#so did thom rainier

[mythalism]

at all times i am thinking about how this is the core of not only his character but (was, up until recently) the core of dragon age's storytelling

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

Apparently, if you keep coming back to kiss him repeatedly, he gives you approval and has some thoughts on two different occasions. 🙈

[salroka]

After you pick up the codex about Blackwall being in Val Chevin during the blight, I wish there was an option to be like "hey bud why'd you lie to me?"

[a-whiff-of-a-dream]

gonna be honest folks, the letter Blackwall sent to my dear Inqui in Veilguard makes me want to play Inquisition again

[godsofyfirheim]

I was exploring the Dragon Age: Inquisition game files (yes, hi, I do that monthly) and I came across some facts and lore in the form of short character descriptions that I haven't seen posted online before.

The first one being Blackwall's official intended age, which is 45.

The rest contains spoilers so I will hide under the read more.

Remember that charred note you pick up from the bandits you help Blackwall dispatch when you first meet him? The one trying to persuade him to join them. This is the description of the bandit.

Bandit 1 28 Male A soldier from Blackwall's past who has had to turn to crime.

That really adds some context to what he says afterwards, and why he was so angry with them.

And if you're curious, the ages of supporting cast for his plot:

Mornay: 40 Giles: 55 The bailiff: 30 The Inquisition agent with the missing report: 20 Rumour mongers: The two discussing him in Skyhold tavern are both 30. The noble military woman in Val Royeaux implied to be one in note found in Exalted Plains: 30 The non-military noble in Val Royeaux arguing with her: 30

I personally have been trying to figure out Thom's age for about a year now with no luck searching online besides theories so I really hope this helps people.

It is 'AgeRange' but with how specific some of these ages are (28 for example) I think its fairly safe to say they are the intended ages.

[baku-usagi]

UH POV WHEN YOU AND BLACKWALL,WHENYOUUH

[sky-scribbles]

Party Banter with Rook!Blackwall

Harding: You know, for a moment back there, I thought you might actually get through to Solas.

Thom: Regret’s something we have in common. I thought… if I reached out to him, told him I understood what guilt drives you to do…

Harding: But no. ‘Do not compare your regrets with mine, Thom Rainier!’

Thom: He’s right, though. He can at least say he did his crimes trying to stop tyrants. I did mine for coin.

Harding: Uh, yeah, and then you faced up to it and decided no one else was going to get hurt for it except you. Solas is right. He’s nothing like you.

—

Lucanis: Do we have a problem, Warden Rainier?

Thom: You kill people. For gold.

Lucanis: I do. Venatori. Blood mages. The political rivals of those who hired me.

Thom: And that’s enough for you? Someone flashes a purse, and you’re ready to murder over some nobles’ spat over which of them gets the bigger fancy house?

Lucanis: Depends on the size of the purse.

—

Bellara: Um, so, about the mayor of D'Meta's Crossing? I just… do you really want someone like that? In the Wardens, I mean.

Thom: I won’t defend him. But he wouldn’t be the first Warden who let innocent people die for gold, and got another chance from the Order.

Bellara: He doesn’t deserve it. Like, really, really doesn’t deserve it.

Thom: No. Neither did I.

—

Thom: Do you ever get people trying to bribe you? To look the other way, or drop a case, or...

Neve: It's Minrathous. If I took even half the bribes I've been offered, I could buy an estate in Hightown.

Thom: It takes a special kind of strength to resist that.

—

Thom: I got a letter from Sera the other day. Don’t ask me how she got it to the Lighthouse.

Harding: ‘Friends’, I bet. And hey - she dealt with the Fade for you! So what'd she say?

Thom: Well, there was a lot of calling Solas a shite-faced arseknuckle. And then she told me not to get killed, or she’d yank my beard ‘til my head came off.

Harding: Aw.

—

Lucanis: Rainier, I do not knife civilians. Everyone I have killed has been embedded in politics. Their hands are never clean.

Thom: And you're sure you’ve never made a mistake? Never got a passer-by or a child caught in all the blades and arrows? Never gone in without knowing everything, and got someone hurt?

Lucanis: Of course not. I’m a professional.

Thom: You’re a mercenary with a cape.

—

Thom: You could’ve left Dock Town. A mage. Talented. You could’ve gone anywhere, chased a better life.

Neve: If I left, I’d be abandoning people who never got that choice. I’m good where I’m at.

Thom: I hope you know how admirable that makes you.

Neve: Not that admirable. If I got that estate in Hightown? Too far to walk to Hal’s fish stand.

Thom: (laughs) Good priorities.

—

Davrin: So, Rainier. Heard a lot of rumours about how you joined the Wardens.

Thom: (uneasy noise) You know, Warden Blackwall told me your past gets forgotten after the Joining.

Davrin: A nice ideal, but it never stands up to the gossip. But you’ve shown your worth.

Thom: Enough for me to have one of those griffons when we rescue them, d’you reckon?

Davrin: (laughs) We’ll see.

—

Thom: I knew someone like Manfred once. He was a spirit, but he sort of… grew his own body.

Emmrich: Oh! A spontaneous incarnation! Do you happen to know what kind of spirit he was?

Thom: Uh… the kind that looks like a young man, but reads minds and flits about trying to make everyone feel better about themselves?

Emmrich: Ah, Compassion! A rather more advanced emotion than Curiosity, and therefore capable of manifesting a physical body, rather than needing to adopt a vacant one.

Thom: More advanced? Right. That explains why Cole used to talk to me about living with the weight of regret, and Manfred spent ten minutes yesterday poking my face to see if my beard came off.

—

Neve: So, you know Dorian?

Thom: Does anyone who’s been in the same room as him for thirty seconds get a choice about knowing Dorian?

Neve: And didn’t always get along, I take it.

Thom: He’s… he’s not so bad. We might’ve judged each other by first impressions back when we met.

Neve: And what’s your impression now?

Blackwall: Still too fancy for his own good. But it says exactly who he is that he’s fighting against slavers and blood mages. I think I got the better deal with the darkspawn.

—

Taash: I heard the Inquisitor turned into a dragon.

Thom: No, she… didn’t. But she did get one to fight with us once.

Taash: She did? What kind? How’d she do it?

Thom: Sort of… gold? And she drank from this pool of elven magic, and… that somehow let her ask it to help us. I think.

Taash: Did she ride it into battle?

Thom: Uh… No.

Taash: Oh. I would’ve ridden it into battle.

—

Thom: Emmrich, do you know what those demons were the other day? The ones that wouldn’t leave me alone?

Emmrich: Ah. Those were manifestations of Shame. A variant of the Despair spirit.

Thom: Right. Don’t know what I expected.

Emmrich: If it’s any consolation, I find that one can tell much more about a person from the more benign spirits that gather around them. I catch glimpses of them about you often. Valour. Fortitude. Honour.

Thom: I hope to be worthy of them.

—

Thom: Lucanis, have you ever regretted any of your kills?

Lucanis: Not so far.

Thom: So this is what you’re fine with being? A man who takes nobles’ money and lives in luxury with your bloodied hands? That's the life you chose?

Lucanis: Not ‘chose’, exactly. It is what I was trained to be since my childhood.

Thom: Wait. You were – who trains a child to be an assassin?

Lucanis: You met my grandmother.

—

Davrin: You held up pretty well in the last fight, Rainier. For an old man.

Thom: Whelp like you’d better watch what he says around a senior Warden.

Davrin: Why? You’ll tell me to do the fifty press-ups that your creaky bones can’t handle?

Thom (laughs) I’ll stop letting you borrow my best chisel.

—

Bellara: Hey, um, Thom? You know that little rocking griffon you made? Could you make, I don’t know, a bigger one? Like… adult… person-sized?

Thom: (chuckles) You never have a rocking griffon growing up?

Bellara: No! They’re not a Dalish thing! Because you can’t really rock. When the aravel’s moving, I mean. So… no, it’s a dumb idea. Forget I said anything.

Thom: You want me to make it a rocking halla?

Bellara: Yes please thank you.

—

Emmrich: How far you must have travelled, with both the Inquisition and the Wardens!

Thom: I like being on the road. Keeps a man honest.

Emmrich: I rather envy your fearlessness of the wider world. It’s so recent that the end of the Circles allowed me to travel freely outside the Necropolis.

Thom: Must have been freeing. Having the whole world suddenly open to you.

Emmrich: And rather overwhelming, I must admit. When I compare myself to you – a brave Warden, combatting the Blight across all of Thedas…

Thom: Trust me: compare the two of us, and that’s the only way I’ll come out better from it.

—

Thom: We fought quite a few dragons in the Inquisition. Almost got eaten once by some pissed-off beast in the Hinterlands. Kept throwing its dragonlings at us.

Taash: Fereldan Frostbacks are crappy mothers. First sign of trouble, and it’s ‘here! Take my children!’

Thom: (laughs) The worst was the lightning-spitter off the Storm Coast. Spent twenty minutes hacking away at its scales, rest of my team unconscious on the ground.

Taash: Wait - you what? That's not how you fight dragons. You can't just stand there and hit them. That's stupid. And boring.

—

Lucanis: It’s how the Crow Houses work. Children of the House lineage are trained from our infancy.

Thom: Andraste’s fucking tits.

Lucanis: It’s necessary. If Illario and I had been coddled… Caterina pushed us hard and young, because she wanted us to survive.

Thom: I don’t… (sighs) The things people do to children.

—

Harding: I never thought to ask - how come Varric changed your nickname?

Thom: I asked him to go with something else. 'Hero'... that was a name he gave to Blackwall.

Harding: Well, he chose the right name. You know, 'cause Rooks move in straight lines. And you charge right in there, don't mess around with fancy words, just hit things til they drop. You could say you're -

Thom: Don't do it, Lace.

Harding: Straightforward.

Thom: (chuckles) You're as bad as Sera.

—

Emmrich: Master Rainier, I wanted to say – I hope you know that you’re the only person here who looks at you with any harshness.

Thom: I – (sighs) You don’t know everything about me.

Emmrich: I would never claim to. But I know that you place yourself before your allies and the defenceless without hesitation and with utter selflessness. I know you understand your Warden oath better than many of your superiors. I know that you are a good man.

Thom: … I wish I knew what it was like to be you. Seeing the good in everyone, living or dead.

Emmrich: Then I hope you’ll permit me continue to see the good in you – until you can see yourself as I do.

