  If elves entered uthenera in Dirthamen’s Temple, then the bodies might have been those trapped there when the Veil was created or they were deliberately killed in the war that came after, as Briala, Felassan, and their companions found in The Masked Empire:

[Briala, Felassan, and their companions] passed through chambers filled with the urns and sarcophagi, and even great bedchambers where the elves who had not died but instead gone to the eternal sleep of uthernara had lain for their long rest.

When they came to the first of these rooms, Felassan stopped and looked at the ancient corpse half-laying under the satin sheets....[his] face was twisted with grief.

“Unnecessaary,” he said quietly, and Briala, curious, came out of her reverie and looked.

The body lay in a resting position, with clean white bedding pulled up carefully over the chest, leaving only the head and shoulders exposed.  It had not awakened to die, nor struggled....But there, at the throat, Briala saw a single thin cut, along with the tiniest trace of old bloodstains on the pillow.

....Briala looked at the white satin sheets.  “Revenge, then.”

“Such a waste.” Felassan shook his head.  “This one could have helped.” (pgs. 316-317)

4) Or the Dalish did it.  (More on this possibility later.)

But I digress.  What about the possibility of Dirthamen having a Well?  He’s the god of knowledge, for Void’s sake, so he must have had repositories of knowledge.  That was his whole ‘divine’ purpose.  So where are all the secrets?  Again, there are a couple of possibilities:

As alluded to in the analysis of “The Lost Temple of Dirthamen” codex above, Dirthamen gave his priests secrets to ‘hold’ for him until he took them back.  Could those secrets have been from his Well of Sorrows?  Did these secrets die with them?  Were they supposed to die with them?  Given that Mythal’s Well puts a geas on whoever partakes of the well, perhaps Dirth did the same.  Were the priests actually murderously paranoid or did their geas force them to bind that knowledge at the cost of their lives.  A final failsafe.  Perhaps the blood magic ritual the priests feared from the High Priest was actually an attempt to break the geas so that the knowledge of the temple would not be lost.  

Another possibility is that Dirthamen’s Well could not be stolen from his temple...because it wasn’t in his temple.  One thing that is very interesting about that ruin is that there are no effigies to Dirthamen (unless those death’s head statues are supposed to be him).  There are halla statues (Ghilan’nain), Mythal in her dragon lady form, and even statues of Fen’Harel near the entrance of the temple and in the innermost sanctum.  But there are more images of one particular elven god than any others: Falon’Din.  He is everywhere.  This leads to an interesting possibility.  In the oldest elven records, Dirthamen and Falon’Din are never directly named.  

Or it the “lost” temple really wasn’t lost.  Not only did treasure hunters find the temple, but they were well into the process of reassembling the High Priest.  If they could do it, so could many others.  In fact, we know that the Dalish discovered and moved all of the runes necessary to locate the temple when they settled in the Dales.  Dalish relics, like inuksuit and inunnguaq stone markers, are scattered throughout the ruin, and perhaps they were the one who buried so many bodies in the ruins.  In the almost 300 years that the elves ruled the region, it stands to reason that they sought out and recovered every piece of their heritage that they could put their hands on.  (The Dalish are, perhaps, following centuries of tradition from the Dales.)  I cannot help but think that Dirthamen’s temple would have been pretty high on their priority list and, while we players often think that our characters are the only ones badass enough to brave all these dangerous ruins, it is pretty clear others made it to this temple first.  While I doubt they were able to recover all of God of Secrets knowledge, I really hope they found some of it.   

[I wonder if the shield, Dirthamen’s Wisdom, was returned by Dalish worshippers after the fall of the Dales while they were interring a deceased loved one (a Keeper, perhaps) in the Temple.  There are tons of Dalish relics in the Inner Sanctum so they seem to have made it in there as well.]

I wonder if Dirthamen would only use one means of protecting his secrets.  A god of wisdom wouldn’t put all of his eggs in one basket, would he?  So perhaps he had several “Wells of Knowledge” hidden in different ways to prevent any one person or groups with ill intent from obtaining his wisdom.  Whether any of these measures were enough (or even existed) remains to be seen.  

The final possibility is the one alluded to in this post’s introduction: Could the elves who destroyed Mythal’s Temple left her Well of Sorrows intact, not only to avoid the geas, but because they already had all the knowledge they needed?  Solas tells us that the Evunaris were generals before they were gods.  Was Dirthamen to the Evunaris as Leliana is to the Inquisition?  Their spymaster?  If that were the case, his temple would have been the first stop for anyone seeking the knowledge to overthrow the Evanuris.  The priests of Dirthamen seemed certain that someone was coming for their knowledge.  Could it have been Solas’ rebels?  Some other faction, perhaps based out of Arlathan itself?  Something in the Fade sure seems to believe that Dirthamen was betrayed, and what greater betrayal could there be than for someone to steal your life’s work.  

