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wootensmith · 6 years

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(Dis)arming

It’s been an awful week. Kicked off with a large stream of hatemail about my paying fiction and I just needed something that wasn’t THAT. I know it’s not my best chapter, but it helped anyway.

It had been a terrible day. A dozen problems cropped up between dawn and his return to the eidolon. Infighting over battle units had started off the day, calling him from the slow, sunlit morning beside the Inquisitor far too early. It was his own fault, the upset that his shift in plans had caused was not unexpected. The military leadership had changed and with it, favored squads had to be shuffled around, new formations learned and taught— and he’d had to smooth over several arguments personally. Just as he’d tamed his fractious forces into something resembling order, a messenger delivered news of a massive avalanche on the White Spire. It had killed two of his people who had been assigned to watch the border with Antiva. The ice swept the base camp clean. It took several hours of travel to reach the site and a few more to retrieve the bodies and melt the snow enough to repair the former structures. The two elves were frozen in shock and fear, stiff like carven wax. Their families had gone to Skyhold. He would have to send word. There would be so many more in the coming weeks. He, and a good portion of the mages with him, were exhausted on their return. He’d plodded through the gates of the city, ready for sleep and little else. But Abelas was waiting, pacing the broken road.

“There were desertions in the night,” he said. “Fifteen for certain. Another five unaccounted for.” Solas leaned against the crumbling knee of a stone Falon’din that stood beside the gates. “After we told them of our alterations, it is not so surprising. Fifteen will not break us, Abelas,” he said. “No, but fifteen mouths become fifty and then a thousand as soon as they reach the nearest town. They carry news that can expose us. Our numbers, our formations— what lies beneath the great seal. It is regrettable, but we cannot let them go.” He pressed his fingers to the base of his skull, deep into the overwound muscle of his neck, trying to push his welling headache back. “Give me their names. I’ll see to it tonight.” It was not a task he wished to perform. He’d have to frighten his people into returning or else eliminate them in their sleep. Regrettable, indeed. But Abelas was right. They could not be allowed to spread word about their activities. Solas did not trust the rest of Thedas not to interfere. Dorian’s small army of mages was one thing, but the southern kingdoms were unlikely to aid them when they knew the plan. Abelas handed him a scroll with a concerned frown. “I can assign the task to the other Dreamers—” Solas shook his head. “No. This is my doing. I will solve it, one way or another.” He pushed himself up from the statue. “Is there anything else to report? News from the border? From the Rift watchers?” “Nothing. All is quiet, the Veil has not experienced any new significant tears.” “Then— I will return to the temple. If you have need of me—” “We will not. Your pursuit of the deserters will not be interrupted.”

Solas nodded and walked slowly to the eluvian. It was well past dusk and the smell of roasting food hung heavy in the city. He had not eaten since early morning. It was likely the Inquisitor had not either. I never lit the veilfire lamp for her, he realized. Without the veilfire to read the maps by, her time would have been spoiled, frustrating. The anchor! He had not siphoned its power since he’d left her that morning either. Panic jolted through him and he dashed the remaining distance to the eluvian. He held his breath sliding through, expecting a blinding emerald glow from Elgar’nan’s eye sockets when the eidolon came into view. But they were dark, the only light a reddish-gold from the temple fires at the massive doors. He hurried up the long path, stumbling on the broken tiles in his exhaustion. When he opened the large doors, the hearth in the center of the temple had wavered and danced, a large pot hanging above sizzling and bubbling. It didn’t occur to him to wonder who had lit it. “Vhenan?” he called. There was no immediate answer. He dragged himself up the stone steps. Dark spatters of water trailed along them. The heat from the fire was almost oppressive after the bitter chill his day had been. He heard a deep slosh before he reached the top and could see the light of the anchor shimmering against the ceiling. Still, he almost ran into her.

She wasn’t looking, too busy trying to hold a large bucket and several rush mats in her hand. She was sweaty, disheveled and the anchor’s thick, angular web shone like one of Thedas’s moons in her face. He grasped her arm and she looked up, startled. “Ir abelas, Vhenan. I didn’t mean to stay so—” he broke off as a smile burst over her. “Solas! I was almost ready. One more bucket.” “One more—” he started as she pulled away from him, heading back down the stairs. “The anchor,” he called after her. “I’ll just be a moment.” He chased her, taking the bucket. “You don’t have to do that. Managed just fine. I can see how tired you are, emma lath,” she said. “What were you doing with the bucket?” he asked, setting it beside the hearth. He watched her lift the large pot from the fire and set it down. It took her several more movements to get it poured into the bucket. He fought the urge to help, though the way her missing arm caused her to overbalance so close to the flame made him nervous. “Filling the bath,” she said at last. “I could have done—” “That’s the point,” she interrupted. “It was so you wouldn’t have to.” She lifted the bucket, puffing a little as she steadied herself. “Come on,” she said, and it came out soft and light, “if it gets cold, I’ll need to start over. Can’t just reheat it with a spell anymore.” He followed her slowly back up the steps. “If your bath gets cold, I can do that for you,” he offered. She shook her head, laughing. “You think I’d do this for my bath? Used to chip the ice open in the Minanter to bathe. It’s for you, Solas.”

She stopped at the side of the large tub, set down the bucket to adjust her grip. “Sevren told me about the avalanche.” She poured the bucket of steaming water in slowly. “I am sorry about your people.” “Our people.” “Ours. I am sorry, Solas.” “As am I. I ought to have thought, the thaw always—” “Don’t,” she told him her fingers drifting over the metal of his armor. “It was not your doing. Just snow. If you should have known, then so should your scouts. You are no more responsible for it than they are. I know that’s easy to say— and hard to mean. I know.” “More than most would,” he agreed. “Rest now. You can do no more than you have for them.” He nodded. She looked at him expectantly as he stood there and then flushed with a start. “Oh,” she stammered, “I’ll go if— I’ll be in the vestibule. There are linens over—” She pointed to a neat pile of cloth on a nearby bench and he caught her fingers. They were so much warmer than his chilled ones. She noticed and tried to enclose his hand with her other, faltering when she realized she could not. Instead, she pulled his hand to her face, using her breath to thaw his fingers.

“Stay,” he said. “I need to stabilize the anchor—” “Stop. Rest. There is nothing that needs doing. The anchor will be fine another hour. Another day.” “No, it was already more intense than I expected this morning.” She shook her head and let go of his hand, reaching instead for the heavy buckle of his bracer. He tried another tack as she worked the leather straps loose. “If I stabilize it, the excess energy may— help.” She looked up at him, alarmed. “I am so tired, Vhenan,” he admitted. “It has been— a harrowing day. And there is more work to be done yet in the Fade.” “If it will aid you, then of course,” she said, but the worry didn’t fade from her face. He twisted the bracer loose and it dropped, clattering to the stone floor. He slid his fingers beneath the collar of her tunic to grip her shoulder. She shivered, but remained still. She pretended it was manageable, but he felt her loosen under his hand as the anchor drained. I should not have left it so long. “Stay,” he repeated as he released her. “Please. You claimed I did not need you in the crossroads. Because I— found no difficulty destroying our enemies. As if the only value I could see in you were in battle.” “I did not mean it. Not that way. And I didn’t mean for you to carry it as a hurt all this time. Ir—” He stopped the apology, pulled it from her mouth into his, where he thought it ought to be. “I need your voice, your sanity,” he told her as he pulled away. “Especially now. It was— is a small distance to fall into cruelty. At the crossroads and here. It is too easy to lash out when things— deviate. It’s not your lightning or your barriers I require any longer. It’s your kindness. For all their willingness to join me— there is no elf here who would comfort me this way. A bath, a fire, a soothing story. You, alone, would know how badly I needed them. Stay, talk to me. Give me a good dream, Vhenan. Ar nuven’in ma.” Her hand slid over his cheek, his jaw. “And here I am,” she said. “Do not fret. I only meant to give you some privacy. I will stay, if you wish.” Her hand returned to his other bracer, tugging and then loosening. She laid it aside with more care than he had shown its brother.

Solas felt a pang of guilt at that. The armor had been a mighty labor. Something his people had given him to protect himself. He ought to have— “Where ever you’ve gone,” she said quietly, “return and help me with this chest plate. I cannot lift it with one hand.” She pulled off one heavy pauldron and struggled to lay it on the floor without dropping it. He unbuckled the other, but she stopped him. “The chest plate, I said,” she told him. “I can do the rest.” “You don’t need—” “I wish to,” she insisted, pulling the other pauldron off. He freed himself from the chest piece, sighing as the weight on his back lessened considerably. And then the thin, flexible chain beneath, jingling as she laid it on the stone. “It is strong armor,” she said, kneeling at his feet. “It comforts me to know you are so protected. Even if it seems I am disassembling a golem to find you beneath it.” “There was a time I wore armor like this every day for a century. I find myself unaccustomed to the weight now.” He slid his foot out of its sabaton, bracing himself against her shoulder and then caressing her hair before she could move to the next. “I am— always glad to shed it.” It was a delicate thing, skating around the enormous task that would soon be upon them. A dangerous thing, mentioning it. He feared the grief of it would crush him. Harden your heart, he told himself. She does not weep. It would only frighten her to see you do so. His other foot released and she rose again to help him with his greaves, noticed the strain on his face.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, trying to alter his thoughts before they could settle, like sediment, into stone. “I am certain you’ve eaten less than I,” he answered, gently pushing her hand from the stubborn clasps to unhook them himself. “I should have thought of it before I went to the training yard. I did not mean to be gone so long. And the veilfire lamp—” He turned to look for it, expecting it dark on the large table. But it glowed brightly in its normal place. “Abelas came looking for you. He was angry, but would not say why. He lit the lamp for me and— went away again.” He closed his eyes, just for a moment, rubbed again at the back of his neck where the ache and the grief pulsed and swelled. “Deserters. He was coming to tell me of deserters. As if the fools could escape the Blight just by leaving Arlathan. And now I must hunt them. Persuade them to return or—” She pressed her hand tight to his chest. He could feel his own pulse against it. “Leave it, just for now,” she pleaded. He returned to the last clasps of his armor. “I am— not certain that I can,” he admitted. “You could let them go.” She helped him slide the right cuisse from his leg. He forced a weak smile. “You have been speaking to Cole. I cannot, my love. Even if they mean only to save their own skin and not to fight us, they know too much about us. In the wrong hands, that information could be deadly to far more than just the small number of deserters. This is not the Inquisition. It is not the loss of fighters that concerns me. I will be swift and make it as painless as possible.” She stripped the other cuisse from him, left him standing in thin cloth only. No more metal to carry around. “They are frightened, Solas. Their deaths won’t help you, it will only frighten more into leaving.” He drew closer to her, traced the green threads of the anchor across her cheek and over her throat with his fingers. “Ma halani, Vhenan, what would you do? When you must protect your people, what course would you take with those who betray them?”