[bharv]

The fact that Thom Rainier is so committed to redemption that if left to his own devices he goes on a trip away around Orlais and the Free Marches for a whole year, even knowing that if he romanced the inquisitor this could destroy their relationship, because he knows he can’t be the man he wants to and needs to be until he gives people some closure and owns what he did. And he’s gonna take that however it comes, whether people invite him in or just scream at him, because he is dedicated to redemption in the full scope of what it means.

[dragonagecompanions]

DAI Companions reactions to repeatedly being mistaken for a young/teen Inquisitor's parent or older sibling.

Cassandra: At times it feels like she is, and yet it is never something the seeker begrudges. This young person has stepped into a role no one their age should have to fulfill, and with so many relying on them to save the world at least one person should be standing in the role of guardian and protector of their interests. She only wishes it could be her sole priority.

And if, in quiet moments, to have a sibling again is a balm then it a truth no one else need know.

Varric: He was a lousy brother, though is was not as if Bertrand was winning any awards either. But he never really understood the pressures his older brother was under until stepping into part of that role— and Varric never had the strain of ailing mother or the loss of Orzammar on his shoulders. No, he is not sibling material.

But no father could be prouder of a child than he is, watching their young leader stitch the world back together. Kid needs looking after, and Varric Tethras is honored in the burden.

Solas: If the Inquisitor is elven, no matter his plans for the future, the rift mage feels a sort of obligatory kinship to the da’len so far from clan or kin. Children have always been precious, especially to the Elvhen who did not conceive so easily as humans.

For any other inquisitor he does not correct those who make the mistake, and will turn it into a familiar joke later that the herald must be the most attractive of thei species to be mistaken for an elf. It hides how little he cares for the comparison.

Kin slaying is a terrible crime. Best not to build the relationship from the start.

Blackwall: In another life Thom Rainier had scorend the idea of children, and taken pains to ensure that his dalliances would not conceive a bastard he had no intention of claiming. Now his family name is hardly worth the claiming, and he is grateful his only sister took her husband’s name long ago and is free of his legacy.

But as a warden, true or otherwise, Blackwall is honored by such a comparison. If his presence has had any small benefit to the young person upon whom such a task is laid then he is honored by the comparison. And while he would be the first to argue that no one is better off in his care or keeping, Blackwall would be the first to lay down his life to protect theirs, and will do everything he can to make sure they are well.

Vivienne: For the sake of his grown children- and the wife who had done her duty in the bearing- Bastian could not have given her a child. Even if he could have protected it from the clawing hands of the Circle, whose laws had forbidden such a gift. To be a mother was not in her future, and in her youth Vivienne had taken steps to ensure such an accidental fate could never befall her.

But she could have been. In the quiet moments through out the years she had imagined how such a child might grow, might flourish under the love and guidance of two parents who so deeply wanted it. And while the Inquisitor is neither replacement nor surrogate for that dream, in this young person Madame de Fer can see a reflection of what might have been.

If she takes care to guard their appearance, coach their behavior and prepare them as best she can for the great game, it is easily couched in the truth that it benefits the Inquisition to do so. The truth of her affection is hidden away, no further burden on shoulders already heavy with titles and too few years.

But she can dream.

Sera: When she does think about her childhood, the few times it has to be examined, Sera would not have minded another small person to have run about with. It might have made the lessons and the lies less lonely, to know someone else was there to ride through it with.

But there wasn’t. And she didn’t. And she likes the Inquisitor, is happy to have them as both friend and Friend. But family is a sore spot in the tapestry of her life, and adding patches to warped thread does not fix the faulty loom.

Dorian: It is the worst nightmare of most high born alti, that one’s parents might conceive a second child to rival them for the familiar seat in the magisterium. Never a risk for Halward and Aquinea, whose duties to each other and the marriage bed ended w it the birth of a living and magically inclined son.

And yet Dorian would not have minded a younger Pavus knocking about when he had been a boy, someone to share the duties and adventures of Minrathious in those few years before duty locked away simpler pleasures. But when he is first mistaken for the Inquisitor’s father, first mistakenly assigned that guardianship and all it brings?

It staggers him, how deeply the role could fit. For all that their creation is anathema to them, Dorian Pavus would never scorn a child of his blood. Of any blood, in truth. If their herald is young enough and without guardianship, without a future once Corypheus is defeated…

It is a thought for later.

The Iron Bull: Where is the lie? Was he any less worthy of the imereki than those who had left them behind? The feelings that well up when the mistaken role is given do not surprise him, and Bull is perhaps the easiest of any besides Cassandra with taking on that burden. The Chargers are his family, and if they survive the Storm Coast the little Herald is gathered up into that fold without question.

And even with one eye he can see the second Dorian accepts and even relishes the idea. The Iron Bull didn’t come South looking for a family, but one may well be within his grasp regardless.

Cole: “Shared name, shared memories, tied together by all the things that matter. Even when we don’t agree there is still love and trust, striving for something greater than we are. Yes! We are a family. That makes sense.”

Mod Fereldone

[cullenssweatyballsakk]

Bro I'm still sick of these tired ass redditors and they weak ass arguments against Cullen. They keep regurgitating these same tired talking points about how he's so racist and weird and it's just UGH.

I was literally talking to one on Reddit the other day, I got downvoted after I disproved their shitty argument.

Apparently, to them, having severe PTSD is not an excuse to be, y'know, TRAUMATIZED, and his distrust and hatred of mages was uncalled for and weird. Ok bro

They say that he killed 3 apprentices, which wasn't even confirmed and was only implied before it was later retconned and confirmed to be a rumor. They use this all the time to say he's a bad person and should be 'held accountable'.

One person even said he was racist towards elves, and everyone up voted them as if it was true, lmfao. No where in the series has he ever been shown to be racist towards elves, and atp they just talking out they ass.

And out of all, my least favorite 'talking point' with these people is when they say he's a pervert/rapist. This point is so tired, just not true, and downright WEIRD. they see that Cullen had a crush on Amell/Surana, and they fucking ran with it.

Somehow, having a crush on someone is now creepy. He was literally 19, and teenagers have wack hormones. (I would know, I am one.) He was respectful the entire time, albeit awkward. When you proposition him, he literally runs away.

They got the 'rapist' thing from some writer who gave their two cents about Cullen's character, and how THEY thought he MIGHT act, even though this person has nothing to do with his actual writing.

And to make it worse, these people have a weird obsession with making him 'pay' for his transgressions, as if he already isnt repentive enough, and tbh, he didn't do anything too wild. He was following orders, and from what we saw in DA2, never did anything outrageous.

Someone even said they thought the Inquisitor should have the option to have Cullen executed, which is total BULLSHIT.

Most of these talking points came from someone I was talking to on Reddit, and they were literally a Blackwall romancer. Blackwall. Thom Rainier. The nigga that actually ordered and partook in the murder of an entire family. Kids included.

Then proceeded to run away and hide from his crimes by pretending to be a Grey Warden. If the Inquisitor steps in, there's a chance he literally never gets what's coming to him, and can be let off the hook. 😐.

I swear, some of these people are actually 🧠 💀. These redditors are literally full of shit.

@bibliomoth

@kathartic-kat

@sweetjulieapples

(mentions because of the comments y'all sent earlier)

[thievinghippo]

31 Days of DA - Introduce your Inquisitor

The one, the only, Bethroot Cadash

She has a ridiculous name and she knows it. Her mother thought she was giving her daughter a human name like Violet or Daisy. Instead, she was Bethroot

When Bethroot was 18 years old, she and her boyfriend, Lantos made a lyrium deal with some Templars and tried to keep the Dasher out of it. He found out anyway. Bethroot was beaten and tied to a chair. When Lantos was given the option of keeping the money and staying in the Dasher's good will by giving Bethroot a Glasgow smile, he did so immediately Thankfully, the Dasher only required half the smile before forgiving them both

For the next six years, Bethroot mainly worked on lyrium deals in Orzammar, becoming quite friendly with some of the nobles there. (She had a brief fling with King Bhalen before the Conclave)

Then she was sent to the Conclave and her life changed forever. Given the chance not to be a criminal for the first time in her life, she grabbed onto it with both hands. She tried to do as much good as possible, throughout Ferelden and Orlais

And then she fell in love with Blackwall. She thought they would only have a few years together because of the Calling, so she didn't truly mind the revelation of his past. After all, if she's able to reinvent herself as the Inquisitor, why shouldn't Blackwall?

After Trespasser, Bethroot and Thom Rainier traveled around all of known Thedas. While visiting Orzammar, they met a middle-aged cook named Edda in prison for stealing (she was giving food away to the the casteless). That brief encounter quite possibly changed the world

At the time of VG, Bethroot is 36 years old and she and Blackwall have a three-year-old daughter named Anise. Carrying a half-dwarf was very hard on Bethroot, so they know Anise will be an only child

After that? We'll have to wait and see!

Important Links

#bethroot cadash

#otp: I can breathe again

Bethroot on YouTube

Bethroot on Ao3

artists are mauvaise-reputation, theironbullofficial, snuffes, and baewall

[abyssal-ilk]

do you have any thoughts on viv x blackwall friendship dynamic?

- 🪄

I DO, ACTUALLY! thank you so much for the ask!!!

i think it is a very strained friendship, if one can even call it "friendship". they both perceive the other to be something they are staunchly against. vivienne views the wardens as being unnecessary/dated at best and predatory/dangerous at worst, and blackwall views vivienne to be a pampered noble lady who's willingness to get involved with the inquisiton and her subversion of his expectations of her makes her suspicious. vivienne sees blackwall as a puppy because of his eagerness to matter, and blackwall sees vivienne as a snake because of the cunning that allows for her survival.