The sword in the back could even indicate it could have been someone close to him?  Falon’Din, or perhaps Ghilan’nain, might fit the bill.

It is even possible that part or all of Dirthamen’s secrets were stolen before the Fall of the Elvhen Empire.  The “Sinner” gained the ability to transform into a dragon at Ghilan’nain urging.  Morrigan gains the exact same ability if she is allowed to drink from the Well of Sorrows.  Did the Sinner drink from Dirthamen’s Well?  If Dirthamen had been robbed once, he might have gone to extreme measures to protect his remaining secrets, including giving that knowledge to his most loyal priests with a geas to take his secrets to their graves.  

So what does this add up to?  A whole lot of maybes...but pretty interesting maybes.  The most likely end for Dirthamen’s Well of knowledge is that it died with his priests’ madness.  I’m going to keep my fingers crossed that one of the less likely, but more dramatic, scenarios turns out to be the truth.

So far we have only visited two of the Evanuris’ temples in game: Mythal’s and Dirthamen’s.  At least, as far as we know.  There is, however, a very interesting ruin with human and elven ties that sure seems to have Well of Sorrows.  The problem is, it’s hard to say whether it is an original, a remnant, or an attempt at a recreation.  The Brecilian Forest is our next stop.

-MM

Think you missed part of the “Well Shit” series?  Here are our previous posts:

Part 1: Searching for the Secrets of the Elvhen Gods

Part 2: Origins of the Vir'abelasan

Part 3: Dirth of Knowledge

Part 4: The Elvhen Ritual

[emerald-amidst-gold]

So, Dragons...

Time for me to ramble ramble about the whole basis of my fanfics when it comes to Dragon Age! 

Honestly, it all started when I was just playing, made Fane a Reaver, and decided that he would be a dragon. 

But then I started thinking and beautiful things can happen when one thinks for over long. 

To start: I’ve always believed dragons have a connection with Uthenera. My reasoning to that is because they go centuries without waking until something either awakens them (’normal’ dragons its could be a number of things and Archdemons are awakened with the Taint). Who’s to say that dragons don’t have magical connections or dreams, either? The Archdemon can reach out to a Warden in their dreams, but this could be from the Taint itself. Who knows? Furthermore, dragons expel elemental attacks (fire, ice, electricity), and the only beings we know that can do that from practically the moment they’re born is mages, albeit mages don’t come into their powers until fairly later in life, but that could be because of the presence of the Veil. 

So, what would potentially awaken a dragon other than the darkspawn or a ‘instinctual’ time clock to mate? Perhaps in the way Solas did? They just woke up after sleeping for years and years and years? Or did someone or something powerful wake them? And my thought on the dragons in Dragon Age: Inquisition is that the Breach woke them up. After all, Solas states that animals can be driven mad by the Breach and its effects (the wolves in the Hinterlands were being controlled by a demon that more or less probably came through a rift). I think this because of how many dragons we face in Inquisition (10 base; 3 DLC). That’s a total of 13 dragons where in the other games you had barely any. (Origins there are 4; that includes the Archdemon and in DA2, there’s the two in the Bone Pit).  

This influx in numbers proves to me that something is going on, and it could be the Breach’s influence or it could be something more. 

Now, in my stories, I constantly reiterate with Fane saying, ‘The Veil is driving my kin mad. It must come down. It isn’t natural to them. They see this world and it is wrong to them; it is wrong to me.’ This ties back to my thoughts on Uthenera. Imagine waking up centuries later to a world that was not what you fell asleep to. Imagine the sky feeling different, feeling like a wall rather than a clear expanse and not knowing why or how. Imagine seeing familiarity in everything, but it still feeling foreign because it is. Imagine not hearing or smelling your brethren, your kin, your people, when they were otherwise rulers of the skies. This exact thing is what happens to Solas; everything he wakes up to is not the world he knew and loved. And I believe the same thing happens with dragons who’ve been asleep for just as long, if not longer. 