“You made them forget once. The way back to Skyhold. The trap you’d worked to build together. Could you not— just leave them? Take the memory of Arlathan from them and let them go to take what time is left and live in peaceful obliviousness. They are already broken. What use is there in forcing them to return? They would only seek another way out in time. And there is so little remaining.” It was something he hadn’t considered. He laughed softly. “I am a fool. I should believe you when you tell me there is another option that I cannot see, for you always show me. Ma serannas, fanor. How can you think I do not need you?” She smiled and he felt as if the armor had dropped away all over again, the weight of the day vanishing. “I think what you need is some rest. And something to eat. You are not a fool. Just exhausted.” She tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. “Give me an hour of your thoughts. Only an hour. I cannot heal you with a spell, but perhaps I may find another way.” He pulled his shirt from his back, reached for the lacings of hers. She laughed even as he kissed the corner of her jaw. “There is not room enough in the tub for two,” she warned him. “There is not room enough in an hour to hold all my thoughts of you, either,” he said into the humid skin of her neck, “But I make the attempt anyhow.” Her mouth was soft against his earlobe, his jaw, his own lips. “The hour was not all I wanted,” she said. “Only what I dared ask for.” “Be brave,” he told her, his hands already sliding over the warm skin of her back below the loose tunic. “Ask for more.” Her hand pressed gently at his temple, rubbed soothing circles over the skin of his head, lessening the ache. “It isn’t my turn to ask,” she whispered. “I am meant to be cheering you, remember?” “You do.” “Then let me. The bath will be cold.”

He reluctantly slid away from her, sinking into a seat on the warm floor to unthread the wrappings over his feet. She knelt beside him and began on the other foot. “I saw you today, as a boy. In a scrap of veilfire.” “Me?” he asked. “I doubt it was me. Slaves did not merit tomes in the vir’dirthara. And though I was young at the point I was freed, I could not have been called a boy, even by the standards of the era. It must have been a noble’s child you saw.” She smiled, shook her head. “It was you. I would know your face anywhere, even colored by another’s memory of you. You still had the vallaslin. But you were very happy. I think— I think you might have stolen a sweet. Someone has been leaving veilfire for you on the temple walls.” “Stolen a—” a laugh burst from him when he realized who had left it. “Vhemanen. I rather think she left those for you. She kept expecting you to return here. A chance to show you who I was, once.” She let the cloth strip go to curl her fingers into his own. “I am grateful to her then.” She returned to his footwrapping. “For the recipe, too. She seemed to think it was your favorite. I am no chef. You will have to forgive me if they do not taste the same.” She rose, offering her hand to help him rise. “I am no chef either,” he said, “That’s why I resorted to stealing them.” “Oh? It wasn’t the added danger that added a sweeter flavor then?” He smiled, but it withered. “If it were the danger, then the ones you’ve made now will be far superior to the ones I took as a boy.” “No,” she whispered, her hand tightening in his. “None of that, now. An hour, Solas. Let us have a good dream, just for an hour.” He nodded and she drifted away, letting him finish undressing while she clinked tableware across the room.

He slid into the deep tub and found it still pleasantly warm. When had he last bathed in heated water? A hasty scrub in the temple’s stone basins was his usual habit. He’d only heated them once in a while for Vhemanen’s sake, when her joints pained her. Summer, he guessed, when the small pools around the valley had warmed in the sun. I should warm them for her. She may be willing to bathe in the frozen Minanter, but I cannot imagine it is comfortable. Vhemanen, at least had the ability to heat them herself. It didn’t require large bundles of firewood and several heavy buckets carried up stairs. He watched the Inquisitor carefully carry a small tray to the tub. Is it safe? he wondered. Would it cause the anchor to grow if I heated the water? “Why are you frowning?” she asked, placing the tray on a low table beside him. “It’s gone cold, hasn’t it?” she asked, thrusting her hand into the water. “No,” he laughed, “I was only wondering if I could return the favor or if there would be residual magic in the bath water if I—” She flicked a few drops of water at him from the tips of her fingers. “You sound like Dorian. I am content with cool bath water if it means I have a little more…” she trailed off. “Besides,” she began again brightly, “I know that seven buckets only take an hour to heat over the fire now, should I wish to do that.” “Tomorrow, I will carry the buckets. But in the meantime, we should not waste your labour. Join me?” He held out a hand to her. She laughed and took his hand bending to kiss him.

“Maybe,” she said against his lips. He pulled gently on her arm and she relented, climbing into the warm water. Her shirt puffed as it filled with air and then clung, all of her outlined in green tracings that shone through the cotton. Water dripped over the edge of the tub, splashing on the tile with a patter. “I thought you were going to get undressed first,” he said as she settled over him. “Is that all you wish?” she asked, reaching for the cup from the table beside her. She took a drink and then offered it to him. The light scent of cider met him. “No,” he raised the cup to his mouth. “But it is all I dare to ask for.” He watched her laugh and flush. “Be brave,” she told him, “Ask for more.” He placed the cup down and pulled her closer, his wet hand soaking through the small section of her shirt that was not already damp. “How could I ask for more, when you already give me so much? No other would care to hear my fears. No other wants to see when I am hurt or tired. When I am not invincible. It would— frighten them. No one but you wishes to give the Dread Wolf a good dream.” She blinked back a few bright tears. “It isn’t enough—” “It is, it is. More than I dared to ask.” “I wanted to press a whole life’s worth of love into the time we have left, the few days that remain. I don’t know how, Solas.” “I know no more than you, though I have had many lifetimes to manage it. You cannot force a limitless thing into a finite container, no matter how large the container might be.” He loosened the collar of her shirt, the laces floating on the surface of the water. He kissed her marked shoulder where it tangled in vines of light. She wrapped an arm around him and her hand dripped warm droplets down his back. “But I will attempt to, anyhow. My hour is not yet spent. Ar nuven’in ma.”

#solas #lavellan #solas x lavellan #dragon age inquisition #comfort

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basura-etc · 7 years

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A Moment in the Graves

It was a moment between moments, the split second of their eyes meeting across the battlefield to ensure each other. Purple, blue, and bright red rays were cast between them and their enemies, blood spurted on the ground before their feet, and the halted breath before each impale. The climax of the battle, and their eyes meeting the others’, was a small assurance that she made sure to take with each fight.

Inquisitor Lavellan was only said title for so long to where it still felt foreign on her tongue. Through each briefing with her associates at the war table they’d address her as such, and she’d feel the weight on her chest. It was the same with dealing with ambassadors, liaisons, and the like. The weight was heavy and it suffocated her.

Because of the suffocating and tedious job of being a diplomat, she took solace and joy into being on the field.

It’s when she’s shooting lightning from her staff and into her enemies that she can breathe. When she sees relieved soldiers thanking her for her arrival as they press on their wounds on their sides, and the villagers getting their food and the reassurance that things will be okay, and seeing peace albeit short - that is when she feels no weight. These are the parts of being Inquisitor that she did not mind.

But the most refreshing breath of air, was his eyes.

He doesn’t say much out on the field to her in any romantic fashion. Not that she expected him to, and a part of her appreciates his discretion for his love for her. But when he glances at her as they trek, rest at the camps, or in this case on the battlefield, it is with so much care and appreciation and love. Unfortunately, this time it distracted her from the battle and caused her to catch a rage demon’s flames.

Her attention was back on what was in front of her, and with a last forceful attack of chain lightning, the demon’s essence seeped back into the Fade.

The battle ended at last, with the remains of demons scattered on the ground. She and her companions were closing a rift in the forests of the Emerald Graves. It was one of the last ones, and the Graves were now more stabilized than before. It was one of their last missions to complete before departing back to Skyhold.

The team went back to the nearest camp to recover from any wounds, restock on essentials and to rest. Inquisitor Lavellan took her place at the bench near the hearth, and removed the damaged chainmail from her right arm. Her skin was badly burned, some bloody skin layers exposed and singed. Now that her previous adrenaline from the battle had faded, she started to feel the pain of the burn and groaned. A few Inquisition soldiers quickly went to her side, but she shook her head.

Solas eyed Inquisitor Lavellan’s wounds on her arms from across the way, and saw her pained expression crossing her features as she tended to it with a weak healing orb. She was too caring to let the healers tend to her when they had others who needed healing. She felt responsible, and he admired that selflessness.

He approached her with green healing magic swirling in his palm,

“Here, lethallin. Let me assist.”

Sitting beside her on the bench, he placed his hand gently over hers. He combined his magic with hers, and the light from the orb illuminated more intensely than before. The burns faded into the smooth flesh on her arm.

She exhaled with relief, and smiled weakly. “Thank you, Solas. I’m embarrassed of my performance in that last battle. The rage demon got too close before I could defend myself.”

“Ah. Well, to be fair you did close about four other ones here. You are exhausted.”

“The Inquisitor cannot afford to be exhausted, now can she?”

Her eyes held his for a moment before they shifted to the burning green scar on her hand. She opened and closed her hand experimentally with a solemn expression. “I never expected this to be so…”

“Draining?” He guessed, noting her tired eyes.

She nodded. “Each rift that I close, every spell I cast with this, I can feel everything in my body burn and half of my strength is gone every time,” the Inquisitor paused for a moment and caressed the scar with her right index finger, “and not only physically. Because I happened upon a situation, I end up with a scar that rules my life and essentially has to save the world.”

“Would you have preferred not to have been bestowed with the Anchor at all?”

She looked up at him again, her tired eyes tinged with sadness. “I just would like to know why it had to be me. Why did the gods choose me, a humble servant of my Keeper, an unremarkable, lowly elven girl? ”

Solas let her question linger in the air before standing up abruptly with his hand outstretched towards her. “Come with me, lethallin.”

“But wh-”

“We have been so busy clearing rifts and focusing on our mission, that we never took time to appreciate the beauty and history of this place.”

The Inquisitor took his hand and interlaced her fingers with his. Now that they were finished with stabilizing the land, she supposed she could take some time to actually explore and take in the Emerald Graves.

Solas guided her to the place where the giants had previously been congregating, with the statues and leftover ruins that they passed to clear the area. As they walked, she savored the warmth of the sun peeking through the leaves, and closed her eyes for a brief moment with a smile. The soft hum of the river flow nearby and the whispers of the wind calmed her, brought her peace. A part of her wished she could stay here forever, with him at her side and with no war to deal with.

She’d also had felt how thin the Veil was, the tingling of essences from the past seeping through her skin. It was as if it was reacting to her presence, out of welcome or not, she did not know.

The Inquisitor would occasionally graze her hand on the bark of the Vallasdahlen and give a silent prayer of thanks to their service. It was all she felt she could do as they were walking in their graveyard. She hoped the spirits would hear her.

She leaned on his arm and after a few quiet moments, she broke the tranquil silence. “The Emerald Graves humbles yet angers me.”

They had then approached one of the statues of Andraste, commemorating the events that took place so long ago. It stood proudly, almost mockingly in her eyes. As she read the words on the stone, heat was conjured in her chest and her jaw tightened.

‘Elves were guilty of the greatest sin, of turning from the Maker. But we will show them mercy, for that is what Andraste teaches.’

The Inquisitor of course does not deny the existence of Andraste. It wasn’t fair to judge a religion based on its followers’ actions; many horrible events took place in Her name, so it was hard not to see through biased eyes. But Andraste was simply a woman, a remarkable woman who did remarkable things, but nothing more.

She grazed the stone with her fingertips and retreated her hand. “The humans tried to push this on my people. Tried so desperately to spread their false peace talks of Andraste. While killing those who didn’t believe. So many lives wasted to human ignorance, in Her name.”

“Ignorance is not present in just humans, but I understand what you mean. Ignorance aside, you have to admire Andraste Herself. You’re a lot like her, in many ways.”

The Inquisitor’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t joke around like that, Solas.”