(i've barely touched on this before but i do think the fact that vivienne is a woman plays into how blackwall goes about interacting with her. he would not be speaking to her in their banter with the same manner if vivienne were a man, and i think that's important to note.)

i think there is only a very small window where vivienne and blackwall could reasonably be considered friends, and it would have to be after haven falls but before blackwall is revealed to be thom rainier. in my mind it is a friendship of necessity; neither particularly likes the other, but they are fighting together alongside the inquisitor and share a common goal. it's hard to be constantly at someone's throat when you're spilling blood with them and then patching up their wounds afterwards. and they are both defenders! keeping the rest of their team safe is something both vivienne and blackwall care deeply about, and if nothing else, that protectiveness is something to bond over. even if blackwall struggles to see vivienne's care for what it is and vivienne thinks blackwall's viewpoint is vastly naive.

vivienne and blackwall aren't as different as they think, either! they're both free marcher commoners who have had to carve out a place for themselves in orlais as foreigners, but vivienne succeeded in finding a place for herself and blackwall lost that place when he took that bribe and allowed his men to kill a family of innocents. blackwall allowed his own selfishness to get the best of him at the cost of others– something vivienne has not done, and i think that conficts with the view blackwall has on nobility and soldiers, or authority in general. a soldier is just a man following orders to him– the ones commanding the soldiers are the ones to blame for any wrongdoing. but vivienne does not order soldiers. she is a "noble lady" to him, but takes matters into her own hands and puts herself at risk while blackwall once allowed his men to take the fall for himself. this defying of expectations rattles blackwall and he projects a lot of his own insecurities onto her.

vivienne doesn't know any of this, of course, until after blackwall is revealed to be thom rainier. and i do not think vivienne would be forgiving of that deception. she'll play somewhat nice so long as the inquisitor is willing to keep blackwall around, but blackwall being willing to allow his men to slaughter a family for his own gain and then spending years hiding from it? treating her as being suspicious and manipulative when he was the one lying all along? yeah. she's not just letting that go. especially if she happened to start actually liking him somewhere in all of that, and considering she eventually ended up caring for cole? it's not that big of a reach to think she did the same for blackwall.

it's especially juicy if vivienne personally knew the family that blackwall had his men kill, as vincent callier was an ally of celene and vivienne was celene's advisor. or even if rainier was someone vivienne previously took interest in when he was in the army because he was a free marcher like she was. there's a lot of potential in their dynamic!! they're soo fun to think about

i have like half an old fic written of blackwall helping patch up vivienne after a fight while they're seperated from the rest of the party that digs into their dynamic a bit,, mayhaps i will finish it if people are interested

[liaragaming]

Cole & Compassion as more-Human

I know my mutuals prefer the more spirit route. And I do want to iterate that neither path is wrong or right. Cole is happy whatever you choose. But I want to explain why I prefer the human path.

Forgetting Trauma

I made Cole more spirit in my first few playthroughs. I like Cole, and I like Solas, and Solas is the spirit expert. So when he says, the spirit route is the way to go, then that should be correct right? Varric's statements that Cole "came here to be a person" is wrong. Cole came here to help. He's a spirit of Compassion, and that's what he should be. And with those aspects in mind, the more human path seems incorrect.

But Cole making the Templar forget what he did never quite sat right with me. I'm sure we all have trauma we'd like to erase, but that's not healing. That's just erasure. Cole says the Templar remembers that something bad happened and that he had to leave the order because of it - he just doesn't remember the hand he personally played. And that's a nice sentiment. I'm just not sure that it's right.

Blackwall's Journey You know who carries a lot of trauma in the game? Blackwall. He doesn't get to forget it. But he heals from it, especially if you choose the Thom Rainier route. He doesn't get to run to the Wardens as a cover for his actions. He has to figure out how to live as he is. And it's hard, but he does it. He travels Thedas, finding others like him and offering them hope.

Thom Rainier was shown mercy when none was deserved, and set on a path of redemption. This gift, so compassionately given, needed to be shared. Freed from his obligations to the Inquisition, Rainier travelled Thedas, giving hope to the condemned and the forgotten. In the deepest prisons and pits of Thedas, he found, if not goodness itself, its potential. By showing faith in those who had none, Rainier lifted them up and made them into something better than they were.

This path of redemption that is shared with others and touches so many people could never happen if Cole went to Thom and made him forget. Trauma sucks, but people can learn and grow and something good and wonderful can come from it. And I think this potential for healing and transformation is lost in the act of forgetting.

Forgetting Cole

The other thing about making Cole more spirit that rubbed me the wrong way is how Cole makes himself forget the real Cole - the boy whom he came through the Fade to comfort. And I get why this has to happen. Cole can't learn or grown from it - that would change him. He has to forget to keep himself, but...

Solas says that making Cole more human alters the essence of what he is. But the more I played the spirit path, the more I felt that was the path that altered him.

Cole reached through the Fade to help a small boy. That was Compassion - an incredible, extraordinary example of it. And it doesn't sit right with me that making Cole more spirit and supposedly more himself erases the most compassionate thing he's ever done.

Cole Learns How to Help More

I vehemently disagree with Varric's words that Cole came to this world to be human. That isn't true. I don't like the Inquisitor's words, insisting that Cole needs to learn to be more human. I don't want Cole to be human. I want him to be Compassion. I want him to heal his own hurt and help people as he's always done. And it turns out, at least in my opinion, that the more human route is the one that allows him to do that most because he learns how it do it more effectively.

Everyone remembers me now. But I'm real. More real, anyway. And I understand more than I did. I sometimes see why something I said would bother Cullen. Maybe I'll do it less.

Making people forget sometimes isn't the answer, and Cole understands that now. He also understands now why some of his actions might hurt when he doesn't intend them to. He learns what works and what doesn't whereas, as more spirit, he'll just do what he thinks is right (even if maybe it's not).

[spoiler alert for Asunder in this paragraph] If you've never read Asunder, Cole kills mages. He recognizes that they are stuck in the Circle and in pain, and as Compassion he believes that the only way to help them, to relieve that pain, is to take their life so they don't feel it anymore. He has to learn and grow and realize that's the wrong answer. And I see the human path in Inquisition as doing the same thing.

Cole learns how to help people more effectively. He can't make people forget him anymore. So, he can't start over if he does something wrong. But it helps him learn how to heal through better methods.

I wanted to help people, but I only knew enough to do it in the simplest way. [...] Making people forget me was a defense against people attacking me and having what they saw in me stick. Because I'm real, everything sticks. What they think or feel about me stays. [In banter with Blackwall, he elaborates] I can't wash it away, but it helps me learn.

To me, this is Compassion. This is how Cole helps. This is how he keeps himself and his purpose as a spirit in a way that, in my opinion, is more effective than the spirit route.

Cole is Sadder, yes, but...

I know this tweet has made the rounds. But I don't think Weekes is necessarily saying the human route is wrong.

It hurts. Everything hurts. Everyone remembers me now.

Does Cole being more human make him sadder? Yes. He carries trauma with him. And trauma hurts. It sucks. He's "sadder," but that doesn't mean he's not happy:

Being this, being me...it's harder. But better. I like me.

A lot of us carry trauma. I carry my own. But I learned from it. I am more empathetic and understanding of certain things because of it. I'm not the same person I was before. And yes it hurts. Yes, I'm "sadder" than I would be without it. But I wouldn't erase it. I like who I am. And going back to the person I was, the person who saw the world differently than I do now, who didn't know the things I know now... I wouldn't want that. And with Cole as more human, there are things he comes to understand that as more spirit he never could.

Varric's wrong. Cole didn't come to this world to be human. He crossed the Veil to help, to show compassion. The human path lets him do that. The spirit path, in my opinion, sends him back. The human path, propels him forward.

Cole's Fears

If you make Cole more spirit, he thanks you for not making him change. But if you make him more human, he admits that he was scared of change. He lost his only friend, Rhys, when he "grew" - when he realized what he was and and learned and became something more. He was worried changing and becoming more human would make him lose his friends all over again - that being seen and letting people see him as he is (without the power to make them forget) would scare everyone and they would push him away. As more human, he realizes he was wrong. He says it's liberating. He calls it "wonderful."

Conclusion

I'm not saying one path is wrong or right. I see the reasons for going more spirit with Cole. And the fact that a more spirit Cole recognizes Solas' pain and steps into the Fade to join him and help him remember who he is kills me. The fact human Cole ends up with Maryden and not Krem also kills me.

I still question if more-human is the right choice. But when I ask myself what makes Cole more himself - what allows him to embody Compassion the way that he wants to - I just personally see the more human path as the best at achieving that.

[dreadfutures]

seeing my inquisitor was special but having her just dump exposition without any weight behind it, just vaguely stern "i was a leader and didn't want to be, so can you" - incredibly disappointing. what's going on in the south lacks any bite to it. Oh, so Ferelden is completely overrun with darkspawn from the east and from the south. Did that happen before? Don't know. Does that carry any significance? Don't know. Are there ANY Wardens in Ferelden? Don't know. Sucks for Ferelden!

There is no reason. NO REASON. That your decisions from DAI at the very least could not be woven in to this little pep talk. How about the disastrous consequences of allying with the mages and basically dooming the templars to join Corypheus (or vice versa)? That would be a great thing to bring up after a choice Rook makes dooms an entire city. How about "I spared Thom Rainier, a decision many were unhappy with, but I understood his potential -- once he overcame his guilt and regret. I, an Inquisitor who was friendly with Solas... want to believe Solas can do the same." or "I, an Inquisitor who hates Solas... think that there's a difference between killing a family and destroying the whole world. >:|"

Also.

How is anyone who hasn't played DAI supposed to know that the Inquisitor only has one arm. That they lost it because Solas took it. How is that not something that could influence how we as Rook see Solas? How is it. That this totally un-obvious prosthetic Perfectly Arm Looking Fake Arm. WIPES AWAY THEIR DISABILITY EVEN VISUALLY.

i despair

(also:

**All of this with the darkspawn happened very recently (since the start of DA4 as a game) but.... the Antaam's invasion of Antiva has been happening for at least a few years.

Where the fuck is the talk about an Exalted March btw. The broken treaties. The South's alliance with the Free Marches and Antiva. The South's reaction to having been attacked by the Ben Hassrath in Trespasser, to know that there IS a qunari invasion of the south coming, and then.... to do nothing say nothing for several years as that indeed happens in Antiva and comes toward you? You think that wouldn't be mentioned in a discussion of the history of the setting and the political situation of the south?)

[wootensmith]

Eucatastrophe

Thom Rainier’s appearance in camp should not have taken Solas by surprise. He’d known for years that Rainier had joined the Wardens, a reprieve from hanging dearly bought. But Solas had not expected to meet him again. Not even here, where all the forces that could be gathered had come to face their fate. In truth, he had not intended to meet any of his old comrades again and with his accidental imprisonment in the Fade it had seemed a vanishingly small possibility to Solas until very recently. 

Rainier was huddled with Harding and the Warden Commander over a large table when Solas and Rook arrived. An enormous sword lay across the table, its scrolling gold details giving away its lineage immediately. “Is that— Glandivalis?” asked Rook, drawn immediately to it.  “It is,” rumbled Thom, turning to look at her. “A gift. Along with an offer. From…” he trailed off for a second, seeing Solas. “From an old friend,” he finished. His beard had grayed significantly and there were fresh scars on his nose, his cheek, his hands. He did not smile in greeting. Solas offered him a slight bow, but remained silent. “The Wardens stand with the Veilguard,” said the Commander. “The order is assembled. We have reason to believe our foes will be drawn to Valarian. Here.” He jabbed a finger at the large map spread on the table. “We have three days to reach position. After that—” He picked up the sword and extended it hilt-first to Rook. “Our ‘old friend’ will continue to aid us if possible but we are likely the best defense that Thedas has.” “Why there specifically?” asked Solas, only to be cut off by Rook asking: “Who’s the old friend?” The uneasy look that Harding and Rainier exchanged was answer enough for Solas, but the Warden Commander took Solas’s question instead.