They awaken to a world that doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel like home. So, the ‘mindless’ destruction of settlements where they used to have a lair, the constant ‘ravaging’ of livestock where there used to be plains of game for easy picking? It’s all in an attempt to try and fix what feels so wrong. After all, would you be sane if you woke up in a place you were unfamiliar with, if all you ever knew was gone and destroyed by something you could only feel, but couldn’t see? I think dragons are more sentient than we’ve seen thus far, and they can feel emotions. Fear, despair, anger, happiness; I think they can feel it all. And to have your home torn to shreds, to have the world crumbling around you when it otherwise sang with life, to have pitchfork and boulders thrown at you because of ignorance and misconceptions, to see none of your people among the masses of snarls of disgust or eyes of fear of creatures you don’t recognize. That would induce madness, insanity so deep, so potent, so destructive that it would cause any being to lash out, to try and correct what was wrong, even though they knew they shouldn’t. Again, these are just my thoughts based on how I observe dragon movements in games and patterns they have, but I feel like something is missing. Dragons are more than just a fun boss battle or an inclusion for world building.

Mainly because dragons in Dragon Age appear in almost every ancient civilization. Tevinter with the Old Gods, who were represented by dragons. The Elvhen (basing this off the theory about the Forgotten Ones), who believed taking the form of a dragon was only reserved for divinity, and thus anyone that took that form without ‘inherent’ permission was considered reviled, to be forgotten. It’s a stretch, I know, but what if dragons were the first right along with the Elvhen? What if they were actual guardians of the world like how I depict in my stories, tasked with perserving and observing the creatures that had been wrought? 

Obviously, I’m leaving a lot out from the comics and whatnot, but from what I’ve read, those have some fascinating depictions and actual scenes where dragons are more than just mindless creatures fueled by lone instinct and primal surges. 

BIOWARE. I NEED ANSWERS. TELL ME I’M NOT MAD. 

Anyways, thank you for crinkling the tin foil with me! It’s a little scattered and sloppy, but percolating thoughts must be brewed! >:D

[wootensmith]

Vir’abelasan

The hall had extensive damage. A long gash that split the room and small fires scattered throughout spoke of the battles that had only just finished. Samson still stood above them, barking orders to his red templars. He leapt into the hole and the Inquisitor cried out in frustration. “Inquisitor, barrier,” shouted Dorian, chasing after her as she rushed toward the hole. Vivienne’s spirit blade flashed and spun. Solas had his own templars to deal with. The room was cluttered with rubble, the roof long since tumbled into great boulders. They were easily thrown. He couldn’t help a slight surge of excitement as a broken column slammed into three men and crushed them beneath it, their armor cracking and snapping under the weight. He was much stronger than he’d been just a month or two before. Perhaps it was being here. He flicked his hand and chunk of tile shattered, shrapnel slicing through steel helmets. The temple fell silent again. 