“Consider it for a moment. She came up as a slave in the Tevinter Imperium, a war leader in the first Exalted March. Sided with slaves and elves alike. Religious figure aside, she did great things. As you are now,” -- he brought up her scarred hand and ran his thumb across the torn flesh -- “except now you are trying to save Thedas against a greater evil. Like it or not lethallin, history will possibly make you out to be the next Andraste of your time.”

This brought pause to the young Dalish woman. “That is… unnerving.”

Solas laughed and let go of her hand. “Yes, well. You’d be quite the idol for other ‘unremarkable, lowly elven girls’ out there, yes? If not for yourself, then them.”

Another pause. The Inquisitor looked up at the statue again, this time with a light in her eyes. She nudged against his side as they walked away from the statue. “How do you feel about becoming my adviser, Solas?”

“Is that a fancy title for one who encourages you from the sidelines? To ensure you believe in yourself when you falter?”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. “Possibly. Is that such a burden?”

“No. I just do not need to be your adviser to do that.”

Thanks for reading! Please give me some feedback, constructive (not harsh) criticism or just a simple comment would do. ‘Tis was my first contribution towards the fandom and I’m looking forward to writing more!

#dragon age inquisition #Dragon age #solas #Inquisitor lavellan #solavellan #writing #fanfiction #my writing #lavellan #emerald graves #da:i #solas x inquisitor #fenharel #dalish #andraste #herald of andraste #da: inquisition

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nydharani · 7 years

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Solavellan Fanfic: The Beast Within

Soo...until AO3 gives me the invitation, I’ll start publishing this here. Don´t really know if someone would read this, but meh, its a beggining. Planning to do a slow burn, very slow.

Beware of my English, as I’m not a native speaker.

Chapter 1: Little Wild Beast

If he hadn't seen it with her own eyes, Solas would not have believed that someone could have survived the explosion.

But there she was, covered in black rags and a full-body hood, her chest slowly going up and down following the rythm of her calm breath. She made a sound when the soldiers deposited the stretcher on the ground and put her in the bed, but she became quiet short after.

Cassandra entered the room like a storm. Long story short, the patient seemed to be an spy, an Elven spy due to her complexion, and the only survivor of the blast. Solas listened to her with a serious face, but he felt his insides scream. Not everything was lost. The explosion, and all the lives that were lost, may have not been in vain. The soldiers and Cassandra let Solas with the spy, after a discussion on Solas' life hope if the elf did not survive it.

The next hours passed fast, but agitated with the commotion. While everybody outside the small house in Haven where he and the elf were was moaning for the Divine, for the lives lost or for the enormous breach on the sky, Solas found himself staring too long at the female elf, wondering and thinking of the many things that could possibly had happened for her survival. Blinking, Solas did not lose any more time. He took off the glove that covered her left hand, which was glistening with a green glow, only to find the lightest skin he had ever seen. For a moment he thought that she was dead, but the hot touch against her skin proved him wrong. Her fingers where thin and delicate, and her nails were large and pointed, he noticed, before concentrating in the important task: keeping the survivor alive.

He held tightly her hand in his, inoculating magic in her body, trying to stabilize the Anchor. His Anchor. While doing so, he proceeded to handcuffed her, just as Cassandra had ordered him to do. He felt an energy inside her fighting his own as he transferred more and more healing magic to the girl. The Seeker had told Solas that she only found a pair of daggers with the girl, and the man had to recognize he did not expect to find a mage without her staff. But the magic within her was unquestionable. Perhaps the spy did not even realize she was a mage? Was she going in disguise, afraid to be discovered by a templar?

While thinking about it, he stared at her, perplexed. Who was this woman? What happened at the Conclave? How in the world could a simple mortal survive being physically in the Fade? So many questions passed through Solas' mind while he looked at the fox mask that covered her face. It had large ears and a pointy nose. The mask was mainly pure white from the nose to the face, but slowly faded into black towards the ears and the sids of the head. It also had some details in red, like the lines surrounding the eyes. The slim hollow of the mask's eyes was covered in black cloth, making it impossible for people to look into the eyes of the person that was wearing the mask. Evidently, only someone with developed sight could use such a thing. The object covered the upper half of her face, while the lower half was covered in a dark and frayed kerchief, and it gave the girl the appearance of an assassin. No doubt Cassandra was already planning her trial and collecting the proves of her guilt.

With his free hand he touched his forehead, thoughtful. His head was hurting really bad due to all the events that had happened, but there was still hope. She was the hope. She needed to wake up, for everyone's sake.

A sigh escaped the girl, barely noticeable through the dark cloth. This caught Solas' attention, and feared that the kerchief could cause problems in her breathing. Slowly, he reached to the girl's face with his hand. He slid down the piece of cloth, showing pale, almost spectral-looking skin. Her mouth was slightly parted, showing white teeth and fangs that Solas could have sworn were larger than they should be. Her lips, pale and glossy, lacked of any makeup, and so the small lines on her lips were full visible, making her look almost childish. Two red dots decorated her chin, but if they were just a normal tattoo or a vallaslin he could not say, so he proceeded to remove the mask.

However, before he could touch the object, a low voice stopped him.

“Mana”

He froze, looking at her. The girl had spoken the word of stop in Elvhen. Was she awake? It was impossible!

After a few seconds, the girl’s mouth closed again, and her breath turned back to usual. She did not move, but it was enough to make Solas change his mind about removing the mask.

But now, if it was even possible, he was more curious about the girl.

A few days passed, and there was no sign of recovery from the woman. The Breach only poured more and more demons, and everyone in Haven was losing their minds. Cassandra and Leliana did not know what else to do about the survivor and the situation, even with the soothing words that Solas tried to give to them, saying that she would woke up in time. But they were running out of it, and even Solas started doubting of his own abilities. He would become tired after hours of treatment, and still there was no sign of recovery. Would his only hope, the only hope of the whole world, disappear just like that?

It was the dusk of the fourth day since the blast, and once more, Solas sat beside the faceless girl on the bed, trying to cure the effects of the Anchor. And, once more, nothing happened. With a sigh, he stood and faced the other way, moving towards a table with a number of herbs and potions brought by the alchemist that was using to help his own magic.

It was the faintest sound, the fastest move. Solas did not realise until a second later that his neck was being pointed by a dagger.

“You have five seconds to tell me the important. So you better start now. Shout and you're dead.”

He stood there for a second, without saying a thing. It looked that Cassandra did not remove all her weapons, after all.

The girl was surprised that the first thing that she heard was the sigh of relief that the elf let slip. For all she had gathered in her half hour of being awake, studying her surroundings, this bald elf was the one that had been taking care of her.

But why? Why did she awake in human territory? How did they bring her here? And for what reason?

All her question faded away when the elf started talking.

“I am pleased to see you still live, and surprised that you were able to free yourself from the handcuffs in so little time.”

“Have I asked your opinion?” She sank the blade a little bit more into the flesh of the elf, and heard him. Her head was spinning at an incredible pace, she never felt hungrier in her entire life and all her body was stiff from the lack of mobility. Even so, she had to focus in escaping from that unknown place.

“You are in Haven. It has been four days since the blast and--”

“The blast? What blast?”

The male breathed out, and she gripped her dagger with more strength. It was a pleasant sound to her ears, but her pulse did not shake. She could not remember a thing after the Conclave, as if someone had stolen her memories.

“There are many things that you don't know. Many things had happened since the Conclave. You, surviving an explosion that destroyed it all, for example.”

Slowly, she lowered her weapon, assuming the things the man just told her.

Everybody was just...dead? That could only mean that...

...She was the only one to blame.

With a swift move, she grabbed the elf and turned him to face her way, putting her dagger against her throat. She studied the factions of the male, his high cheekbones, narrow eyes and square jaw. He looked at her with no fear, which surprised her, but only curiosity. This only enhanced her own towards him. She sensed magic in him, of course, but as far as she was concerned, these people needed her and would not harm her, so she didn’t need to worry about being fried by him. In the blink of an eye, she brought her head to his neck.

“What are y--”

Solas could only contemplate how the other elf smelled him, absorbing his aroma. She quickly withdrew from him, with the dagger still across his throat. Solas looked at the girl, unable to believe what just happened. What was the exactly purpose of that? He opened his mouth to say something, but found no words. The female put in place the that the male lowered days ago, took two steps backwards and bowed her head a little.

“Ir abelas, hahren” she spoke then, in an accent that Solas thought as perfect “It seems that you speak the truth, so this is when our paths separate.”

And with that, in a blink, Solas was alone in the house, watching the fast black figure run towards the woods of Haven. After the surprise passed, he walked a few steps, towards the door, taking his staff. With more and more questions surrounding his head, he followed the soldiers that were chasing her.

The prisoner ran fast, very fast, as fast as the wild has taught her. Damn it all, as she smelled no lies from the elf. She only perceived the smell of fresh ink, old paper and medical herbs; she would not kill someone who brings knowledge to this word. Her black hood flowed around her, covering her body like an obscure veil. It was not much after when she heard the screams and shouts of alarm. And, with a swift look back, saw a raven-haired human woman running after her, with anger filling her eyes. The girl ran faster, trying to not think too much about the pain in her legs.

It would not be long until she reached the woods. And when she did, everything would be resolved. No one would be able to find her in the forest.

She saw the woman trying to catch her pace, but failing in the process. She was wearing heavy armour; it was just impossible that she could reach her, even if the human was naked.

She laughed, believing herself free.

That was until, of course, her left hand ached with so much pain that the fox fell to the ground, screaming.

She slipped across the snow and buried her hand in it, trying to calm the pain, but feeling the human just behind her was not helping, neither it was the light of the sun over her, even if it was just a reminiscence of the day. She felt tears in her eyes as her hand moved without control, glowing green, her fingers twisting without her concerned. With a disgusted sound, she felt the human shadow over her.

The female elf felt a strong and fierce grip on her shoulder, making her stand up. She faced then the human. She had beautiful but hard features, she noted, and eyes dark as her hair. The elf could not help but smile at the human's panting and sweating.

The young girl did not give the human a chance to rest. Freeing herself from the grasp, she pushed the older women to the snow, and sat over her, drawing the dagger that she hid in her hood. The woman did not stay still as she punched her in the left side of her face and changed positions, being now the human above the elf.

“By my condition of Seeker of Truth and Right Hand of the Divine” she started, as she tried to hold the wild elf down “I hereby declare you guilty and ready for tria--”

“Whatever you think I did, I'm INNOCENT!”

“Why are you running then? You should have nothing to fear!”

“I woke up in a shemlen village, surrounded by soldiers and you expect me to have "nothing to fear"!?”

When the Seeker was preparing another punch, the sneaky elf slid from her grasp and dodge the fist, taking the woman’s arm and throwing her to the ground. This time, she quickly stood and started running again, but it was pointless. The soldiers had already reached them, and before she could even start to sprint, she was captured.

The spy was thrown to the cold snow on her knees as she growled, her arms trapped behind her by the strong hold of the humans, her face pushed down to the snow, still hidden under the mask. The Seeker cleaned the snow of her armour and approached them, drawing her sword.

“Don't touch me!” she snarled, sounding like an animal. The elf fought, trying to become free from her capturers, even though it was futile. In the middle of her struggle, she saw the elf and a dwarf near the Seeker, looking at her. Fuck them. Fuck the woman. Fuck everything.

“Show her face” the elf growled at this, tried to stand, but failed. They took the hood of from her head, showing a pure white hair hidden under it. She wore it braided, and was tangled around her neck, creating a necklace. The remaining hair that slid out of the braid created wild curls around her head.