“I understand our friend has largely been responsible for drawing the elvhen gods away from populated centers. Not— entirely successfully, as you are no doubt aware, but with some dependability. Rainier has more detail on this aspect of our battle plan, but in short Valarian fields are far enough from Minrathous to minimize damage but close enough for reenforcement should we fail. I assume it is also for the symbolic significance as well, hence the blade.” Rook stared at the weapon intently and Rainier took advantage of her distraction to nod to Solas, indicating he should follow Rainier away from the others.

They left the large tent, stepping into a thick, cold sleet. Rainier casually packed his pipe, ice flakes catching and melting into his beard. “Didn’t think you’d escaped,” he observed after a minute. “She told me you had, felt it somehow, I think. But after Varric told us about your—” he waved the pipe vaguely at Solas, “ritual thing— I admit I didn’t see you wriggling out of that one, no matter how slippery you might be. The Inquisitor insisted though. It’s why she sent me. Told me to convince you not to use your magic until you got to the muster point. You, in particular. The others are fine. She has more faith in both of us than we deserve, Solas. Don’t know how I’m supposed to persuade an ancient elvhen god to keep it under wraps on her say so, but there it is.” He struggled to light his pipe in the drizzle. Solas flicked a finger to light it, and Rainier caught his hand before the spark could erupt from him. “See, that’s what I mean. No magic, Solas. Not if you want this to work. I can forgo the pipe for ten minutes, can’t I?” “Apologies,” said Solas as Rainier released his wrist. “Old habits.” “Aye. Hard to teach old soldiers like us, isn’t it? For her though, try, won’t you? She wouldn’t ask if there were no reason to it.” “What reason then? What is she attempting?” Rainier shook his head with a sigh. “Wouldn’t say. In case I got caught. She said it was for the best. Can’t betray what you don’t know. Said she’d have kept me out of it too, if she could have thought of a better way. All I know for certain is she’s terrified. Could feel it soaking through her, off her like a cold wave. Like a green recruit before his first darkspawn. Like she were at Haven all over again. Kept mum. Always does. But clear as day anyway.”

“Then tell me where you left her. You should have stayed with her,” cried Solas, feeling a band of dread tighten around his own heart. “I would have, if she’d allowed it. This was more important, she said. No magic. Three days time and we must be on the Valarian fields. And this.” He reached into his cloak and retrieved a slim package. He handed it to Solas. It was still warm from resting against his chest. “What—“ “Don’t know. Didn’t ask and it were never for my eyes. Best not to know. Same as her plan. Just in case I fell into the wrong hands.” He tapped his full pipe gently against his palm, narrowing his eyes against the icy snow as he stared north toward the glow of further camps in the distance. “She’s never been a coward, Solas. Even scared, she still marches on. Every time. And I never could ease her fears before battle, no matter what I tried. Doesn’t matter, she goes on anyhow. Wouldn’t have mattered if I were there to hold her hand or not. This was the way I could help her. All of us. That—” He pointed the pipe at the bundle Solas now held, “meant something to her. What she’s doing means something. Maybe it means everything. So we’re going to do our part, right? And maybe what she sent will answer more questions than I can.” “Rainier!” The Warden Commander called from inside the tent. Rainier ducked back inside, leaving Solas to the driving sleet and the leather-wrapped package between his fingers.

Solas resisted the urge to warm himself with a spell, instead crossing to another large tent nearby where a campfire crackled and spat when lumps of ice dropped into it. He entered the tent and found it empty and dry, an apothecary table in one corner and several cots in a line. The canvas walls rippled in the wind. He blew on his fingers to loosen them with a little warmth and then tugged on the leather wrapping of the bundle. It was a book. The ghost of a smile tugged at him when he saw the title. Fade and Spirits Mysterious by Brother Genitivi. She’d stolen it from his desk after Adamant. He’d let her believe he hadn’t noticed. Whatever comfort she took from Brother Genitivi’s fumbling explanations, she never said, but the book remained on her desk until at last he had purposely caught her reading it. “Ah, there it is,” he’d said loudly and laughed as she scrambled to close it, panicking. “The book keeper has been hounding me for months. I thought I would have to sign over half of my possessions in payment.” “I’m sorry, emma lath,” she’d said, flushing. “I only wanted to borrow it a day, two. But you know how little chance we get to read for our own sakes. A day turned to a week and then a month. I— a few days more, please?” she’d asked as he held out his hand for the book. “I confess Genitivi is a good primer for those who cannot easily access the Fade, Vhenan, but you are rather past a novice now, are you not? I would wager you could write a better treatise than this, having walked the Fade yourself.” He’d captured her hand rather than the book and kissed it. “I— was hoping there was something more in his research. About— about Falon’din. About spirits like Justinia. About death and after,” she’d admitted.

Solas tried to shake himself free of the memory. Returning the book could just mean that it was intended for him. Or that she’d known he’d been trapped in the Fade. Or that— he opened the cover. Thin, smooth script in the Inquisitor’s hand covered the delicate endsheet. 

My brevity will prove a disappointment, I fear. Do not think me cold. There is an ocean of words waiting. But I cannot say what eyes will read this, nor whose hands it will pass through, nor what shore it washes up upon. In hopes that it has reached the correct one, I will say only that I have not forgotten my oath.

The reflection cannot meet its creator until the mirror is broken at last. In case that day does not arrive and this be the last drop I can send, know that centuries have not dulled the anger of your foes. I beg you to remain hidden. Know also that centuries will neither dull the love of your friends.

He struggled to read only the words she had written down and not all the ones he hoped that she meant to. He tried not to infer more than she had given. But begging him to remain hidden— that crawled into the darker spaces of his mind and stuck. It is an easy leap to make, that the Evanuris would harbor resentment, he told himself. But her insistence upon it— the only reason she risked the message was to warn him. She had to know he would expect their hatred. She would not have taken the risk if it were only to tell him what he already knew or to tell him something she only suspected. The tent flap opened and Rook entered, wiping the slush from her shoulder. Rainier followed.

Rook held out the hilt of Glandivalis to him. “You should take this. Given that you won’t be able to use your spells.” Solas shook his head. “Swords were never my forte. My own weapon serves me better. And— though she meant it symbolically, I do not like the implication.” He shuddered. “Because you do not want to be Andraste’s stand in? Or Shartan’s?” asked Rook. “Given their ends, I hope none of us are either,” said Rainier.  “Why is she so sure she can draw them to Valarian, Thom?” asked Solas. “She sends me this warning as if— as if she had already met Elgar’nan or Ghilan’nain.” “Met— no. Encountered, yes. They were not in the conversational way. Least, last time we saw them.” “You survived?” asked Rook. “How? That must have taken some doing.” “We fled. Not proud of it and neither was she, but we were in a village and she— had reason to think the Evanuris would chase her if she led them away from the others. They have been chasing her since. And will do, until they do ‘meet’ her or are distracted. Which is why you have to keep control of your magic until we get to the agreed meeting place.” Rainier clamped a hand around Solas’s shoulder. “Not panic and do something that’ll jeopardize us all, including the Inquisitor, right?” The reflection cannot meet its creator. “They’re chasing the anchor,” Solas realized. “That makes sense. It was yours, wasn’t it?” asked Rook. “And since the ritual you’ve been… off the board. Probably the first familiar sensation they encountered when the Evanuris were— escaped.” She stumbled over her words, embarrassed still by the hand she had had in the situation.

Everything— everything had changed since Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain had been locked away. Solas had felt it for himself upon waking. Everything they’d known was ruins, melted back into the stone and root of the land or taken by the wind and water, demolished to build human monuments. All that remained was almost unrecognizable. Except for the anchor. Except for his own magic.  “They’ll catch her long before the rendezvous. They’ve probably already—” “No they won’t. It’s been months, Solas. As long as she doesn’t try anything reckless, they aren’t going to find her. She has friends. Allies. People who will help her scattered all across the continent.” “But she won’t go to them.” Rainier’s hand squeezed tighter around his shoulder. “She will. If she must. The anchor’s what you’ve got in common, not method. Why do you think I’m here? I didn’t just wake up a few days ago and decide to visit the ass end of Tevinter. My friend needed help. And I answered. Trust her. She is trusting in all of us to be there when she arrives. When she lets them catch her. I know you’re itching to cast some bombastic spell right now, to whistle in the loudest possible way to turn the attention of the Evanuris toward yourself, but consider that there are thousands and thousands of lives in the balance, Solas. Three days, and you’ll see for yourself. Not so long. Not to someone like you.” Solas knew he was right. So it only further piqued his frustration when Rook casually added, “She’s waited a lot longer than that to see you, I’d guess.”

Rainier stuck close beside him through the march, at meal times, during rest. “You do not have to act the part of a jailer, Thom,” Solas told him the first night. “Not a guard,” he muttered, trying to shift his pack into a more comfortable makeshift pillow. “Just here to prevent old habits. I realize asking you not to cast spells is like asking you to hold your breath. I’m not here to stop you, don’t think I really could if it were something you were determined to do. I’m just here to prevent you unintentionally breaking your resolution. Though—” he sat up with a groan. “Not sure what happens when you fall asleep. Don’t know if your Fade walking’s going to draw ‘em. But neither of us can forgo sleep for three days and then be ready for battle.” Solas stared at the canvas roof. “If that drew them, they would already have come. I haven’t been released from the Fade for long, but it’s been long enough. Still, I will take precautions, Warden. Sleep easy.”

Do not think me cold. I have not forgotten my oath. It rang over and over in his head and though Solas had no doubt he could sleep without any real danger, he did not. Instead his thoughts spun in spirals through the hours. How powerful has the anchor become? What can she be doing to hide it from the Evanuris? It would be like a trail of bright crimson across a field of snow to them. They have already caught her. She is already gone. 