The Inquisitor looked around for more foes. “Hurry,” she said on seeing they were alone, “we may still catch them.” She ran to the edge of the broken floor. “Hold a moment,” cried Morrigan. Solas bristled as she held out a hand to stop the Inquisitor. “While they rush ahead, the petitioner’s path leads to our true destination. We should follow it.” “Our true destination is stopping Corypheus, Morrigan,” said the Inquisitor. “Precisely. Samson is a distraction. Corypheus doesn’t care about him. Or us. He wants the Well. We should follow the path.” One of Vivienne’s perfect eyebrows lifted in disdain. “Lady Morrigan was wrong about Corypheus seeking an eluvian. Do we trust her now? Consider, Inquisitor, while we dally with rituals, Inquisition soldiers are dying outside. This is the swifter way.” Solas sighed. “In this case, I must agree with the witch. This is ancient ground, deserving of our respect.” Dorian cleared his throat and nudged Solas with his elbow. “Sweetness entices. Play nice,” he murmured behind his hand, pretending to smooth his mustache. But Morrigan ignored them anyway. “Yes, there is urgency, but we cannot reach the Well unprepared. They are trying to lead us away. That door is the one that will lead to their goal.” “Their goal, or yours?” asked the Inquisitor. Morrigan led her swiftly away. Solas felt a prickle of unease. “Out with it, Solas,” said Dorian as soon as they were out of earshot. “What is this thing?” “In truth, I do not know,” he said, unwilling to turn his eyes from the Inquisitor. “You know something,” said Vivienne, “that much is clear.” “I know that whatever it is, it binds the person that takes it to the will of Mythal,” he answered. “If the opportunity is offered, I would not take it. Whatever the power that might be gained.” “Why is that?” asked Vivienne. “Because your deeds and thoughts would no longer be your own. Under the guise of great power you would be utterly enslaved.” Dorian shuddered. “Why in heavens does Morrigan want it?” “I am uncertain. Perhaps she does not understand. Perhaps, like Corypheus, she believes she can overcome the binding and bend it to her will. I think it more likely that she simply doesn’t believe in Mythal.” “Do you?” asked Vivienne, and he did turn then, to meet the Enchanter’s steady gaze. “Yes,” he said evenly. “Otherwise I would have agreed with you, that leaping down is the better way. I did not say otherwise to spite you.” There was no time for more. The Inquisitor looked deeply unsettled. “We will follow the path. But I need your minds, I wish to move as quickly as we can.” She touched his arm. “I wish we had more time,” she said. “As do I. The cost is too great to linger.” He glanced at the pit. “But the cost of being overly hasty would ruin us all.” The only person who seemed pleased at the prospect was Dorian. But Solas could hardly begrudge him. The puzzles were quickly solved and any other time he would have delighted in walking the meditation gardens of Arlathan with him just to watch his mind working several steps ahead of them. But he could see the imagined casualties piling up in the Inquisitor’s mind with every passing moment and what ought to have been soothing and clarifying was instead panicked. She had opened the unlocked doors with an audible sigh of relief, while Solas felt his heart squeeze painfully, every step closer to the end. Closer to abandoning her to an eternity of madness and blight. Terror and sorrow distracted him, made him forget everything but her and his frantic thoughts of how to save her. So it was the Inquisitor who first realized that they were not alone. “We’re being watched,” she murmured as they approached Mythal’s altar, empty now, where the throne had been. She froze as a man appeared above them, coolly pacing. He stopped to stare at them. “You are unlike the other invaders.” He bent slightly toward them, intent on the Inquisitor. “You have the features of those who call themselves Elvhen.” Solas heard the insult in that, saw the Inquisitor’s shoulders tighten as if she’d been struck. He moved closer, coming to stand beside her. The man did not miss his signal. “You bear the mark of magic, which is familiar.” His gaze shifted to Solas. “How has this come to pass?” he asked. Solas was certain it was not the Inquisitor he was speaking to. “What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?” “We have come to stop them. They mean to take what you shield,” said the Inquisitor. “If they gain it—” “They will not,” the man said abruptly. “No,” she agreed, “I will not allow that to happen.” The man thought for a moment, seemed to accept her answer. “I am called Abelas,” he offered, “We are sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion.” That was how then. They had entered uthenera just as he had, that was how they persisted all those years, made the temple a place of fear, a place to be avoided. “I’m sorry,” said the Inquisitor, her breath catching. “It is not your doing,” said Abelas. Again his eyes rested on Solas and then away. “I know what you seek. Like all who have come before, you wish to drink form the Vir’abelasan. It is not for you. It is not for any of you.” “You’re— you’re ancient elves?” asked Dorian. “From before the Imperium destroyed Arlathan?” Abelas shook his head. “It was not the Shemlen who destroyed Arlathan. We warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary closed, our time was over.” “What? But that’s—” “It is a strange thing, to awaken and find the stories shift and twist, to