“No. No. NO!” when one of the human soldiers was removing the kerchief from her face, he was stupid enough to put his hand too close from her mouth, the elf noted, and so she bit him with all her strength. His hand was gloved, but it did not matter, as her fangs tore the material and sank into his flesh. The man screamed, as he took his bloody hand away.

No one could believe their ears when they heard the girl's laugh, too wild. For Solas, who was staring at the whole situation with a mixture of disgust and fascination, not even the Dalish were that vicious.

“We don't have time for this!” In less than a second, the Seeker was above the girl, and with a swift movement, kicked her belly with her knee, causing the younger girl to lose all her breath for a second. She could not escape now, and just a few moments later, her whole façade was removed and her head forced up by a strong grip on her hair. She could never have been more grateful that the sun had already disappeared

Everyone looked at her, stunned.

The elf was on her early to mid 20s, or so it showed her lack of wrinkles and the flush of her checks, despite the fact that her face was twisted in an aggressive and wild gesture, her small mouth but full and pale lips showing her teeth. Her ears, straight and long, were red from the cold and anger. However, none of them cared about this, as they could only see the paleness of her skin, so white that could be confused with the snow. White and curly hair, white and long lashes, white and thick brows...and deep blood coloured eyes, sparkling with emotion.

If she seemed more like a spirit or a demon, no one could tell.

As for Solas, he could only see the vallaslin in her forehead that matched the colour of her eyes. The thin but obscure lines delineated three rhombuses in one side, three on the other, simulating eyes, with a pattern in the middle. Three small lines crossing the bridge of her nose. Two dots on her chin. He never thought he would see anyone with such markings, as even himself had forbid everyone that followed him in ancient times to use it. But there it was, decorating the girl's face.

The vallaslin of Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf

His vallaslin.

“Your name! Say it!” said the Seeker, pointing at the now known Dalish. Her expression changed then for a confident and cocky smile, brows furrowed and fangs showing, eyes showing thrill and excitement.

“My name…is Halevune Lavellan” the elf stuck out her tongue, still tainted in blood. “And you can all go to hell”.

While the crowd was too busy trying to control the beast that was Halevune, taking her to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, a laughing dwarf approached Solas. In the distance, swear words and threats of assassinations from the girl could be heard, as Cassadra lifted and carried her thin body over her shoulder.

“So, what do you think, Chuckles?” he said, looking at the direction where Halevune was being taken “Too wild for ya?”

“Nothing is “too wild” for me, Master Tethras.” the elf responded, standing tall, putting his arm behind his back- And her wildness is of no concern for me. For now, let us hope that she agrees to help us close the Breach and does not provoke more… struggles.

“Well, little Wildling here has proved more fun than you already. And, well, than most of everyone here already.” rubbing his head, he started to follow the crowd. The elf gave him a single look before concentrating in the distance, looking at the yelling girl that was vanishing in the distance.

Solas stayed behind, trying to put his thoughts in mind. If Halevune had captured her attention at the beginning, now most than ever, although he would never have said it out loud. His slighted parted lips curled into a grin as he heard the shouts and howls of Halevune trying to break free.

What a little beast we have found.

With that last though, he marched in the direction of Varric, trying to catch his pace. This promised to be an interesting journey.

#shitty fanfic #solavellan #solas #solas x lavellan #solas romance #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #oc #solas fanfiction #solavellan fanfiction

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mysdrymmumbles · 8 years

Text

Kaitrith Disapproves - Lost - SFW

Kaitrith tries to deal with how much things change after losing her arm.

Pairing: Josephine Montilyet x F!Lavellan

Word Count: 2321

Kaitrith Disapproves

Lost

“Here, let me,” Josephine offered as Kaitrith dropped her hair brush for the third time that morning. Part of Kaitrith wanted to stand defiant, to insist against all reason that she could do this herself. After all, it was just brushed her hair. It shouldn’t have been so hard.

It was just that reaching and brushing the left side of her head with the brush was hard, mostly because she kept hitting her ear with the bristles.

But still.

Putting her hair up, getting dressed, fighting, bathing, everything was harder. Even writing a damned letter without an extra hand to hold the paper steady.

It seemed like brushing her damned hair should have been one of the few things that didn’t require her needing assistance. Josie kept assuring her that it would get better, that she was already doing better, but it was hard for Kaitrith to see it herself.

Worse, those murmurs in her head kept whispering spells to help her and she’d actually ended up yelling into the night a few evenings back that she wasn’t a Creatorsdamned mage. That had worried Josephine, but the whispers hadn’t even cared.

They didn’t seem able to hear her, honestly. They were simply able to whisper to her, and it was her responsibility to focus on listening to specific ones when she needed them.

They did seem more willing to settle into the dull bubbling of a brook when she listened to a few of them, however. Kaitrith had almost gotten into the rhythm of putting a paperweight on the corner of a page and jotting down the facts rattling around in her head at least. She still forgot it too often though, only to be reminded as the page jerked or turned with her movement.

Josephine was sitting next to her now, a hand resting against the small of Kaitrith’s back. Despite having every right to, she hadn’t shamed Kaitrith for taking matters into her ow hands after that first time, instead being nothing but supportive. It awed Kaitrith, really.

It was a blessing, as Kaitrith dearly needed support right now. Having to relearn everything was trying and exasperating, and she might have given up on multiple occasions already had Josephine not been there to assure her that all would be well in the end.

She was also glad that Josephine didn’t scold her because despite the pain of it all—both physical and emotional—she knew she’d done the right thing. The mark had become unstable, and it was only getting worse. How long would it have been before it wasn’t a flailing hand that hit Josie, but an arc of crackling magic?

Indeed, she’d made the right call.

Handing the brush to Josephine, Kaitrith sighed.

Honestly, she’d only intended to lose from her elbow down. The mark had been crawling its way up her arm, inch by inch for months, sending snaking tendrils of green along her blood veins, but the main part of it had gone up only to her mid forearm. She’d hoped that with the mark gone, the veins going further up her arm would disappear or at least heal, given time.

And joints were easier to slice through than bones, anyway.

The mark, however, had done more damage that she’d realized, and Stitches had ended up having to perform additional amputations to remove all the way to her shoulder as the residual magic turned out to be just as unstable as the mark itself.

She’d half thought she might die after all. While she didn’t want to, she’d been comforted with the fact that at least Josie wouldn’t be taken down with her. Then, as she’d accepted her fate, Stitches had finally been able to stabilize her.

It seemed that she was going to be allowed a chance at happiness after all.

And she was happy. Even though she had to worry about trying to brace herself with her arm that no longer existed, about having to catch herself when she fell after trying to rely on a ghost limb, she always had someone nearby to catch her—Josie, Bull, and all the Chargers—and the world as safe.

Josie was safe.

Even the occasional annoyance at never having any time alone anymore was overshadowed by that simple truth.

“There you are. Would you like me to put it up for you?” Josephine asked, leaning forward to rest her chin on Kaitrith’s good shoulder, brush still in hand.

“No.”

“I thought you were going to start practicing with Bull today, though? It would do to have your hair out of your face, surely.”

With a sigh, Kaitrith leaned back against Josephine, who welcomed her with open arms. “I was.”

It felt stupid to say that the mere acts of bathing and getting dressed had left her wanted to curl back up and sleep, but it did.

“Healing takes time,” Josephine offered, seemingly reading her thoughts.

With her right hand, Kaitrith caught Josephine’s and pulled it up to kiss her fingers. “I really don’t want to spend another day up here, writing.”

“Well, perhaps you could settle for watching techniques today, rather than attempting any?”

Josephine would be fine with Kaitrith setting aside her blade all together, and Kaitrith had considered it, but she wasn’t ready to do that just yet. Not with red lyrium still out there, able to corrupt people so easily.

For now, there was a lot of fighting left to do.

“I’ll go down and see.”

Pressing a gentle kiss to Kaitrith’s ear, Josephine smiled against her skin. “I’ll walk you there.”

…-…

Kaitrith wasn’t sure what had drawn her to the training grounds at first, though as soon as she recognized the hazy yet too sharp quality of the world, she knew it was her connection to Mythal.

Since the Well, her dreams were different. Her nightmares were less and less frequent, and instead she’d find herself a ghost watching previous events play out. Sometimes it was her own life, other times she saw glimpses into a more different past, though they were hard to see, as though peering through a heavy fog. The more she focused, the clearer they became, and she’d actually stood witness to an ancient wedding in one dream, which had awed her.

However, the more she focused, the longer she slept. It seemed the present was the price of the past, and while she wanted to reclaim as much as her people’s history as she could, she didn’t want to do it at the expense of what she had now.

It was a dilemma that tugged at her in many of her dreams, though this one was of herself, and so she was relieved that no price was warranted this time.

She could see herself talking to Bull and Krem in one of the more hidden corners of the training grounds, with Stitches to the side, laying out what he’d need for a tourniquet.

This was the day she removed the mark.

After hurting Josephine, she’d wrangled those voices, demanding they tell her how to stop the mark. At first, the chatter had continued on as it always did, deaf or indifferent to her. However, even as she’d felt tears of frustration pricking her eyes, it had been as though Morrigan’s mother herself was leaning to her, whispering in her ear, and she’d known a spell to mollify the mark, at least for a few minutes.

That such a short time was to be her answer had puzzled her at first, until she’d realized what she could do.

The thought of cutting off a limb had been horrifying, and she’d gone to talk to Josephine about it, to ask her if she was crazy or if such extremes were really needed. However, as she’d seen Josie working, she’d known what she would do, without asking.

And so she’d kissed her love and gathered the Chargers. Very few paid mind to their training, and with the diminished forces, it was easy to find a little corner where no one would see to figure out what they were doing.

Bull had been hard to persuade, but once she’d had him on her side, the other Chargers had fallen into line, as usual.

Her dream memory played out as she knew it would.

Dalish, insisting she wasn’t a mage, had cast the spell to suppress the mark, and Kaitrith had brought her blade down as quickly as she could on her elbow. When it caught, Bull had helped her—something she’d never tell Josephine, as the Antivan would probably kill him.

She felt a phantom pain in time with her past self hissing and clutching her shoulder as Stitches quickly and efficiently moved to stem the bleeding.

As Krem moved to help Stitches with something—Bull was attending to Dalish, who’d passed out—Kaitrith abruptly realized that she was being watched.

The last time this had happened, had been her dream conversation with Solas.

Turning, she didn’t find the missing apostate, but rather an incredibly large, white wolf sitting a few feet behind her, eerie gaze on her rather than her memory.

Her eyes widened as she recognized the creature without introduction.

Her people had told stories of this wolf for as long as time had existed.

Fen’harel. The Dread Wolf.

You think yourself clever?

The wolf cocked his head as the disembodied voice spoke, reverberating in the air around them. It wasn’t a hateful tone, but she thought she could sense a bit of contempt there.

More than that, though, the voice was familiar.

“Solas.”

The word left her lips unbidden, and the wolf snarled.

For all your talk of reclaiming the past, I’d thought you might come to understand what had been lost. Yet instead you move to stop the inevitable.

At first, she was lost. She’d told him she wanted to help her people recover what had been lost, and in her dream he’d started to say something, but had dismissed himself instead.

Before that, though…

He had been the one to appear so timely with ways to stave the mark’s progression. He alone had understood it, known it. Even as stories of other mages studying rifts came to them, most ended with grisly demises, yet he’d clearly known more for far longer. From before the Breach itself.