The sleet had ended and a frigid morning greeted them, becoming more arid as they traveled.  “Thought Dorian said Tevinter was always warm. Was the few times I was here before anyway,” Rainier grumbled, his knees audibly popping. “It is,” said Solas. “This is unusual for the season. It can make aches worse. If you like—” “I’ll ask one of the Wardens for a warming stone,” finished Rainier. “Yes,” Solas agreed. “I apologize.” “Nothing to be sorry for. Just habit. And I appreciate the thought. Not my first trudge through the snow. Do you remember Sahrnia? Sheer misery, that. Weisshaupt’s not exactly balmy either.” “Do you spend much time there?” asked Solas. “I thought you were happiest recruiting on your own.” Rainier flushed. “Ah. Well, that was before I could do any actual recruitment. Since my Joining I find it… more comfortable to be around others. But— no. I do not stay overlong at the fortress. There is plenty to occupy us elsewhere.” “I am glad you have found comfort in fellowship. Truly.” “Aye. It has been a useful life among the Wardens. It took a few years before it felt easy to fall in with the Order. That I’d earned my place. There are days still—” he shook his head. “Warden Blackwall saw you at the darkest, Thom, and recruited you. I am not in agreement with the Gray Wardens, but I will say that I hope they are worthy of you rather than the other way around.”

They walked in silence for a while. It was not uncomfortable, it felt almost familiar to Solas, listening to others laugh and talk around them. Still, his thoughts returned and returned to the anchor without rest. Rook fell back to them and broke the silence. “Just ask him,” she said with a scowl. “Ask him what?” said Rainier. “No, Solas needs to ask you. Don’t know why our… situation has changed so abruptly but he won’t get out of my head and he’s wearing my sanity to pieces.” “It doesn’t matter,” said Solas, “there is no answer that will alter anything.” “Look, you don’t sleep, I don’t sleep. So ask him already.” Solas hesitated. “You get absorbed by Cole?” Rainier asked Rook, “You’re making about as much sense as he would.” “Don’t know any Cole. Have enough with Solas in my head as it is.” “The anchor—” Solas blurted out, “how bad is the anchor now? It must have grown significantly for the Evanuris to notice.” “Ah,” said Rainier. “I thought you would ask— never mind. It has spread, if that’s what you mean. Dorian worries over it too. Asks me every time I see him if I’ve noticed. Hard not to. She says it doesn’t hurt, not like it used to, if you’re concerned. Not something we talk about often, even if I saw her more. I’m no mage, can’t feel it like Dorian seems to. But if you mean what it looks like, she tries to cover it, mostly, just so she can go unnoticed. Started glowing through her armor sometime between last Harvestmere and now. It’s noticeable.” “There,” sighed Rook, “that wasn’t so awful, was it? She’s not in pain. You can stop cycling through that thought so intensely and maybe this headache will go away.” “I am sorry for the discomfort. I cannot shield you from it without using a spell. I’m afraid we are stuck with each other until the battle,” Solas told her. She grumbled something and sped up, putting space between them.

“You said it didn’t matter,” observed Rainier after a few minutes. “How bad the anchor had got. Is that because there’s nothing you can do to ease it? Or because…” he trailed off. “Because we’re likely going to watch each other die in this battle? Both. But it is a relief to know she does not seem to be in pain. Thank you for that.” “Mm. You want to ask the other question yet, or are you going to wait until your new friend asks it for you?” Rainier stared pointedly at him. Do not think me cold. I have not forgotten my oath. Var lath vir suledin. He heard it in her voice, the agony of her crumbling arm, her crumbling heart, leaking through. Rook flinched and glanced back at him. Solas quickly shoved the memory away. “No,” he told Rainier. “There is no answer that would relieve me.” “Hmm,” said Rainier, his pack rattling as he adjusted its weight.

They had reached the stone slabs of the Imperial Highway before Rainier spoke again. “The Inquisitor made me go with her when the Archon summoned her, you know,” he said. “Thought she’d want Dorian to go. Do the talking for her. Argued about it almost in this exact spot.” He glanced up at the towering columns lining the road. The sound of feet upon the stone was significant now that more forces had joined them. “I told her I didn’t know an Archon from a Soporati. She told me it didn’t matter, that we weren’t going to Minrathous to play by the rules anyway.” Rainier laughed and shook his head. “I remember her scowl. ‘Radonis thinks he’s flexing his power, summoning me to Minrathous. As if I would simply come at his call. The Imperium has its Game, just like Orlais. And we can shift the balance of power just by pretending not to understand it.’ I told her there was no pretending about it. She told me just to remember that I was a Gray Warden walking into the place where the Blight first erupted. That would be enough to humiliate anyone still supporting the Venatori and their fanatical ideas. The pair of us— Radonis wasn’t ready.” Rainier laughed. “The Lucerni surged and we were invited to multiple balls. Stuck out like a pair of flaming mabari turds in a rose garden, but we went to every one. Sera would have loved it, if she’d been with us.” “I would have, too,” Solas admitted with a faint smile. “I know. Sometimes all you really want to know is that the people you care about— they go on. The things they do are powerful and healthy and brave. That they aren’t just this unmoving portrait in your mind. That they can still do things that would surprise you if you’d seen them. The state of them— their happiness or whether they’ve forgotten you or sometimes still cry because they miss you, that’s not as important. Joy or sorrow, those are as temporary as snow or wind. We pass through. But who we are… Because they were wonderful before we met them and what you really want to ask is if they go on being wonderful after we’re gone. What you really want to know is that you didn’t ruin that spark you saw in them. That’s the question you’re afraid to ask. Been traveling with the Inquisitor off and on for the better part of a decade now, Solas.” Rainier looked straight at him. “You couldn’t have stolen that spark even if you’d tried. And if breaking her spirit were ever a real possibility, you wouldn’t have fallen for her. She told me you thought we weren’t people. That we were just little talking moving chess pieces for a long time. Was an ugly thing for her to admit to all of us, but she did. She also said we changed your mind. Someone who just crumpled under your influence for good or ill— they’d never get the opportunity to change your mind. You love her because you can’t break her. For whatever it’s worth, from one old villain to another, the fact that you do, that you love her, makes me like you better. So, there’s the answer to the question you won’t ask. Hope it helps. At least Rook, if not you. Can’t imagine having you in my head for an hour let alone days.” Solas laughed softly. “Thank you, Thom,” he said. 

He slept, that second night. He was careful even in dreams, not to wander close to where he wished. There would be no wolf to haunt her.  Do not think me cold. Var lath vir suledin. Rainier abandoned him in the morning, pulled away to his Warden companions. “A few hours. You can hold on a few more, eh?” he’d asked, clapping Solas on the back. “Rest easy. I will not forget.” He nodded, pulled gently on his graying beard. “May the day be good to you,” he said. “Thom— You and I both know how quickly battles can turn. But if there is a chance— let me be the one to make the killing blow. They are blighted, but it need not be a Warden.” He hesitated, opened his mouth to respond, but the Warden-Commander’s gauntlet met his shoulder and pulled Thom Rainier away. The morning air took on a sickly orange hue as Satina began to slide across the sun. Rook called for Solas and he followed her over the plain toward the muster point.

The air was moveless, only cloudy breaths from the soldiers to stir it. Hundreds of banners drooped around them. The horses and then the people went silent as Satina ate up the light. Solas could feel Rook’s fear and it was plain upon most of the faces around him. He knew he should be frightened as well, that he, of them all, knew the magnitude of what lay ahead. But when a spark of emerald light pierced the horizon for an instant, then zipped closer like a comet sizzling over the ground, Solas felt only intense relief. Peace. He did not scrabble to escape, to find some other way. It was done. Beyond his control. What would come, would come.  The sliver of sun grew smaller and the green glow brighter. He tensed and Rook grabbed his arm.  “Not yet,” she said. “Let her bring them all the way. Let them think we’re ants until we pounce.” It might have been amusing on any other day, Rook advising the Dread Wolf to bide his time, but he only said, “I have not forgotten.”

The wind picked up at last, making what had been a chilly morning into a brittle, icy evening as Satina’s shadow grew. Great wingbeats broke the silence and the glow came to rest at the foot of a cluster of ruins. The center of the light was too bright for Solas to make out the figure beneath. Like counting birds against the sun, Cole said. Her voice though, clear as a peal of thunder. “Forth! For Thedas!” The army around Solas lunged forward, just as an enormous beast swung low over the ruins and landed heavily on a stone column. The ruins shifted and the Inquisitor dodged some falling stones but did not flee. The dragon snapped at her, trying to catch her between its jaws. She was quick to move aside, escaped twice and the army had almost swept Solas to her. She moved out of the path of a third bite only to be caught by a massive claw and Solas caught sight of her face at last.  Sheer horror as she was flung up and away from them. He called to her, but it erupted as a growl. The air was so thick with arrows that it made a breeze as they flew past. Solas pulled from the Fade, from the nearby anchor, from somewhere in the pit of his lungs, a great vortex of power fueled by millennia of rage. Elgar’nan’s head whipped toward him. What he saw was not an elf swathed in borrowed magic, but the Dread Wolf.

Rook’s voice directing the Veilguard was distant, as was the whoosh of ballista bolts being released. Fen’harel loped toward the dragon, still perched atop the ruins. The emerald of the anchor stuttered and flickered out of the corner of his eye. Var lath vir suledin. “Bring it down, Solas! We’re hobbled so long as it’s out of range,” yelled Rook.  He was too weak to stop Elgar’nan alone, that was true. But an army waited at his heels if he could simply throw Elgar’nan down. He had a flash of memory, the Inquisitor telling him the story of Elgar’nan and his father, the sun, the fiction colored by her awe. He hurled his father into the abyss and all was cold and still.