find the world stranger and more foreign each time. Still, we endure. The Vir’abelasan must be preserved.” “We do not wish to disturb it, only to stop those who have invaded,” said the Inquisitor. Abelas stood long in thought. “I believe you,” he said at last. “You have followed the rites of petition and shown respect for Mythal. If these others are enemies of yours, we will aid you in destroying them. When this is done, you shall be permitted to depart and never return.” He saw the blow hit her, the sharp exclusion and denial. “I know it is harsh, Vhenan, but this is our goal is it not? We have no reason to fight these sentinels,” he said quietly. Morrigan shook her head. “Consider carefully. You must stop Corypheus, yes, but you may also need the Well for your own,” she whispered. She did not know that Abelas could hear. Solas did. “I am no thief,” said the Inquisitor. “This Well is not ours. This place is not ours. They do not claim us as kin, we have no right to it. Not even to stop Corypheus.” “That is short sighted, Inquisitor. Would you allow the world to be destroyed for a principle?” “It is all that distinguishes us from Corypheus.” She turned to Abelas and Solas knew she was stronger than he’d ever been. “I accept your offer,” she said. “You will be guided to those you seek.” He turned to Morrigan. “As to the Vir’abelasan, it shall not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself.” Morrigan cried out and shifted into a raven, chasing after Abelas though the Inquisitor called for her to stop. “We must hurry,” she said, “We cannot break our promises.” But the elf that led them was terribly slow. He had not expected the elves to age. Had she been left to keep watch for centuries and the years caught up with her at last? Or had she belonged to one of the clans that Abelas was so disdainful of? She hobbled up the stairs. The Inquisitor jumped as something bashed the stout door at the top. “Fighting,” she cried, “We have to help them—” “No, sorora,” said Dorian, gently pushing her staff down. “We can help them most by stopping Corypheus.” “Our soldiers fight to give us a chance,” said Vivienne, tucking the tear in the Inquisitor’s robe back for the sixth time. “The elves too. We must honor that.” She squeezed Lavellan’s shoulder. “Your decency has led us so far, darling. Trust ours to bring you the rest of the way.” The Inquisitor nodded. Solas took her hand and pulled her away. The guide opened a passage in the wall. For a moment they could see the sentinels battling behind an elaborate grate, but he pushed her gently from it. “Let them do as they must, my love,” he said. She turned and gasped in wonder at the untouched beauty of the inner temple. Mosaics in gold and precious stones towered above them and large offerings of vast wealth lay at the feet of statues. She had eyes only for the intricate portrayal of Mythal. She brushed her fingertips over it. “There is so much we could know, if only—” she shook her head and blinked back tears. “I will bring you here in dreams,” he promised quietly. The guide turned back and looked at her intently. She reached a withered hand to the Inquisitor’s face, tracing the vallaslin. “Dirth ash or em’an,” she said at last. “Vin,” said Solas. The Inquisitor touched her own face, confused, but the guide scurried on. The sounds of battle swelled and receded as they passed large galleries and courtyards, climbed long flights of stairs past the cells of the faithful. Solas could not stop himself from wondering at each turn if they had reached the spot where Mythal had died. If her enemies had penetrated this far to harm her, or if she’d met them in the courtyard to protect her people. He had never once tried to find the memory in the Fade, had never wanted to see it. But now— he thought, perhaps, his imaginings might be worse than knowing. The guide opened a final door at last and bowed before dissolving in a puff of smoke. “I take it that means we’re here then,” said Dorian. The sound of fighting rose from the bottom of the stairs ahead. “Fight on, an army of these bastards won’t stop us!” Samson’s voice rose up above the fray. The Inquisitor ran forward. “The runes, Inquisitor,” called Dorian, “Don’t forget the runes. It should weaken their armor.” She looked back and nodded. Solas checked his own, passing a hand over it to charge the deep ruby shard. The sentinels were falling one after another, coming to the ends of their long lives on the blades of corrupted templars. Mythal’s defeat was almost total, the thing she strove to destroy returning to slay her own people at last. Hope remains, he told himself, even if it is only in another world. The Inquisitor sprinted toward them, but she was too late. Samson turned to her with a sneer, not even bothering to wipe the blood from his blade. “Inquisitor. You don’t know when to stop. You’ve hunted us across Thedas. I should have guessed you’d follow us into this— hole.” Solas felt a hot surge of anger leave a bitter burn in his throat. But the Inquisitor was kind, even in this. “I spoke with Maddox. I would have spared him— but I was too late. The poison had already done its work. I’m sorry. He is interred in Skyhold along with everyone who has fallen in this awful war. It’s not too late, Samson. You don’t have to do this—” “Corypheus chose me twice. First as his general, now as his vessel for the Well of Sorrows.” “You don’t know what it is,” said Solas. “It will take your mind long before Corypheus does. It is enslavement—” “No,” barked Samson, “It