“The mark was supposed to be yours.”

As if that is what matters, Solas’ disembodied voice snapped. You know the power it held, and you destroyed it.

“It was killing me,” Kaitrith hissed back, all but forgetting she was arguing with a wolf rather than that obstinate elf. “And if you wanted it so badly, you had plenty of opportunities to take it.”

While the wolf had seemed ready to respond to her first statement—no doubt to point out that she likely could have asked the voices for ways to control it better instead of just getting rid of it—the world around them twisted into a new memory, once still clear, yet not hers.

Solas sat beside a battered and unconscious Kaitrith, studying the mark and attempting to cast on it.

For a moment, Kaitrith was puzzled, until she recognized the way he was curling his fingers and whispering—similar to the way Corypheus had acted when he’d tried to take the mark for himself. The magic flickered, just like it had for Corypheus, and then snapped back to Kaitrith.

Kaitrith stared at their phantoms, a disbelieving laugh escaping her lips.

He had tried.

She had somehow come to possess Fen’harel’s mark, and—even as the god that he was—he had been unable to take it back.

Without even meaning to, she had…beaten Fen’harel?

The wolf’s snout was twisted into a snarl as it watched her.

Straightening up, Kaitrith gave the trickster god her usual frown. “You said everything I do will be in service of Mythal, whether I know it or not.”

The wolf’s face smoothed somewhat as it watched her, head tilting so slightly.

“Mythal gave me the spell to get rid of it, so she must not have wanted you to get your mark back, either.” Kaitrith felt a little cocky as she added, “If you have such a problem with it, take it up with her.”

I think you will come to regret that declaration. Fen’harel began to fade away, the memories disappearing into a haze as well. I wonder if you will be so arrogant the next time we meet.

…-…

“Kaitrith?”

Blinking, Kaitrith cringed at the bright afternoon light that was shining down on her, and it took her a few minutes before she realized that she was in the training grounds, sitting beside one of the rings, propped up against boxes so that she could watch Bull and Krem spar with single handed blades.

Reaching up to rub the sleep from her eyes, Josephine’s hand caught hers as she lowered it again. “Kait, love. Are you alright? You were mumbling in your sleep.”

Kaitrith turned her head to see Josephine sitting beside her, still clasping her hand, concern plain on her face.

For a moment, she thought about how Fen’harel had been in her dreams, how she still had voices whispering in her head, how she was bound to Mythal, and how she was down one arm. She thought of Fen’harel’s words right before she’d woken up. However, even when she thought of him, none of the voices whispering and tumbling around in her head offered any fears or spells to ward him off with.

Surely that was a good thing.

And anyway, she couldn’t spend her whole life fearing what might come. If she did that, she’d be giving up her present just as surely as if she spent the rest of her life dreaming of the past.

“I think I’m going to be alright,” she offered finally, smiling. “Sit with me a while?”

And she did.

#wotfemslash2017 #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #josephine montilyet x f!lavellan #kaitrith disapproves #josephine montilyet #kaitrith lavellan #lavellan #romance #fen'harel

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ahrorha · 4 years

Text

Flame of Winter

Chapter 25

The forests of the Arbor Wilds were vast, wild and humid. It had been days since they had entered the Wilds in pursuit of Corypheus and his red templars. They were following the trail of burned down camps and traces of ambushes left by Leliana's people in an effort to slow Corypheus down. Finally, after seeing nothing but trees, strange birds and vast fields of mushrooms, there were signs that they were nearing their goal, the Temple of Mythal.

Riding her hart Eirlana was in awe, these forests were old, very old. To her left and right were busted statues, fallen pillars and crumbled walls hidden between the trees and plants. They marked the overgrown and broken road they currently followed. As they saw more and more remnants of elven architecture, she began to realise how vast this complex must have been. She glanced at Solas, who rode next to her. It was strange to think that he probably had once walked these very same roads. It must be hard for him to return here and see everything fallen into ruins.

It had been three weeks since they had left Skyhold, and although it had been hard on her to travel, it had also been good for her. The travelling gave her time to breath, to shake away the nightmares that had occupied her mind. Though the grief and the loss she felt was still raw, it wasn't longer crushing her.

The journey gave her time to think about the things that had happened. She also tried to put the events of the past in the right context. She knew only fragments of the life the Elvhen people had lived in the time of Elvhenan. They were whispers and snippets of memory in the Fade and the things she had learned of Ghi'lan, her teacher. Since her encounter with Falon'Din, her perspective had changed. What once were faint echoes of the past were becoming a reality. The rulers of a world, where magic had been endless, were still alive. They had dominated Thedas as immortal beings and had ruled with absolute power until they vanished.

She knew that the legends and whispers blamed Fen'Harel for the disappearance of the Elvhen Gods and the fall of the Elvhen empire. The stories said that Fen'Harel had locked the Gods away, and retreated to the Fade after his deed was done.

She had always wondered what really had happened back then, but the memories in the Fade were faint and hard to find. Often they were chaotic and fragmented, twisted by fear, anger and desperation. It didn't help either that she had been a slave most of her life. Back then, when she travelled with her Mater, there had always been the pressure of finding something useful to him. She hadn't been able to explore the Fade freely; with her being forcefully thrown in and pulled out of the Fade. It was like she had only seen slivers of a complex story. Echoes of destruction, and memories of desperate elves. Elves that were angry and distraught because their magic was failing or fearful as they suddenly were ageing. She heard their calls of help to their Gods and cursing Fen'Harel for what he had done.

Although she had spent days on end in the Fade as a child, she hadn't grasped her abilities back then. The Fade was her playground, a place where she was safe, a place free of hunger and pain. Only after she had met Ghi'lan this changed, he taught her about magic and how to survive and manipulate the Fade. He also told her stories of Elvhenan, she learned about the Elvhen people and the Evanuris that ruled over them. She learned that life had been far from ideal for the Elvhen people. Although there were magical marvels, wealth and prosperity, there were also wars, slavery and oppression. She would spend hours listening to him as a child, he was patient with her and would answer her questions. But whenever she would ask him what had happened to the elves, his answers were vague and cryptic. Now, she was older, she wondered if he couldn't or just wouldn't give her the answer.

Since Solas had freed her, she hadn't thought about discovering the ancient past. Being free for the first time she had spent her time in the Fade more casual. Not longer taking lyrium, she had explored more of the local memories that were easier to find. Although she had never forgotten her questions about Elvhenan, there had never been a rush to find the answer. She had always thought she had the time and that she would find the truth someday in the future, when she wouldn't constantly be travelling or fighting against a corrupted magister.

And now she had the feeling she was running out of time. Legends were turning into reality, and the past that had become twisted and tangled was slowly unravelling before her eyes.

The existence of Solas, Falon'Din and a third Evanuris had her wondering; who and what else had survived. What were their plans? And why were they resurfacing now?

The longer she thought about them, the more uneasy she felt about what the future would bring.

One thing she knew for sure, Solas was here for a reason. It hadn't been a coincidence he wanted to reach the conclave. Back then, he had been in a hurry.

Had he known Corypheus would be there?

Was he somehow involved?

Had he known about the foci?

What she did know was that the explosion at the conclave hadn't been part of his plan. At least that was what she hoped.

Looking at Solas, she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling. What if she was wrong?

Solas noticed her staring at him. “Are you alright?”

“...Yes.”

“We should reach the base camp soon, and hopefully, you can rest there.”

Eirlana knew he was worried about her, and she felt guilty that she had those doubts about him. How could she think he would willingly kill all those people at the conclave? Shaking those dark thoughts away, she smiled at him. “I feel fine, don't worry.”

Solas reached out and caressed her arm. To his relief, she was recovering well even with them being on the road. Slowly she was returning to her former self, and although she wasn't as open towards him as before, she was beginning to talk more to him and the others. Still, he could feel a distance between them that hadn't been there before.

He could sense the sadness and guilt she was feeling in her grief; the fear left by her trauma. But, to his relief, they weren't overpowering her any longer. What he couldn't place was the periods of confusion and doubt she experienced, and he wondered what was causing them.

His hart snorted and reared its head as he rode to close to Varric riding in front of him. Backing off, he turned his eyes back on the road. He spotted Ryan riding a short distance in front of him, and he automatically narrowed his eyes.

It was ironic that Ryan had chosen him and Eirlana to accompany him with his growing distrust about their stability as mages. But on the other hand, he also distrusted Dorian, and Vivienne had probably some important political task to fulfil. Of course, Ryan's suspicions about them were utterly absurd, and a glaring proof how incompetent and wrong the humans views about magic was with their Chantry's and templar's.

He glared at the templar armor Ryan so proudly wore. The longer he worked with the man, the more he began to despise him and his decisions. His detest grew even deeper when he thought back at how Ryan had ordered Eirlana to come with them, totally ignoring the fact that she was still recovering. Solas knew the only reason Ryan wanted her here was because of her abilities. It was sickening to think that he may demand from her to use her skills for his own gain. Skills for which she was abused for in the past. Not to mention that Ryan would most likely trample all over the Temple of Mythal, that harboured secrets that shouldn't fall into human hands. Solas sighed in frustration as they drew closer to their goal. He felt reluctant to return here, too many of his memories were connected to these holy grounds. He had often visited Mythal here, but it was also the place where she was betrayed and murdered. A sense of bitterness, anger and sorrow filled him when he thought back at how he and some of Mythal's confidants had found her destroyed body and her Temple plundered. Now he was returning here again, to the place where he had failed to protect his dearest and closest friend.

“You should stay behind.” Solas said while checking his equipment.

They had reached the Inquisitions main camp and were readying themselves for combat. In the distance, the sounds of battle could already be heard, where Cullen's troops had engaged the Venatori and red templars.

Eirlana fidgeted with her gloves. “I want to go. I am alright.”

He could see she was anxious. “No, you are not.” he brushed her cheek. “You are not yourself since Imshael captured you, and I don't expect you to be. You suffered a great loss and need rest and time to recover, not another battle.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears away that threatened to escape. Stepping forward, she leaned against him, and he took her softly into his arms. She knew she was worrying him and hurting him by being so distant. But the more she was accepting the fact that he was Fen'Harel, the more she feared to tell him that she knew.

“I am sorry.” she mumbled against his chest.

“Vhenan, don't be.” he pressed a kiss on her head. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I know.” she exhaled and looked up at him. “But you know where we are.”

His expression grew more serious. “I do.”

“Do you really want them to trample over of what is left from...” She hesitated for a fraction. “from what Mythal was to the People.”

Solas moved slightly backwards but kept his arms around her, he found her choice of words strange.

“You know how Ryan is, Solas.” she continued looking at him. “And I don't want him to foolishly stumble upon something he doesn't understand. If Corypheus is of any example, we need to keep powerful artefacts from falling into the wrong hands.”

He averted his eyes, knowing it was his fault that Corypheus had his orb. Taking a long breath, he sighed. “Alright, but stay close to me. You are not yet well enough to fight.”

“I promise.” she smiled slightly.

She didn't know what they would find at the Temple, but she knew it had a connection with Solas' past. She had noticed that he was unusually quiet about the upcoming mission. It was so unlike him, to refrain from giving his opinion. She had also noticed he was avoiding Ryan and Morrigan, and their speculations about Mythal, her Temple and the eluvian.