Fen’harel’s shoulder’s bunched and he sprang with a howl that reverberated against the stone. His jaw closed around Elgar’nan’s throat. The scales were too hard for his teeth to break through, but his momentum carried them both from the stone columns even as Elgar’nan tried to shake him loose. They tumbled into the turf below, carving a trench upon impact. Fen’harel snapped his head sideways, trying to tear the dragon’s throat open. A few scales cracked beneath his teeth but no more. And then Elgar’nan’s talon raked into his chest and pressed down, pinning him to the dirt.  “Solas!” Rook called. A blast of green light washed over him and the dragon screamed, shielding his face with one wing. Solas slipped back into his elvhen skin and wriggled out from under the large claw. Blood poured from a puncture in his chest, another in his right thigh. Soldiers and mages poured down into the trench around him, hacking at Elgar’nan’s claws, spinning fire and lightning against the creature’s flesh, but his armor was too thick.  “Emma lath.” The Inquisitor’s arm was around him, her prosthetic firing more lightning at the dragon.  “Ir abelas,” he gasped, “It was not enough. I need the anchor’s power. We must break his defenses.” “Then take it, fanor. Lean on me.” Elgar’nan belched blighted sand above their heads and the Inquisitor shielded them with a barrier. Solas gripped her hand at his waist and pulled from the anchor, siphoning strength from it until they both shook, her from exhaustion and he from holding too much power. He released the spell. A shockwave rippled from him, shattering Elgar’nan’s scales. They rained to the dirt, chiming like red lyrium crystals breaking. The Inquisitor collapsed. “Vhenan!” he cried. She shook her head, fumbling for a lyrium potion. “All is well,” she told him. She uncorked the bottle and handed it to him, grasping another for herself. “Go, before he recovers.” Solas gulped the bitter potion and climbed from the trench, already weaving another spell. When he had an instant to look back, he was relieved to see she was no longer there. A dim glow of emerald nearby, and then he had no more time. Elgar’nan’s fury bent upon him, great plumes of scarlet dust scraped across him and he had to fade step out of the path of teeth and talons over and over. The ballistas did not halt, piercing Elgar’nan’s hide in dozens of places. At last, at last, Satina began to retreat and light slid back into the world. Elgar’nan faltered, but so did Solas. Too much blood. Too much blight. He stumbled. He drew upon his mana once more and found it barely enough to shield him from the snap of Elgar’nan’s jaw. His vision blurred emerald. Dirt scraped against his chin and cheek as he fell and he knew no more.

“— him up, Blackwall. I can’t see where all the blood is coming from. And he’s in that— filth.” The Inquisitor’s voice wavered and faded in and out. He was lifted, the tiny wisp of consciousness he’d managed fluttering like smoke. “We’re not going to make it far, Inquisitor.” Rainier’s voice was much closer.  Solas tried to rouse himself and immediately regretted the attempt, recoiling from the raw pain that leaked through. Another arm on his other side.  “Just a few steps. The lee of that boulder there. Perhaps it will be free of the taint,” she gasped. They lurched forward and Solas again attempted to force his eyes open. Rainier stifled a groan beside him. “I know. I know. Just a few more steps and then we can all rest, Thom.” Another lurch. A pause. “You know I don’t want to say it anymore than you want to see it, my lady, but we’re— we’re covered. Here or on the far side of a rock, what’s it matter? If I could perform the Joining for you, you know that I would. Though I don’t think any of us are going to last long enough to worry about the blight.” “Yes we are. We’re going to heal up. We’re going to rest a day.” She sighed. “Maybe two. And then we’re going after the Veilguard. I’m not leaving them to face Elgar’nan alone.”

A dragging step forward. “It’s not your will I doubt. Nor even mine. Just our flesh. Don’t know where in Thedas they’ve gone and I’m not even certain we’re going to be standing by the time we get to that boulder.” “We’ll get there,” she said, but the next step stumbled. This time, Solas did manage an audible groan. “Ir abelas, emma lath. Just a little farther,” she said gently. The pain was like chilled water, shocking him into full consciousness and he managed to open his eyes. The boulder she was dragging them to was almost close enough for him to reach out and touch, yet it seemed an interminable distance.  “Wait,” Solas managed, before their momentum could carry them into another step. He struggled to right his dragging feet, getting them underneath him one after the other. His thigh burned where he had been wounded but it held his weight. Rainier took this as the signal to move on and pulled them forward another step.  “Thank the Maker,” sighed Rainier as soon as they could see green turf rather than the black and scarlet mottling of the blight. They stopped to rest for a moment with their backs against the rock. “This is going to hurt,” the Inquisitor admitted. “Are you ready?”  “Aye,” said Rainier, though he didn’t sound certain. His knees made a crackling pop as he helped the Inquisitor slide Solas slowly down to a seat. They all three slumped there, catching their breath.

“You have any potions left?” she asked after they had sat for a moment staring at the muddled ruin of pockmarked plains and broken weapons that scattered across the battlefield.  “None,” said Rainier. “Some bandages and elfroot in the pack, soon as I can move. You?” Her emerald halo wavered with every motion. “One lyrium. That’s all. We could make more bandages from our clothing.” “Not for you. And not for Solas. If you aren’t already infected, pressing a tainted bandage to an open wound would guarantee it.” “I’ll do what I can then, and we will wait until I can do more or whoever remains stumbles upon us.” Solas turned his face toward her. The anchor pulsed with power, its luminous threads visible through the rents in her armor, erupting through the dust on her shoulder, her neck, her chin. She, too, was speckled with blood. Solas was not ready to investigate if it were her own wounds or another’s that had caused it. “If you allow me, I can utilize the anchor again. It will help,” he said.

“Don’t think you’re in any condition to be slinging spells Solas,” said Rainier, inching his pack free. “Besides, won’t that just bring Elgar’nan racing back?” “He’s still free?” asked Solas. The Inquisitor eased gingerly back against the rock and nodded. “Rook took down Ghilan’nain but Elgar’nan escaped. He was forced back into his elvhen form though. And is on the run. I don’t think any magic we are capable of at the moment will be enough to draw his attention yet. I don’t know how long you were unconscious. It must have happened when we were separated, but your injuries say you were vulnerable for a long time. He had no chance to stop and make the final—” she broke off with a sob. It seemed to take a century of effort, but Solas raised a hand to her cheek, sweeping away tears and dust and dried blood that became a dark mud when they mixed.

“We’ll start with Solas then. None of this is any good if he’s not around to do— whatever it is he means to do with the Evanuris,” said Rainier. “And then maybe we’ll just— maybe we’ll just sit and watch the sun a bit. Good to see it again. Though I wouldn’t be opposed to a little rain, wash this muck away.” “No, I can—” “Yes,” Rainier insisted. The Inquisitor was already struggling to maneuver herself to help him. Solas tried to focus. Her prosthetic was gone and fresh blood leaked through her shortened sleeve where twisted slivers of metal pierced it. A gash across her forehead had dried a crusty maroon though how much was blood and how much was Elgar’nan’s blighted dust, Solas could not say. Torn armor at the knee and shoulders. He turned toward Rainier. The Warden was even worse. Scorch marks across his chestplate and singeing in his beard. Burnt, bubbled flesh where it emerged from the armor. He was not using one of his arms, though he struggled with the pack.  The Inquisitor pressed a hand to Solas’s chest where Elgar’nan’s talon had pierced and he groaned involuntarily. She flooded the wound beneath with healing, relieving the agony and making it easier to draw a full breath.  “Is this the worst of it, fanor?” she asked. He could feel the spell sputtering. “I am uncertain,” he admitted. “I believe so. It is mostly exhaustion, do not waste more mana on me.” “His face,” muttered Rainier. “Can’t see how bad under the blood. Could be a serious injury. Saw him dodge a horn at one point but a claw banged him— it— whatever you call that beast you became, saw your skull bang against a pillar. There’s blood on his hip.” The Inquisitor drank the lone lyrium potion. Her spell tingled over the scrapes and cuts and welts of his face, the thick throb of his head, diminishing the dizziness. “Ma serannas,” he sighed. “I will not worsen. Let me help Thom.”

“There is a little left,” she said, slowly crawling toward Rainier. Solas helped her slide between them as best he could, still utterly exhausted. “It’s worst under the chest plate isn’t it?” she asked. “Aye. Don’t know that I’ll be able to stand removing it, my lady. Think the skin will come away with it.” “Let me draw from the anchor again, Vhenan. I will take care not to leave you as fragile as I did. I can aid him. What is left of your own mana will barely ease his pain.” She reached across herself to give him her hand. The green glow of the anchor diminished until it was barely visible and welled up within his own skin. He let her go to reach over her to Rainer, pouring healing into the Warden, who shut his eyes in instant relief. Rainier slowly clenched and unclenched his wounded arm as Solas’s spell continued. “That’s all there is,” Solas said reluctantly, his hand slipping away to rest upon the Inquisitor’s shoulder. “It’s enough,” said Rainier, carefully unbuckling his armor. There was no cloth remaining beneath and his skin was a tender pink where it had scalded. There were still scattered blisters that Solas had not been able to fully heal. “Maker’s breath, that’s better.” He dropped the armor beside him and rummaged in his pack. “Your turn,” he told the Inquisitor. “I’m ok. Nothing fatal,” she said.  He held the bandage roll up. “We have to stop that arm bleeding. The shards of your prosthetic may still—” She covered her arm with her remaining hand as if to shield it. Rainier sighed.  “I’ve seen amputations before. We’re all old soldiers here. Nothing to blush at.” Solas brushed his fingers gently across the back of her neck. “Will you permit me, my love?” he asked. She turned toward him, hesitated and then said, “Yes.”

Rainier handed him the bandages. “Good. Going to just—” he yawned. “Just close my eyes a moment. Then we’ll see if there’s anything I can reach to start a—” another yawn, “— a fire.” He wriggled, trying to make himself comfortable against the cold stone. Solas hoped it was a relief from any lingering heat the burns may have.  The Inquisitor began unthreading the remainder of her sleeve and wrapping just below her elbow, muffling a cry of pain until it was only a series of rapid breaths.  “Stop. There are broken pieces of metal caught in the weave. Let me help you, sathan.” She let go of the wrapping and gripped her own knee as he tried to draw the splinter of her prosthetic out.  “Ir abelas. Shut your eyes, Vhenan.” he whispered. She closed her eyes. He waited another few seconds so that she wouldn’t flinch. He tugged and it slid out, a small gush of blood following. The next was not as easy, twisted and crooked in her flesh. It was large enough that he could make out the edge of one of Dagna’s runes still sparkling with lyrium. Solas wished ardently for even a trickle of mana to ease her pain but reach as he might, no magic came. “I cannot be gentle for this one,” he told her. She opened her eyes, stared down at the bent metal. “It will harm you more if I try to ease it out or unbend it, my love. I need you to be very still, but I will be swift.”

She glanced at the shard again and then at his face. “Maybe— maybe we just leave it,” she suggested. “We cannot. I know it is painful but—” “Maybe there’s not enough time left for it to matter,” she interrupted, her voice wavering. “We’ve been in in this lyrium dust or blight rot or— whatever this is for hours. Maybe I’ve done what I set out to do and that’s enough. And— and Blackwall will have mercy on me when I turn if I ask. What’s the point of making you do this if—” “You have done more than should ever have been asked of you, a hundred times over,” he said, pressing his hand to hers. He tried to ignore the bloody streak his fingers left behind. “But you are not blighted.” “You don’t know that.” “I do. The taint begins having effects within moments and it has been much longer than that.” “But we’re covered in that infected dust that Elgar’nan blew everywhere.” “Yes, and we also spent months shattering red lyrium and hiking through Emprise du Lion and came out unscathed. Along with many, many others. Including, I assume by the silence and Thom’s ability to sleep here, several of the people who fought with us today. Otherwise we would have been swarmed by darkspawn hours ago.” “There were— there were hundreds, Solas. They followed Elgar’nan when he fled. I think he’s keeping them close to—” “Do you hear him? Elgar’nan?” “No,” she said, confused. “Then there is no taint in your blood. He would whisper with even the smallest infection. We will clean this dirt from our skins as soon as we can walk to water but I must remove the shard and bind your arm. Ir abelas. I wish I could ease the pain. But I will not leave it. I cannot let you go, Vhenan, not now.” He yanked the shard straight out of her arm, before she realized what he was doing. The metal tore her skin where it had caught but it was swift enough that she couldn’t flinch and make the damage worse. She screamed, and her hand rose to push him away. Rainier was there before she could, he caught her arm and held her tightly still.