is power. And wisdom. And I give it to Corypheus so he can walk into the Fade without your precious anchor and make this world anew.” “And then?” asked Dorian. “He doesn’t care for you. You’re just the cup, easily dashed against the stones when you are empty.” “You know nothing of Corypheus. You are no match for him.” “Neither are you,” said Vivienne. “When he has taken the Well, you and your soldiers will only be a hindrance to him. Mouths to feed and feet to shod. He will not want to play nursemaid to an army of lyrium crazed templars. You were sharp once, Samson. Think like a general. What could you possibly offer him once he is a god?” “Worship. And a hand to smite down the doubters.” Samson grinned and a pulse of red flowed from him. “Now, Inquisitor, channel the rune,” cried Dorian already casting. Solas bent his focus through the rune. There was an intense cracking sound and Samson fell to his knees. “What did you do?” he cried, even as the lyrium began to slough off his armor in thin shards. “My lyrium— kill them all!” he snarled. “Out of the water,” warned the Inquisitor, arcs of lightning already leaping from her fingertips, crackling through the water. It sent up plumes of steam and anguished cries from the other end of the pool. “Barrier,” Dorian sighed, even as it snapped up around them. “What would I do without you?” asked the Inquisitor. “Most likely get repeatedly bashed with pointy objects,” he said, sending one of the templars screaming in terror. Vivienne cried out, “I can’t do this alone!” Solas turned. Samson was closing in on her, walking through Vivienne’s fireballs as if they were smoke. He fade-stepped to her. He wrenched a boulder from the edge of the pool and sent it crashing into Samson. The templar stumbled, but rose too quickly. “Void take it,” muttered Solas, sending ice to slow him. Samson shattered it with a tinkling rattle. “It’s the armor,” shouted Dorian as he ran toward them. “Use the rune again.” There was a clang over his head as Vivienne’s spirit sword stopped Samson from cleaving him in two. “Ma serannas,” he said, focusing again on the rune. The bloody glow drained from Samson and a sizzle of lightning crept up his armor, leaving him jittering in its thin, crooked fingers. The lightning faded and Samson collapsed. “Those were my men,” he sobbed. “You ruined them all. You can’t take the Well from Corypheus.” Vivienne sighed. “What’s to be done with him? He’s a wreck of a man. Even if there were some chance of weaning him from the lyrium— his mind has long since been broken.” “All the more reason for kindness,” said the Inquisitor. “We’ll take him with us to Skyhold. Figure out what’s to be done with him after that.” Solas shuddered at the idea of having him so close to her, but he picked the man up. Abelas raced by them, his fingers flashing to reveal a stone stair. A raven followed close behind. “Morrigan,” said the Inquisitor. “We have to stop her.” “Perhaps we should let the elves destroy the Well,” said Vivienne. “It would stop both Corypheus and Morrigan and leave these people in peace.” “The Well is their entire purpose now,” said Solas. “I fear without it, they will fade away completely.” He pulled Samson up the steps along with them. A shallow pool of clear water stretched toward the eluvian at the top. “The Well of Sorrows,” gasped Samson. Dorian cast a holding spell to keep him from leaping for it. A swirl of purple burst from the tile and Morrigan rose from it. Abelas came to a halt just before her. “Stop, Morrigan,” called the Inquisitor. “You heard his parting words,” she answered, “the elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows.” “He’s trying to protect it. Isn’t that what you said you wanted? To protect the wonders of the world?” “She lied, my dear,” said Vivienne. “She only wants it for herself.” Abelas sagged. “So the sanctum is despoiled at last.” There was a deep longing in his voice that cut into Solas. “You would have destroyed it yourself, given the chance,” sneered Morrigan. “To keep it from your grasping fingers,” he snapped. “Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving.” “Fool. You’d let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows?” “Enough!” cried the Inquisitor. “We are not here to rob anyone. Samson is defeated. Corypheus has no way to take it now.” “As soon as we leave, he will just send another! The sentinels are dwindling, they said it themselves. How many more attacks can this place stand? Or will the Inquisition take the sentinels’ place? You are not immortal, Inquisitor.” “How well I know,” she said quietly, rubbing the anchor. “The Well clearly offers power,” continued Morrigan, “If that power can be turned against Corypheus, can you afford not to use it?” The Inquisitor closed her eyes. Solas felt the weight of the choice. It was a poor one, each path costing too much. Abelas shook his head. “You don’t even know what you ask,” he said. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on, through this. All that we were— all that we knew, it would be lost forever.” “Look at us!” cried the Inquisitor, “We’re already lost. Less and less every season. Clinging to a handful of fragments and—” she looked suddenly at Solas. “And lies. You mock us, but we’re what remains. If you would see your people return to what they were, then you must help us. We cannot know what you will not share.” “I know.” “Then why do you remain?” asked Morrigan, “Why perform a duty without purpose?” Abelas was silent with despair. “There are other places, friend. Other duties. Your people yet linger,” offered Solas. Abelas looked at him a long moment. “Elvhen such as you?” he asked. Solas stepped toward the Inquisitor. He knew what he said next would hurt her. He wished that it would not. “Yes, such as I.” He curled his fingers around hers, pressing them gently. Abelas caught the gesture even more than the words. He was silent a long moment, considering her, this strange mortal that he would never know as Solas did, assuming all the wrongs that Solas had. “You have shown respect to Mythal. There is a righteousness in you that I cannot deny,” he said to the Inquisitor. Her hand was still tight in Solas’s grasp and he knew the sting wasn’t lessened by Abelas’s words. “Is that your desire? To partake of the Vir’abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?” “I never desired any of this. I have no wish to destroy the Well, nor take its power.” “And yet,” said Abelas, resting a heavy gauntlet on her shoulder, “You are here. A sentinel even so.” A sad smile touched his lips. “No boon comes without cost, lethallan,” he added. She raised the anchor and it glittered, a star in the reflection of the water. “I know,” she said. Abelas nodded. He glanced at Solas, who remained still. “And do you know with whom you walk?” he asked. “I do,” she said. “That is good. One more thing I will tell you. The Vir’abelasan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend. It is no fault of yours. Brave it if you must, but know this: You shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.” “Bound to the will of a goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did?” scoffed Morrigan. Abelas paled with anger. Solas could feel it pulse from him. But his voice remained calm. “Bound as we are bound. The choice is yours.” “Does Mythal live? What happened to her?” asked the Inquisitor. “Elvhen legend states that she was tricked by Fen’harel and banished to the Beyond,” said Morrigan. Abelas’s gaze flicked back to Solas and then quickly away again. “Elvhen legend is wrong. The Dread Wolf had nothing to do with her murder.” The Inquisitor’s hand tightened over his. She turned to him as Morrigan let out a startled cry. “Ir abelas,” she whispered. “She was slain, if a god truly can be. Here, on the steps of her temple,” said Abelas, “betrayed by her own. Yet the Vir’abelasan remains.” He turned back to Solas. “As do we. That is something.” “What will you do now?” asked the Inquisitor. “Do you need aid?” “No Inquisitor, we will leave the temple. Our duty is fulfilled.” “There is a place for you lethallin, if you seek it,” said Solas his fingers twisting to lay the spell. “Perhaps there are places the Shemlen have not yet touched,” said Abelas, “Or it may be that only uthenera awaits us. The blissful sleep of eternity, if fate is kind.” “You cannot,” said Dorian. “The Imperium went to great lengths to expunge elven history. You might be the last who know the truth.” Abelas shook his head. “Would anyone listen to the truth?” “They might,” said Dorian, “Would it hurt to try?” “Yes,” answered Solas for him. “I do not know what the few who remain will decide. Perhaps they will try to reach the elves of your time. For myself— I wish to see what remains.” “Malas amelin ne halam, Abelas,” said Solas as he turned to go. Abelas inclined his head slightly and then was gone. “What was that about?” asked Dorian. “His name, Abelas, means ‘sorrow’. I said I hope he finds a new one.” “Can we do nothing?” asked the Inquisitor. “We can save the world, darling,” said Vivienne, “and make sure their sacrifice has meaning.” Morrigan turned to look at the well. She waved a hand at the eluvian that sat on the far side. “You’ll note the intact eluvian. I was right about that at least.” She glared at Vivienne. “I believe the Well is the key to it. If we take it, it will be of no use to Corypheus.” She stared at the water. “I did not expect it to feel so— hungry.” “Power never comes freely,” warned the Inquisitor. “I am willing to pay the price the Well commands. I am also the best suited to use the knowledge the Well bestows in your service.” “But would it be? In the Inquisition’s service? Or would it be in your own?” asked Vivienne. “Consider, Inquisitor, she has not told us what she means to do with it. She might be worse than Corypheus.” Morrigan scowled. “Corypheus is on his way, right now, Inquisitor. Will you paralyze yourself for fear of what might be? I have nothing to give except my word, but that I give to you gladly.” “You are too eager. You do not take this to aid the Inquisitor, but for your own ends,” said Solas. “What do you know of my ends, elf?” she spat. “You are a glutton drooling at the sight of a feast. You cannot be trusted—” “Solas,” said the Inquisitor gently, “Morrigan has done nothing to warrant our fears. Even now, she waits for a decision instead of snatching it away.” He subsided, still seething. “And if Mythal still lives?” asked the Inquisitor. “I am willing to risk that chance. Let me drink.” The Inquisitor stepped back. “Very well, Morrigan. It is yours.” Vivienne shook her head at Morrigan’s triumphant smile, but remained silent. Morrigan stepped into the pool, kneeling in the water. An enormous wave of power burst from the pool, washing over them and dissolving. When it was gone, the pool was empty except for Morrigan who lay unconscious in the middle. “Are you all right?” asked the Inquisitor helping her up. A stream of elvish came from Morrigan for a few seconds until she seemed to