Determined to find out more, she grabbed her staff and walked towards Iron Bull, Cassandra and Morrigan. They all were waiting for Ryan to finish talking with, now Emperor, Gaspard. She heard Gaspard boasting that the battle was a worthy hunt, as if it was a joke that the soldiers risked their lives to carve them a path to Corypheus. It sickened her to hear them laughing. Didn't they care for the loss of life and the destruction they brought to this place? She wondered what they would do if elves still had lived here. Would they also hunt them like a horrid sport? Would they trample and crush on that what remained?

One thing was certain something powerful had survived until this age. There was magic tingling in the air, and it had steadily grown stronger as they came nearer the Temple. It was reacting to their presence, and judging by Morrigan's demeanour, she wasn't the only one who was aware of it.

“Let's go!” Ryan commanded and marched towards the sounds of battle.

The forest was old and dense. The floor was covered with thick patches of fallen leaves, mouldy wood and mushrooms. Their feet sunk into the soft ground as they hurried along the twisted path, passing through huge hollowed out trees. Flocks of colourful birds flew up as they passed through the thick green underbrush. Along the way, they ran into small skirmishes between the Inquisitions forces and red templars. Soon they reached a river with remnants of elven architecture, but Eirlana had no time to study them, because a group of red templars was awaiting them.

Eirlana tried to keep herself out of the combat as she promised, but as a behemoth came lumbering from behind the ruins, she felt herself automatically casting an ice spell to freeze the creature. She was startled when the spell manifested itself almost instantly, freezing the creature solid.

What was happening to her?

Ever since she had awoken, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had somehow changed. She couldn't pinpoint what it was, but she felt somehow different. At first, she had thought it was because of her wounds, but she was now almost completely healed. What remained was that her body felt foreign to her.

She didn't know exactly what Falon'Din had done to her or why he had helped her at all. She doubted it was out of kindness or the goodness of his heart. Whatever the reason, he had cured her and changed her in the process.

Even if she ignored the feeling of her body, she knew her magic had most definitely changed. She always had a strong affinity with the Fade, but not like this. Her dreams had become more vivid, with the Fade responding quicker and more fluently than ever before. Even when awake, it felt like she was closely connected with the realm beyond the Veil. This connection fuelled her magic like nothing she had experienced before. It was like she had tapped into a new well of energy, and she didn't know its origin nor its limitations.

Now with her casting for the first time in combat again, the difference was even more apparent. Her magic manifested easier and with more power than before. It was almost like when she had cast her first spells outside of the Fade, when she didn't know how to control her power. She needed to be careful.

The battle was swift and merciless, and soon the lifeless bodies of their enemies lay on the ground. To their surprise they found Grey Wardens among them, probably the last that remained from the mages Corypheus had enslaved at Adamant.

Why had Corypheus brought them out here, Eirlana wondered as they moved on.

“Over there, another red templar encampment.” Ryan proclaimed. “Mages take care of the archers on the wall. Iron Bull and Cassandra you are with me.”

He rushed forward, bashing his shield against a red templar knight, almost running him over. Iron Bull and Cassandra sprinted past him, engaging the red templar shadows before they would disappear into the shadows.

Staying behind Solas and Morrigan, Eirlana cringed when Ryan labelled them as mages. Why wasn't he using their names? Quickly she threw her barriers around everyone so Solas and Morrigan could focus on their offensive spells.

The battle was progressing straight forward when suddenly Solas turned around and pulled Eirlana roughly behind him. Stumbling, she looked over her shoulder where out of nowhere an elf materialised with his daggers drawn. Solas moved his staff quick and efficient, blocking the attack. The strange elf swiftly spun around trying to land a hit with his blades, but Solas moved fluently along, easily keeping himself and her out of harm's way. She had never seen him move like that before, he moved like he knew how the elf would attack.

More elves appeared, attacking the others. “Katara Bas! They fight like a hurricane!” Iron Bull grunted, and Ryan exclaimed “Maker, take you!” as everyone changed targets.

Summoning magical energy Solas blasted the elf backwards.

”Leave us. We are not your enemy.” he called out, but the elf didn't even flinch and jumped to the left to strike again.

Not having any other choice Solas summoned a stone fist to punch the elf backwards. This was the first time he had to fight against one of the People with only a simple staff as his weapon. He wished he could pick up a blade himself and deal with the attacker more swiftly, but that would betray too much of his past. Where in Thedas would a simple apostate have learned to wield a blade like a warlord?

As sudden as the elves had appeared, they disappeared again into the shadows.

“Everyone alright?” Ryan asked wiping sweat from his brow.

“It seems the Temple of Mythal is not abandoned after all.” Morrigan remarked. “It is likely that these creatures are the reason few return from the Arbor Wilds.”

Ryan shouldered his shield. “Who were they? They seem... odd.”

“Indeed. Two things are possible.” Morrigan explained. “One, this is a group of Dalish separated from their brethren. Cultists. Fanatic in their desire to keep humans away. Two, these are elves descended from the ancients, having resided here since before the fall of Arlathan. The second appears unlikely, but if true, the implications are astounding.”

“Whatever is the case we can't let them stop us from getting to Corypheus.” Ryan grunted and walked further down the path.

Looking at one of the fallen elves Eirlana hesitated for a moment. The elf's features were sharp, and his skin tone wasn't like any she had ever seen, pale almost greenish in colour. Like the elf hadn't seen sunlight in ages. His vallaslin was greenish golden and more intricate then the markings the Dalish wore. They were clad in elegant armor, forged from an unknown metal that shimmered golden in the sunlight.

No, Eirlana thought, these are no descendants. There was only one place she had seen such vallaslin and such armor before, and that was in the Fade. These were ancient elves, awakened from uthenera by their presence.

They rushed forward, past remnants of bridges and outer buildings that were decorated with broken murals and overgrown statues. It was strange Eirlana thought, for being a place of worship of Mythal there were a lot of statues representing the other Evanuris. Whatever this place once was, it was connected to all of them.

After more encounters with red templars, they finally reached the Temple. Eirlana faltered when she saw the four giant Fen'Harel statues, that stood at the Temple's entrance. They had a place of honour, guarding the gates of Mythal's sanctuary. Although she had seen statues of Fen'Harel at other temples before, it had been nothing like this. She wondered what his connection with Mythal was. Frustrated that she didn't know more, she hoped, once they had dealt with Corypheus, she would get the opportunity to dream here and explore the Fade.

Hurrying along a long archway, they heard fighting up ahead. Ryan signalled for them to slow down, and they carefully sneaked onto a platform that was littered by red templar and Venatori corpses. To their left and right, the outer walls of the Temple fanned out encircling a big lake. A good distance from its shore, the water suddenly plummeted into the depths, creating a giant circular waterfall. In its centre, the Temple of Mythal arose.

Below them, the ground was covered with more corpses of Venatori and elves.

A group of elves, guarding the bridge leading to the Temple, was facing Corypheus. A woman stood at Corypheus' side with his remaining troops, a couple of Grey Wardens were among them.

“Na melana sur, Banallen!” the leader of the elves called out.

“The wretch mocks you, Master.” the woman sneered.

Corypheus paced forward. “These are but remnants. They will not keep us from the Well of Sorrows.”

As he stepped forward, two statues of Mythal standing next to the bridge began to glow with magical energy. Corypheus hesitated for a moment but resumed his path. “Be honoured! Witness death at the hands of a new god!”

Powerful magic shot out from the statues, engulfing Corypheus. To the horror of the elves, he kept moving and grabbed the leader by his throat. It appeared the magic wasn't affecting Corypheus at all. Then his flesh began to melt and drip to the ground. It was consuming him and disintegrating his body. The magical energy kept building power until it suddenly exploded, throwing back a part of Corypheus' troops as well as the elven guardians, killing them. The light of the explosion blinded Ryan and the others. As the smoke cleared, they saw the woman and the remaining troops crossing the bridge and disappearing into the Temple.

On their guard, they all moved towards the bridge, carefully stepping through the carnage the explosion had left behind.

“Did Corypheus just die?” Ryan asked in disbelief, looking around, searching for any trace left of him.

Eirlana felt uneasy, something wasn't right. Corypheus followers weren't acting like their leader had just died. Suddenly she felt a foul energy gathering behind her. Whirling around, she gasped as one of the corpses of the Grey Wardens started to move. It grunted and spasmed, blackened blood spew from its mouth like a geyser. They all stepped back when the body began to twist and turn black. All of a sudden new arms shot out from the blackened mass, and Corypheus' body slowly rose.

“It cannot be!” Morrigan exclaimed in disbelief.

“Across the bridge. Now!” Ryan yelled, and they all ran.

Glancing behind her Eirlana saw the blackened figure of Corypheus rose and watching them. A familiar roar sounded above them. Corypheus' dragon plunged out of the sky, firing its corrupting fire breath. They all ran as fast as they could through the open doors of the Temple and quickly pushed them shut, hoping it would give them some protection against the beast. They made it just in time, and the doors magically sealed themselves, locking out Corypheus and his dragon. For the time being, they were safe.

After the constant battle, the courtyard of the Temple lay strangely peaceful before them. The area was totally overgrown and adorned with several statues of Mythal. Looking around Eirlana also spotted a couple of wolven statues, Fen'Harel was even represented here. What had been their relationship, she wondered again.

There were no signs of the Venatori, apart from a few corpses, nor of the guardians of the Temple. Ryan ran across the square, up the stairs, towards the next doors leading deeper into the Temple, but they were magically sealed shut. Frustrated, he kicked against them.

Abruptly he turned towards Morrigan. “You said Corypheus wanted an eluvian, but he talked about the 'Well of Sorrows.' What is it?”

Morrigan scratched her head. “I am uncertain of what he was speaking.”

“Of course you are.” Ryan snapped. “Are they the same? Is eluvian another name for it?”

“No, it seems an eluvian is not the prize Corypheus seeks.” Morrigan snapped back. “But whatever this Well is, Corypheus is after it, and thus you must keep it from his grasp.”

“What I want to know is how Corypheus came back to life.” Ryan yelled. “We saw him die.”

“It looks like his life force was passed on to the Grey Warden.” Morrigan calmed herself. “Perhaps he possesses the same ability as an Archdemon. Maybe the Grey Wardens knew this, and that's why they locked him away.”

“Then, Corypheus cannot die.” Solas murmured in thought. “Destroy his body, and he will assume another.”

During their discussion, Eirlana sat down on the stairs, her legs were shaking and hurting from the running they had done. Noticing her discomfort, Solas squatted down and tried to soothe her with pulses of healing magic.

“We need to find a way to stop Corypheus once we're done here.” Ryan huffed, looking around for a way forward. “This Mythal, what do you know about her Morrigan?”

“The accounts of Mythal are very old and varied, I don't know if she truly existed. It could be she was once a powerful elf or another being of immense power, if she was ever a single entity. The accounts of her are more stories than facts. I question her supposed divinity, however. One need not to be a god to have value.”

“What are those stories of her?”

“In most stories, Mythal rights wrongs while exercising motherly kindness. 'Let fly your voice to Mythal, deliverer of justice, protector of sun and earth alike.' Other paint her as dark, vengeful. 'Pray to Mythal, and she would smite your enemies, leaving them in agony.'”

“More Dalish tales, I assume.” Solas turned towards Morrigan, Eirlana could tell he was annoyed. “For all your 'knowledge,' Lady Morrigan, you cannot resist giving legend the weight of history. The wise do not mistake one for the other.”

“Pray tell, what does our elven 'expert' know about this?” Morrigan snarled.