“It’s done, Inquisitor, it’s done, worst is past,” he said. “Do it Solas. She doesn’t mean to hit, it’s just the pain.” Solas quickly finished unwrapping her arm. The lacerations were clean, much to his relief. The wrapping had kept the dust from her skin. He rebandaged her arm tightly. “Just another minute,” Rainier was saying, “and then maybe we can find some twigs or arrows or banner poles and start a little fire. Brew some of the elfroot into a tea and we all have a rest when some of the pain is gone.”  Solas appreciated the soothing prattle. Rainier kept the Inquisitor from thrashing as Solas finished and he wondered how many recruits Thom had had to ease in a sickroom or on battlefields just like this. “There now, it’s passed. It’s done.” Rainier patted her unwounded arm as he let her go. “Take a few breaths. Sit with Solas. I’ll make a few forays.” “I can go,” she stammered. “No now, not for a minute. And Solas has lost too much blood. I’m just going to see if I can find some wood. Maybe a little water. See if anyone’s come back.” “But—” “I won’t roam far, Inquisitor. I’m as beat as you. None of us are as young as we once were.” He hesitated, glanced at Solas. “Well,” he amended, “Maybe not none of us, but mostly.” He heaved himself up with a groan. The Inquisitor looked as if she would follow, though she was ashen and curled into herself with pain.

“Tel’vara, Vhenan,” Solas said softly. “It is so cold.” That same look of horror that had crossed her face in battle flickered now. “You need fire and something to wrap yourself in. Blackwall too, probably. I’ll—” He held out his arm to her. “I need you. If you’re willing.” She shifted him carefully, sliding herself between the chilled boulder and his back, cradling him as best she was able without causing pain. She was warm and her breathing was an unending ocean wave that lifted and lowered him. He shut his eyes. “Tell me a story, Solas,” she said after a few minutes. “My mind needs an escape. Sathan, just one.” “Certainly,” he said with a faint smile. “What would you hear? About the bones of this land? Or the grand market that once stood here, a thousand years before your clan began?” “No.” He felt her breath hitch beneath his head. “That is the past. It has its place and it is safe. I need to hear what happens next, emma lath. Rook has defeated Ghilan’nain— she sucked something into that dagger. I saw it. Something of your invention?” “In a manner of speaking.” “And she will do the same with Elgar’nan?” “We can only hope.” “Then—” there was that jagged hitch in her breath again. “If she does, what happens then? Tell me a story of this world you’ve been trying to make, Solas. You’ve said this world would end. I will not be there to see it, what harm can there be in telling me of it?”

He glanced up at her. She was staring out at the dimming horizon, watching the sun slip away, the light caught and sparkled in an errant tear. He reached up and grazed her cheek until she looked down at him. “You will be there,” he said. “This—” he waved his other hand at the blighted landscape around them. “This is what I most feared when we spoke last. It is here. And it is dire. Yet we are both still breathing. Ghilan’nain is contained and Elgar’nan is weakened and we will both be here when it is done. You will see it, my love. Though I do not object to speaking of it.” She nodded. “Go on then. What happens after Rook defeats him?” He smiled up at her. “Then you and I will return to Arlathan. And we will dissolve the Veil. It will be… as sudden as the late spring thaw.” “Are there— are there more Evanuris? Will it be the same as it is now?” “No, Vhenan. They are all that remain. It will be much gentler. I cannot— I cannot promise that it will be painless. All transitions are unpredictable. But it is necessary.” “Why? Can’t we find another method that—” “Because the Veil is crumbling. It has been since it was created. It will collapse even should I do nothing. But that would cause far more pain. So we will melt it away and hope that when it falls, it will not create a panic. It is not the process of removing it that causes the harm, but reactions to it.” “How do you hope it will go, fanor? Tell me the best ending.”

He twined his hand with hers where it lay upon his chest. “The division between the waking world and the Fade will vanish— there will not be a distinction any longer.” “Won’t that— won’t that hurt spirits? To be so much in contact with us? Cole said when he came here, he was confused and his anger made him forget his purpose and it— it hurt him.” “That was because of the way he arrived here. It was difficult for him to push through. Without the Veil, spirits can move freely. There is no control. No summoning. No banishment. No templars. No mages. Just— people. Without the Veil we cannot harm them, Vhenan. We are them.” “I don’t— I don’t understand,” she admitted. He smiled up at her, mostly to break the distress that seemed to be gathering in her face. “I told you Brother Genitivi was not an expert on spirits, Vhenan, but you would insist on reading it. It was not worth the coin you must have paid to the book keeper to take it.” Her expression shifted for an instant into a faint smile. “Do not mock, my love. That book keeper was a better haggler than Xenon.” He laughed and kissed her hand.

“I do not understand how we can be spirits, Solas. We have form and more than one emotion. We are not determined by another’s expectations.” “That— is an argument for another day,” he said. “When we are not wounded and exhausted. But I assure you, we have just clothed ourselves in fancier garb. It doesn’t change our nature.” He considered how to explain. “Do you remember the Vir Dirthara? How it was sundered?” “Of course.” “Before the Veil, spirits chose their form. Some, like Wisdom, chose to remain… singular. True to their purpose. Others focused their will and took physical form. Complexity. Permanence. We chose that permanence. To learn. To advance. To experience. As— as I enjoy exploring the Fade to find old memories now, some chose to explore the physical realm for similar reasons. The longer a spirit remained in physical form, the more distant its original purpose could become. The Evanuris remained in physical form for millennia. Became corrupted. Perhaps what the Andrastians would call a demon in this era. Most spirits returned their form after a few centuries, entering uthenera to restore themselves. Become— simple again. They forgot their griefs and their joys to find their purpose and experience it all for the first time again if they chose. Much as you did for Hakkon. When I created the Veil, it was to prevent what is happening now. A terrible weapon being loosed upon the world. I did not foresee that it would destroy the process of restoring ourselves. When the Veil was created, the entire world was sundered as the Vir Dirthara was. Suddenly and terribly. For those caught on the Fade side of the Veil, it meant they could never experience the physical realm. The opportunity to learn and grow forever cut off, unless they could find someone capable of drawing them through with magic. By bargaining and coercing to get that taste of the waking world. And even then, they could not take the forms they chose, but inhabited someone else’s. Twisted themselves and their hosts more often than not. And on this side of the Veil— you and I and every creature of the waking world, we are trapped. We can never return to our original purpose or throw off the complications of this world. We can never restore ourselves. When the weight of grief and anger and exhaustion become too great, instead of uthenera, we sicken and expire. And everything repeats and repeats, for how could it do otherwise? But when the Veil is gone, my love, we will have that ability to return. When we choose. How we choose. We can exist free of the weight of our past existences and start our journey anew.”

“I will forget you?” she cried. He smiled. “Not until you are utterly tired of me. And then, in perhaps several centuries, we will decide we ought to discover each other all over again.” He repeated the kiss to her palm. “Again and again, in as many iterations with as many faces and stories as pleases us. But that is a long way away.” “Is it? Or will you choose to do this— restoration as soon as the Veil falls?” He shook his head. “There are so many wonders yet to see. To watch you discover. And friends I have dearly missed, friends I very much wish you to know. Work to accomplish. Gentler work, yes, but no less important. We have such joy yet to come, Vhenan, and I have not tired of it. And this—” He gently traced the trail of the anchor that was visible in her skin with his fingertips, “Will halt its terrible spread, will stop stealing your breaths, your seconds from you. From us.” He pushed himself slowly up, needing to be closer. She helped him.  “What if I’m not a spirit? Maybe— maybe you were right all those years ago,” she said. “Maybe I’m not like you. If I was born into the waking world maybe there is no spirit in me.” “No. I was wrong. I wanted so badly to believe that was true. What I did had already killed thousands. I watched spirits I once knew sicken and die for a century after I created the Veil. Surely, surely I couldn’t also have condemned any new child born in the waking world. Surely they must be— different, somehow. A husk. A pantomime of what the birth of a new spirit would be in the Fade. What a fool I was. Am. As if a child were not simply the physical form of a new purpose, a new intention, just as a spirit would be. You are just the same, you will see.” “But if I am not, or if I am frightened of uthenera, of forgetting, is there any place for people like me in this new world of yours?” “You are asking if I would abandon you because I am disappointed,” he realized. “There is nothing you have done or been that has disappointed. If the end of the Veil changes nothing for you, if you are something different from myself or if I cannot prevent the anchor from claiming you or if you are not ready for uthenera in a millennium, two, ever, I will love you. I meant what I said. We will not part until you tire of me. Perhaps that is today. A week. When the Veil falls. Longer. I hope that it is longer. Regardless, I will stay with you as long as you permit and when you have exhausted whatever affection remains for me, I will return to the Fade still loving you. Then, the next time that we meet, there will be no Veil. No Corypheus or Evanuris or— or lies. And it won’t cause you sorrow when I love you again.”

She slid her fingers over the crown of his head, let them drift to his cheek. “You cannot wait for reincarnation or restoration or uthenara to be happy, Solas,” she said softly. “Not after all this time. If— If it will ease your heart to return to the Fade, to be free of this form and its memories, then do not forestall it for my sake, emma lath.” Her expression was misery, even as she offered what she thought was kindness. He desperately wanted to ease her sorrow. “Ah,” he said with a small laugh, “It was the chase you loved. After all these years you finally catch me and immediately grow bored of me. You are so fickle Vhenan.” “No, never!” she cried, then realized the tease and flushed. Her sad expression faded and Solas felt a surge of joy at the flicker of a smile. “I meant that I only want you to be free of all this— weight and sorrow.” “I know what you meant. This road is almost at an end. It did not lead where I most feared, but beyond it. Through it. I know that the end of the Veil cannot erase the damage it has caused. But it will cause no further ruin. Whatever sorrow remains has been earned—” “No, Solas, it has been eight ages and—” “Whatever sorrow remains does not mean there can never be joy as well. I am not ready to enter uthenara. Nor to forget you, not even in order to begin with you again.” It seemed to calm her, at least a little. She stared at the lyrium dust beyond them which had begun to glow in the twilight. He could see Rainier slowly gathering broken arrows and splinters of wood several meters from them. A few waterskins hung from his belt and Solas hoped he had not had to rifle through the corpses of his colleagues to find them. The Inquisitor noticed Rainier too.