gather herself again. “I am intact,” she said at last. A dark swirling mist rose at their feet. Dorian jumped back with a cry. “It will not harm you,” said Solas. “It is the spirits departing. Their duty, too, is over.” “I’m sorry,” said the Inquisitor. “Do not be,” he answered with a smile. “They are free.” His smile faded. “But now the temple is defenseless. Nothing but a few doors stand in Corypheus’s way now.” Vivienne spun around. “He’s already here,” she cried, pointing as something dark swooped toward them. “The eluvian!” shouted Morrigan, opening it with a gesture. Dorian grabbed Samson by the collar and sprinted for the mirror. He leapt through and the others followed, tumbling to the stones of Skyhold’s chapel. Solas looked back and saw the eluvian slam shut just as Corypheus reached it. “Is everyone well?” The Inquisitor asked, pulling herself up. “I think so— but what of our friends? We’ve left them to Corypheus’s wrath at being thwarted,” said Dorian, yanking Samson to his feet. “Doubtful,” said Vivienne, brushing off dust. “He was willing to use another as a vessel. It may not be Samson, but there is still a vessel.” She watched Morrigan for a moment. “He won’t be wasting time with our forces, he’ll be heading here. Everything he wants is in this keep. The anchor, the Well and all who have resisted him.” “Well, we have a head start at least,” said Dorian as he guided Samson to the courtyard. “His forces are decimated. His general in our keeping. And he is leagues away without an eluvian to aid him.” “I should— apologies Inquisitor, I need to sift through all the voices—” muttered Morrigan. “Are you all right?” asked the Inquisitor. “Should I find a healer?” “No I—” “I will be happy to assist Lady Morrigan,” said Vivienne. It was clear that she did not offer out of affection, but Morrigan seemed too scattered to protest. They were alone. The Inquisitor had turned back to the eluvian, her fingers pressed against the cold glass. He shut the door to the courtyard. “The temple was extraordinary,” he said. “I thought it long ruined. I believed I would never stand at that altar again. Especially among those that once knew me.” “A thousand years of enduring and we swept in for a few hours and scattered it all. There are times I wonder if the Inquisition does more to destroy than it does to restore.” She watched him in the mirror, her back still toward him. “When I saw it last, the temple was not a place of sorrow. Mythal’s people did not serve her out of grief, but with joy. She would have been saddened to see what has become of them. The Well is powerful, but it is a dark power. One of vengeance and rage. It is gone because of the Inquisition, but is that an evil? Abelas cannot see it yet, but they are free. Their lives are their own once more.” He stepped up to the mirror, reached out to follow the lines of her vallaslin with his thumb. “A man does not throw off centuries of bondage in one moment, no matter how badly he may wish to. Someday, Abelas may find himself happier than he expects. The Inquisition is not perfect, Vhenan, and sometimes our only choices lead to tragedy. But that does not make them meaningless. What we did today— Mythal did not want her people to suffer. If she could speak to you, she would tell you that she was glad you had freed them from their service.” He dropped away from her. “And in return, you have gained the Well. What will you do with it once Corypheus is dead?” “I do not expect Morrigan will remain with the Inquisition once he is gone. I am not blind, Solas. She has her own motives. I must hope that she wishes to do good with it. She may— she may not have the nicety of others, but her actions have so far been kind and decent. I have no real reason to distrust her.” He thought for a moment. “You are right. She has not proven false, though her ideas are muddled with legend.” The Inquisitor laughed softly. “So are mine,” she said. He smiled. “Ah, but you are aware of it,” he answered, “and your tongue tells sweeter stories than hers.” She flushed. “What will you do with the Inquisition then? You have gathered a vast army of followers.” “If they choose to stay, there are many people whose call for aid goes unanswered. There are many to free and to feed and to defend. There is work enough to save the world. It will never be done. But it doesn’t always require an army.” He clasped his hands behind his back to hide that he was rubbing his knuckles nervously. “And if it goes badly? If you wake up one day and find the future that you shaped is worse than what was?” Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Then I try again. What is the alternative? Doing nothing will not make things better.” She fell silent a moment, thinking. “You’re only responsible for the inches you are capable of, emma lath, not the miles left to go. You cannot save the world alone. And neither can I. But you aren’t alone. Not anymore.” “Thank you,” he said, meaning many things. “It is not something you need to thank me for,” she said. “You might have been so different. I wondered, those days before you woke— would you be cruel? Arrogant? Foolish? I did not dare hope you would be as you are. I am, indeed, grateful for you. I have— come with me, Vhenan.” He swept the eluvian open, Morrigan would be long occupied with the Well. She would never know he had used it. He held out his hand. “But Corypheus—” “Will be days behind us. We will return before anyone realizes we’ve gone.” She put her hand in his and he slid through the mirror.