“The oldest accounts say Mythal was both of these, and neither. She was the Mother, protective and fierce. That is all I will say. This is not a place to stir up old stories.”

“Whatever the truth,” Morrigan turned her attention back to Ryan. “all accounts of Mythal end the same: exiled to the Beyond with her brethren.”

“What do you mean, exiled?”

“Tricked by the Dread Wolf, as all the elven gods were said to be, trapped in a land beyond the Fade. Many Dalish believe this is why the elves fell from grace, and their gods did not save them. Or perhaps they were simply rulers slain by Tevinter. Who can say?”

Eirlana carefully observed Solas and how his eyes reflected a deep sorrow. Whatever had happened to Mythal, it had touched him deeply.

“Let's find a way through these doors,” Ryan said.

“That altar may hold more information.” Morrigan suggested, pointing towards a couple of stones, standing upright in the centre of an elevated part of the courtyard.

They all approached the altar. Ryan, who stepped on the elevation first jumped immediately back as the tile he stepped on, began to glow.

“It appears the temple's magics are still strong.” Morrigan moved next to him.

Getting more irritated, Ryan pointed towards the engraved stones. “That script is that elven? Does it say anything about this Well of Sorrows?”

“Atish'all Vir Abelasan.” Solas read out loud. “It means 'enter the path of the Well of Sorrows.'”

Morrigan huffed, clearly annoyed that Solas was taking the credit for translating the elven script. “There is something about knowledge. Respectful or pure. Shiven, shivennen. It is all I can translate. That it mentions, the Well is a good omen.”

“Vague translations of knowledge and sorrow. This doesn't help us at all.” Ryan grumbled.

“It is likely supplicants to Mythal would have paid some form of respect and obeisance first before they were granted permission to enter the temple.”

During their discussion, Eirlana looked around. She could feel the Veil was thin here, and the air was humming with the same magic she felt earlier. Looking next to the altar, she saw a shimmer. Something was moving along the tiles, but it was very faint like a wisp of smoke. Puzzled at to what it was, she concentrated on it.

Suddenly she connected with a spirit living here in this part of the Fade. In shock, she staggered slightly, never before she had been able to connect with a spirit in this manner without being asleep or in a trance. The spirit seemed excited by her presence and began to share the past. As she watched the image became clearer. She could see shadows of thousand and thousands of elves that had walked this path before them. They were honouring Mythal, appeasing her, praying for her favour, her wrath and forgiveness.

It was both fascinating and terrifying. How was this possible without her entering the Fade? The images were flickering as she tried to keep connected with the spirit, but it was difficult. As before, her control over her magic, her flow of mana fluctuated and as sudden as the images had appeared, they vanished again.

Blinking her eyes, she spoke up. “It's a dance.”

Everyone's attention turned towards her.

“A dance?” Morrigan huffed mockingly, raising her eyebrows sceptically.

“Will that open the door?” Ryan asked.

“Maybe. It was a ritual performed here by the Elvhen. I will try it.” Carefully she stepped on the first tile that began to glow again.

“A ritual to appease elven gods? Long-dead or no, I don't like it.” Cassandra protested.

“We have no other choice.” Ryan grumbled. “The Maker will forgive us.”

Solas watched Eirlana as she moved over the tiles, her body swaying to the rhythm of an unheard tune.

How often had he attended the ritual? How often had he stood at Mythal's side, watching the faithful, judging them as to who was worthy of being heard? It chilled him to the bone, to see her perform the same steps. With each step she took, he felt like she was taking a step back in time, a step closer to the truth.

He wanted to intervene and stop her, stop her from entangling herself deeper into the web he had created, a web he himself was captured in. It was his own fault, his own weakness that allowed her to come this close, he had allowed her to become part of him.

Standing here where Mythal had fallen, he felt closer than ever to the path he had chosen, the Din'Anshiral. He knew only death would await him at the end. It felt like with each step she took, she was following him on that path, and she didn't deserve that fate. She deserved to be free. Free from the secrets he carried, free from his bloody duty.

The optimism and hope he felt not so long ago had vanished. It had been a dream, a fleeting moment of happiness he would be forever grateful for. But the dream had shattered before it began. He lowered his eyes and clenched his jaw, he needed to harden himself and face his inescapable faith. A faith he had to face alone.

Determined Solas watched Eirlana stepping on the last tile, finishing the ritual. With a whooshing sound, the ancient magical seals activated, unlocking the doors behind them.

With a heavy heart, he followed the others, knowing that this day wouldn't end well. For he knew one thing, if the Sentinels were still guarding this place, the Well of Sorrows was still intact, and with it the Will of Mythal.

They entered the inner hall, it was also overgrown with trees and plants. Arches to the left and right let to other chambers of the Temple. Up a set of stairs stood the woman with a group of Venatori. They were just in time to witness the group of mages blast a hole into the floor, creating an opening to the lower parts of the Temple.

“Don't let them pass!” The woman yelled before jumping down the hole. Out of all directions, Venatori emerged from behind the columns and trees. They were surrounded.

“There is no end to these bastards.” Iron Bull growled and smashed his warhammer into the first warrior that came rushing towards them. Ryan and Cassandra bashed their shields, drawing attention to themselves. Solas automatically stepped in front of Eirlana, so he could shield her better from the combat.

Although they had faced the Venatori often, the overgrown vegetation in the hall made the battle treacherous. The trees provided excellent cover for the archers and mages, and the gnarled roots and broken up tiles made the ground uneven. Ryan cursed loudly several times when he almost lost his footing.

Cutting down the last mage, Ryan yelled. “Let's go! If we hurry, we might catch them.” and ran up the stairs towards the hole that still smoked from the explosion.

“Hold! A moment.” Morrigan hurried and blocked his path. “While they rush ahead, this leads to our true destination.” she pointed towards a closed door, flanked by four Mythal statues, at the other end of the hall. “We should walk the petitioner's path, as before.”

“You forget that army fighting for us out there?” Iron Bull growled disapproving. “The longer we play around, the more Inquisition soldiers die. There's a hole – Jump in.”

“I agree. Performing even more heathen rituals. I'm against it.” Cassandra proclaimed.

“We are on ancient grounds.” Solas countered. “It deserves our respect.”

“Yes, we should respect this Temple. I should be able to figure out the rituals quickly.” Eirlana agreed with him.

“Also we may not be able to find the Well of Sorrows unprepared.” Morrigan continued.

“Why not?” Ryan crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

“I read more in the first chamber than I revealed. It said a great boon is given to those who use the Well of Sorrows... but at a terrible price.”

“What did it say exactly?” Ryan looked displeased at her.

“Like most elven writing, it was insufferably vague. The term I deciphered was 'Halam'shivanas' – 'the sweet sacrifice of duty.' It implies the loss of something personal for duty's sake. Yet for those who served at this temple, a worthwhile trade. I am willing to pay the cost to preserve the Well.”

“Why didn't you say something earlier?”

“I hoped to find more information first.”

“And gain what?” he interrupted her.

“More relevant information about the Well, there may be a way to preserve it. The rituals may point to the way.”

“We already have lost too much time with this nonsense.” Ryan stepped passed her and jumped down.

They swiftly moved through the cellars of the Temple, the few Venatori that tried to stop them hardly slowed them down. That was until their path was blocked by a collapsed passage. It had just been brought down, the rubble was still on fire, and the dust hadn't even settled yet. Ryan cursed loudly. There was no way for them to clear the path quickly and continue their pursuit.

“Guess we go back up again.” Iron Bull remarked, pointing to some stairs leading back to the upper levels.

The stairs led them into a grand vestibule, illuminated by lanterns and fire bowls. The light shimmered off the flaky golden paint covering the walls. Golden decorative fencing glittered at the tops of the arches that surrounded the chamber, that was decorated with several mosaics and murals.

“What was this room used for...?” Morrigan wondered aloud.

Cautiously they entered. As they reached the centre, elves emerged from the shadows surrounding them with their bows drawn.

“Venavis.” a hooded elf stepped onto a raised balcony in front of them. He wore the same sculpted armour as the other ancient elves and Eirlana only noticed now how silently it moved. He had the same pale complexion, as well as an intricate golden-green vallaslin of Mythal.

The hooded elf crossed his arms and looked down upon them. “You... are unlike the other invaders. You stumble down our paths at the side of one of our own. You bear the mark of magic which is … familiar. How has this come to pass? What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

Eirlana's heart skipped a beat when he mentioned Solas, but no one else of her companions reacted to his remark. Did the elf know Solas? She frowned when he described the mark as familiar. How could he recognize it? Corypheus had claimed he had forged the mark using the foci he possessed. It had transferred to Ryan after he touched the orb at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. But if this ancient elf recognized it, it meant the mark had always been part of the orb. She glanced at Solas. If Solas' goal to reach the conclave had been the foci, had he also been after the mark? She knew he had control over it and that it interacted with the Veil like it was a key. So what had Solas planned to do with it?

Ryan stepped forward, glaring at the elf. “I won't be interrogated at sword point. Declare yourself!”

The elf narrowed his eyes. “I am called Abelas. We are Sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion. I know what you seek. Like all who have come before, you wish to drink from the vir'abelasan.”

“ 'The Place of the Way of Sorrows', he speaks of the Well!” Morrigan whispered to Ryan.

“It is not for you. It is not for any of you.” Abelas announced.

Eirlana sighed, for all the knowledge and expertise Morrigan claimed to have about elves and their history, she had forgotten that elven hearing was far better than that of humans. Abelas clearly had heard her and confirmed his suspicion why they were intruding. She watched the ancient elf that stared sternly at them. Abelas... Sorrow. She wondered what did he mourn to have been given that name. Did he mourn the demise of the Elvhen people? Or did his name have another origin?

“I am Inquisitor Trevelyan, Chosen of Andraste!” Ryan said. “I command you to let us through! I don't know what weird elven cult this is, but I need to reach this Well. Stand aside!”

Abelas studied him for a moment. “Your title means nothing to us. Our duty is clear. The vir'abelasan shall not be usurped... even if I must destroy it. Masal Din'an!” He turned and ran deeper into the Temple.

“No!” Morrigan exclaimed. With the blink of an eye, she turned into a crow and flew after Abelas.

“Morrigan!” Ryan yelled, but it is too late, she was already gone.

A hail of arrows was released as the remaining Sentinels attacked them. Immediately, Ryan, Cassandra and Iron Bull went into the offence, protected by Solas' barriers.

Shocked by how quick the situation escalated Eirlana wasn't as fast. Every part of her being rebelled against this course of action. Soon though she had no other choice but to defend herself. Where she could, she quelled her magic, hoping that some of the Sentinels would fall unconscious and survive this day.

Tears welled up in her eyes when the battle was over. Why hadn't Ryan talked to them normally? These elves had done nothing, they were only protecting their home.

Solas turned to Ryan, he too was upset. “This was unnecessary. A pointless waste of life.”

Ryan crossed his arms. “I didn't make them attack, Solas. They're the ones clinging to their pointless duty.”

“Pointless, is it?” Solas sneered. “This is their land, not yours.”

“We need to stop Corypheus.” Ryan snapped.

“Does that justify murder?” Eirlana asked, her voice raised and heavy with emotion. “They are only protecting their home. We could have explained it to them.”

“Enough! You both followed me here!”

Solas sighed quietly. “Yes, so we did.” but Eirlana didn't think Ryan heard him, as he continued to yell at them.