“And the Blight?” she asked. “What happens?” He shook his head. “I am uncertain. It is why the Veil was my only option in the first place. I thought by keeping them sealed away it would prevent the spread, but my seals have burst one by one. I believe— I hope— that once the Veil is gone and the darkspawn are killed, their spirits will be free of the taint and they will be restored, just as we will. As the darkspawn are restored it will stop the spread. But it is not assured. What I am certain of, is that without the remaining Evanuris, there will be nothing to command the darkspawn, for a time. They will scatter, return underground perhaps. Be vulnerable. That is what the Wardens believe is it not?” “But you think the Wardens fools.” “I thought Warden Clarel’s plan foolish, yes, because she would have freed Ghilan’nain or Elgar’nan in her quest to find them. Alas, they were released anyway. I do not think the idea completely without merit, just— ill informed. But that is my miscalculation as well.”

“There will be other Corypheuses. Maybe even other Evanuris, in time,” she said. “Yes. But not in this story. They will be another’s to thwart. This story, our story, has a better end. You decreed it should, remember?” “Hmm. You have not finished the story yet.” She leaned into his shoulder. Gently, so she would not cause him pain. Featherlight, so she would not shatter either. “So the Veil will fall. And some people will return to the Fade— or go there for the first time. And some spirits will join us here in the physical. And we?”

“And we will vanish into Tirashan. Or cross the Donarks and discover what lies beyond. Or sail the Amaranthine Ocean. Find the oldest memories of the world. Delve the deepest thaigs to where new mountains are born.” He glanced sideways at her. “If— if it would please you,” he added. “I am not opposed to thoroughly ruining every dinner party Radonis throws from here on though, if that is preferable.” She laughed and shook her head. “I know you’ve said you miss court intrigue, emma lath, but I could stand to go a century or two without it.” “We could return to your clan, Vhenan,” he said quietly. “I imagine much will change and it would be— comforting for you to have a home in something familiar.” “I would like to help them understand those changes if they will allow it. But they will not be the only people who are frightened or misunderstand what is happening. I— I’m not even certain I understand it myself. Perhaps we need not vanish into Tirashan just yet. We could stay, for a little. With our friends. Do that gentler work you were speaking of. But— but I am not fond of the chase, Solas. Ar ebala ma. If it is Tirashan you long for, then that is where we will go.”  “What I long for is you. In any land, in every world. I have been well and truly caught. I will not run.” He smiled and patted his wounded thigh. “Could not, even if I wished to. I have only to complete this last task. And then, it is my turn to pursue, Vhenan. ” “I’m afraid you will find me rather dull prey, emma lath. I would not run either.” “Is that so? Then it is fortunate that it is not the chase I love either.” He ignored the flare of pain in his barely healed chest and leaned to kiss her. He had forgotten how soft she was. How warm her breath against his skin and the way her hand curled against his back every time. It overwhelmed him all over again. He tipped his forehead to hers.  “Now we are both caught,” she whispered. “There is no more chasing needed.” “That is the best ending. Though the catching part, I would not mind repeating. Forever.” She laughed. “Perhaps when we will not fluster Blackwall.” “Mm. And when we can move without injury.” “Rare days, those,” rumbled Rainier, flopping down beside them. He busied himself with the wood he’d gathered. Solas reluctantly let the Inquisitor go. “There are much gentler days ahead,” he said. “For us all.” He reached for Rainier’s pack to prepare the elfroot.

[hoboblaidd]

@extravagantliar

"Ten gold says he's sent to the Wardens."

Solas groaned. They both sat in their usual place by Varric's fireplace as the Inquisitor sat in judgment of the notorious Livius Erimond, who stood before her in chains. Nobles from Orlais and Ferelden crowded the great hall of Skyhold, hungry for a bloody spectacle. Solas passed their reserved bottle of brandy back to Varric.

"You don't think that's some kind of justice?"

"It does have the sort of poetic irony you would enjoy."

Varric chuckled. "You got me there. But let me guess," he said, taking a drink before passing it back to Solas. "You'd execute him."

"Of course," Solas shrugged. "Be done with it, instead of letting it linger for years while he succumbs to the blight."

"Sounds like pity, Chuckles."

"Hardly," Solas scoffed. "If one is to render justice, it ought to be swift and decisive, not middling."

"Thought you'd love sending a message," Varric insisted. "The Inquisition makes a decision but considers its allies. Isn't that the sort of practicality you enjoy?"

Solas gave a noncommittal hum around the lip of the bottle. Varric had a point, so Solas did not respond. His silence was acquiescence enough.

"Besides," Varric continued. "It's not like the Wardens are going to take it easy on him. Twenty gold says he's in the Deep Roads before the week ends. That's justice, Chuckles. It's not always the easy answer. It's got to be the right answer."

-

The brightly colored ornamentation of the Orlesians flickered into something grey. Solas ignored it.

-

They both sat in their usual place by Varric's fireplace as the Inquisitor sat in judgment of the deposed Gereon Alexius, who stood before her in chains.

"She'll keep him on," said Varric, a seamless shift in the conversation of a judgment that hadn't happened yet at this point in the Inquisition. Erimond was months away, but Varric passed the bottle back to Solas as if they hadn't been wrenched back in time.

"It would be an unfortunate waste of his knowledge if she did not," Solas allowed, taking a drink. The feeling did not reach his fingers, as it usually did. "But it will signal weakness. It is her first such act. She should be decisive."

"He invented time travel, Chuckles. You said it yourself - you can't waste that kind of knowledge just to send a message."

"You would advise mercy."

"I'd advise justice. Your definition of it's just too linear."

-

Grief set over Alexius in a black fog that stole the warmth from the fire.

-

They both sat in their usual place by Varric's fireplace as the Inquisitor sat in judgment of the Duchess Florianne, who stood before her in chains.

"Yeah this one?" said Varric, reaching for the bottle in Solas' hands. "Chopping block."

Solas barked a laugh, and passed him the bottle.

-

The chill mountain wind burst silently through the doors, dousing the warm light of the torches lining the hall.

-

They both sat in their usual place by Varric's fireplace as the Inquisitor sat in judgment of Thom Rainier, who stood before her in chains. There was no casual bickering, no snide comments as the proceedings unfolded, and no bottle passed between them. The nobles had been escorted from the hall and the great doors closed to the freezing winds and prying eyes.

"This one hit a little too close to home, didn't it, Chuckles?"

"Yes," Solas said softly.

Rainier's resignation and Sidri's inquiries were a muted, wordless echo.

"What would your judgment have been, Varric?" Solas dared to ask, his voice no more than a hushed breath.

"I think you know the answer to that." 

Varric looked at him, and Solas closed his eyes.

-

The Inquisitor sat in judgment of Fen'harel, the Great Betrayer, destroyer of the world twice over, who stood before her in chains. Sidri sat immovable on her throne, her left arm a blinding white light. She had no face, and the light streaming in through the stained glass windows of Skyhold had no color. 

"Everyone deserves the chance to atone," said Varric. His breath was ragged where the dagger had pierced his lungs. He stood beside Solas, the bottle of brandy in his bloody hands. He took a drink, and his lips were deathly pale. 

"I held the knife," said Solas, and it rang as a confession in the empty, silent halls of the Inquisition. "And your blood is only the most recent on my hands." The ghosts of those he sacrificed for his goal hovered around them in the shape of the Titans, Felassan, Mythal, Sidri. And Varric.

"Get over yourself," said Varric, dismissing it with a wave of a hand whose fingernails had already started to turn black. His eyes were bruised, and blood seeped from the gaping wound in his chest. "We both held the knife. My blood's on my hands, too, and I'm alright with it. Hurt like hell, but I made a choice. It turned out shitty, but it was mine."

"Justice should be rendered regardless," said Solas, the cold steel of the executioner's blade stinging the back of his neck. He would almost have welcomed it, were it not for his pride. He was not finished, and no matter how just it might be, he would not stop until he'd seen it through.

"'Justice' doesn't mean death, Chuckles. Sometimes that's the easy way out. But that's what you want, isn't it?"

-

They stand on the crumbling stone of his prison, Varric unreachable at the bottom of the stairs at the ritual site. 

"You want so badly to be the villain so you don't have to face the shit you've done."

"And you want so badly for this life to follow your fanciful tales," Solas snapped. It echoed in the vast, cavernous nothing of the prison. "Justice, atonement, the narrative cleaner than the world will allow."

"You've read my books," Varric chuckled. "All my stories end in tragedy. But tragedy is the fiction, Chuckles. Real life's more complicated than that, and for the better. Everyone gets more chances."

"Even when they do not deserve it."

"Oh come on," said Varric, sitting down on the stone effigy of his body. "You going all maudlin is more boring than my romance books."

A small, fond smile pulled at Solas' face. "They were not boring."

"I'll put that glowing endorsement on the front flap next time: the Dread Wolf, elven god of trickery, bullshitting, and terrible decisions says this is 'not boring.'"

Solas huffed a laugh, the Inquisition's chains evaporating from his hands. They were not needed here. This prison was chain enough. 

"Varric..." He stalled on the apology. Not because he didn't want to, but because...Solas had built this prison. He knew its mechanisms intimately. He knew what it would take to loosen its hold. Confronting it, confronting Varric, meant the resolution of at least one regret. To apologize might mean the end of his ghost in this prison. The end of their constant, echoing arguments. The end of their fragmented dreams together. The end of these stolen moments of companionship. Death was final. Regret, at least, let the dead linger.

And Solas could not let him go.

"You should wake up, Varric."

"Thought I wasn't dreaming."

"Perhaps we both are."

"You really going to stay in there and do this self-pity spiral forever?"

At last, Solas felt a spark of life in himself. "No," he said. He looked out over the gaping chasm of his prison, and saw the silhouette of Rook begin to take shape in the stone. "I have a plan."

"Don't you always," Varric shook his head, but the shape of him was already dissipating, and their argument at the ritual site began again like the tolling of a bell.

Hope I'm not interrupting.

Solas almost welcomed it.