“I am the leader! And we have a mission to fulfil. You both know what's at stake. We need to stop Corypheus. I have no time for your or their feelings. Now shut up and follow me!”

Iron Bull grunted. “Apparently humans aren't the only stubborn fools on this continent.”

Searching the vestibule, they discovered an open door. Along twisted passages and stairs, they went deeper into the Temple. In their hurry, they didn't take the time to look around. Eirlana could only glance at the faded splendour they encountered everywhere. There were more statues of Mythal, grand mosaics and faded murals. Arches were decorated with golden filigree and decorative fences. Wherever she looked, there was a golden surface. Se had never seen so much gold in her life, and she could only imagine how in the past this Temple must have basked in a permanent glow.

She gasped when they passed the first massive golden statues of Fen'Harel, but as they found even more of them deeper in the Temple, she wondered just how important his connection was to Mythal. He must have had a crucial task to be represented this often. How could it be that such a connection had been forgotten through the ages? Nothing in elven history or legends she knew off ever mentioned their bond. She promised herself that when this was over, she would look for more information in the Fade. Now she knew what to look for it would be easier to find it.

They came into another chamber and encountered a group of Venatori and Sentinels engaged in battle. Both Ryan and Cassandra rushed immediately into the fight, followed closely by Iron Bull. Reluctantly Eirlana joined them, knowing this was now their only way to stop Corypheus. But it felt wrong to fight the Sentinels, and she tried just to knock them out whenever she got an opportunity.

“This place is like a maze.” Ryan complained when the next door revealed another corridor leading into a different direction. “Keep your guard up. We face two opponents now, and these Sentinels will know every turn of this place.”

“I wonder whose fault that is.” Solas murmured.

Ryan glared at him but didn't say anything further.

Continuing their path, Eirlana pondered how things would have gone differently if they had completed the ritual and paid their respect to this place. If only Ryan had been civil with Abelas. She glanced at Solas, who had a frown on his face; it was comforting to know she wasn't the only one who was angry at the situation.

Another group of Venatori and Sentinels attacked them. Solas twisted around when an assassin struck from the shadows. Though he kept himself and Eirlana safe, he had a hard time concentrating on the battle. His mind kept wandering to a different time. He knew these halls by heart, and with each turn they took, he was confronted by memories of his past.

He remembered how he often talked with Mythal. How they could spend hours in heated discussions. How they smirked together at his mischief, or he would simply vent his frustrations. With melancholy, he glanced at a pile of offerings that lay at the foot of one of his statues, remembering the fierce argument they had about them. Back then, he had demanded the practice to be stopped. He had argued that he wasn't a god and that it wasn't right that he and the others were worshipped as such.

He wondered if things would have gone differently if he hadn't started to rise up against the other Evanuris. Would Mythal still be alive? Or had his uprising only accelerated the inevitable? He knew that the Evanuris lust for absolute power and domination had been insatiable, and were destabilizing the world. But had his actions forced them to move against Mythal. Or would they have killed her regardlessly?

And now he himself had returned as an invader.

Coming here, Solas had expected to be confronted by the memories of his past. He even had considered the possibility that they would encounter some of the People. Elvhen like himself that had survived the ages in uthenera. What he hadn't expected was to meet Abelas. He had held his breath when he recognised him, and for a moment, he had been afraid that Abelas would call him out. Although in hindsight, it wasn't surprising that Abelas all but ignored him. He had always been one of the most loyal and the most stubborn of Mythal's servants. He didn't live for anything else but his duty, even when there were other paths to follow, other places to go. Places where he and his followers would be welcomed, places where others were gathering and preparing. But Ryan's hostility had forced Abelas' hand, and he would do anything to protect the vir'abelasan.

“There the Well of Sorrows!” Ryan pointed as they stepped out onto a balcony overseeing a garden.

Relieved they finally found it, Cassandra exhaled. “Andraste guide us.”

“So Mythal endures.” Solas murmured.

The inner sanctum of the Temple must once have been a beautiful, well-kept garden. It was still beautiful, but now it was wild and overgrown, nature clearly had taken over. Trees and other plants grew everywhere and had destroyed parts of the walls and paths. Piles of rubble lay here and there, and everything was covered in layers of algae and moss. A waterway flowed through the garden, plunging down into a deep fissure at the garden's centre, beyond it a mass of rocks arose. On its top, they could see a body of water reflecting the sunlight.

In the garden below them, a group of Venatori was brutally cutting down the last of the Sentinels.

Quickly they ran down the stairs. Anger and sorrow filled Eirlana as she witnessed one of the Venatori warriors standing on one of the Elvhen, drowning him cruelly in the water. She was too late to stop it.

How could they do this? How could any of this happen? The Inquisition was supposed to fight Corypheus, to save and protect the world and its people from him. So why weren't they saving these Elvhen? Why were they fighting against them?

She hadn't always agreed with Ryan's decisions, but the Inquisition's direction had always been to stop Corypheus and the damage he had caused. Now she was revolted that Ryan's actions were forcing her to fight against these Elvhen. And what was maybe even more horrifying was that most of the people she considered her friends were agreeing with him.

“Stand aside, Inquisitor!” the woman leading the Venatori addressed Ryan.

“And you are?”

“I'm called Calpernia. But when I partake of the Well, names will be meaningless. Leave. This is not your time.”

The Venatori around her slowly spread out, ready to attack them at any moment.

“Take one step toward that Well, and I'll finish you.” Ryan threatened her.

“You serve your people – you have one last chance to save them.” she stared at the Well longingly. “The Well of Sorrows overflows with knowledge, power abandoned by those elves worshipped as gods. To walk the Fade without the Anchor – that is what the Well of Sorrows will give Corypheus.”

Ryan smirked. “So I will take that power before him, as I did with the templars and the Grey Wardens.”

“Simple fool.” she shook her head. “I knew you would take the Well for yourself. To ransack its wisdom and try to defeat Corypheus. This will be the end, Inquisitor. You should never have come here.” Two rage demons appeared beside her. “Venatori kill them!”

Bleeding severely from a sword wound, Calpernia staggered, holding her stomach. The dead bodies of her men lay around her, and her demons had turned into ash. Angry, she glared at Ryan, who strode menacingly towards her, his sword ready for the killing blow. Gritting her teeth, she teleported away.

“If I fall, it will not be by your hand.” she spat and jumped down the fissure to her death.

With the battle over Eirlana checked everybody for any injuries. There were some cuts and bruises, but Cassandra seemed to be the worst. She was slightly bent over, struggling to take a proper breath. Earlier she had taken a blow from a maul to her chest, and Eirlana suspected she had several broken ribs.

“Hold still.” she stepped towards her and let her magic flow, repairing the damage.

In the meanwhile, Ryan and Iron Bull tried to figure out how to cross the chasm and reach the Well.

Suddenly Abelas appeared, magic erupted from him, and a stony path arose out of thin air, leading over the chasm and up to the Well of Sorrows. Leaping from rock to rock he ran up the path, with great agility and speed. Morrigan, still a crow, chased him in close pursuit.

“Quickly after him!” Ryan ran after them. He was closely followed by Iron Bull and Cassandra, who had pushed Eirlana out of the way.

Before Abelas could reach the Well Morrigan overtook him and re-materialised. His path blocked Abelas turned, only to see Ryan behind him.

“You heard his parting words, Inquisitor.” Morrigan started “The elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows.”

Seeing that he was outnumbered, Abelas stepped back, so he could face both Ryan and Morrigan. “So the sanctum is despoiled at last.”

“You would have destroyed the Well yourself, given the chance.” Morrigan spoke sharply.

“To keep it from your grasping fingers!” Abelas glared at them. “Better it to be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving!”

“Fool!” Morrigan snapped. “You'd let your people's legacy rot in the shadows!”

“This Well is clearly powerful.” Ryan joined in. “If it will help to stop Corypheus, we will take it!”

“I care nothing for your petty conflicts, shemlen.” Abelas sneered.

“You will care, once Corypheus arrives.” Ryan threatened. “We can't afford to waste this power.”

Abelas shook his head. “Do you even know what you demand?” He gazed at the Well. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on... through this. All that we were. All that we knew. It would be lost forever.”

Eirlana's heart sank listening to him, he sounded so sad, so filled with sorrow. It was the embodiment of the name he carried.

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

Abelas looked at Solas. “Elvhen such as you?” there was a severity in his voice Eirlana couldn't place.

“Yes. Such as I.” Solas answered calmly.

Abelas shook his head and turned back towards the Well. “Our duty is all that remains. Those who drank from the vir'abelasan paid a great price, bound to the service of Mythal for eternity.”

“The era of the elves is long gone.” Ryan stepped forward. “Whatever this cult is, it needs to end. Only the Maker is the one true god. Whatever this Mythal was, you shouldn't serve her.”

“Who she is... to you... it shall make no difference.” With a hand gesture, Abelas blasted them back with a powerful surge of magic.

Struggling to her feet, Eirlana watched as he gathered more magical energy. The waters of the Well of Sorrows began to churn and glow. He was going to destroy it.

All of a sudden Morrigan stood behind him, a knife in her hand.

“No!” Eirlana exclaimed, but it was too late. Morrigan stabbed Abelas in the back.

Crumbling to the ground, he sighed, “Mythal sulevin.” and then everything was quiet.

“Good work, Morrigan.” Ryan said, stepping over Abelas' body. Together they approached the Well. They were joined by Cassandra and Iron Bull, who looked more suspiciously at the still waters. Behind their backs, Eirlana quickly knelled beside Abelas. She glanced briefly at the others before she pressed her hands on Abelas' body.

When Solas saw the soft glow of her healing magic, he knew she was attempting to save his life. Although he had often disagreed and argued with the man in the past, he didn't deserve this fate. Determined to buy her some time, he set his eyes on Ryan. He was itching to pick a fight with him. An easy task after today's events.

“He was a stubborn fool.” Morrigan complained aloud.

Quickly Solas stepped in front of her and Ryan. “He was defending all that was left of what once was. He had every right to stop us.”

“And let him happily bury us in the process?” she snapped back at him.

'Good.' Solas thought. All eyes were on him. “We came here to stop Corypheus from gaining the Well. Destroying it would have achieved that goal.”

“This could help us destroy Corypheus!” Ryan joined in.

Solas suppressed a smirk, it was too easy to bait this man. “We don't know that! Knowledge has many different forms, and we know too little of this Well. Do you even know how to use it? Because we just killed the last one who could have told us.”

“He was going to destroy it! I had to save the Well.” Morrigan's eyes burned with anger.

“You more likely want the Well for your own ends.”

“What would you know of my 'ends', elf?”

“You are a glutton, drooling at the sight of a feast. You cannot be trusted.”

Eirlana worked fast, she could still feel a faint and uneven pulse. Concentrating on the stab wound, she let her magic do the work, repairing what she could. It wasn't perfect, she couldn't see nor clean the injury, but at least he would live.

Abelas took a sharp breath, his eyes opened briefly and stared at her. Before he could say something, Eirlana put a sleep spell on him. “Ir abelas.” she whispered.

With luck, those who had survived this day would find him. She hoped that he would find one of the places Solas had suggested, and live a life that wasn't filled by sorrow.

The others were still arguing when she carefully stepped away from Abelas. Listening to the discussion, she moved silently farther to the right, closer to the Well. She noticed it was emitting a strange magical aura.

“Enough!” Ryan cut Solas off. “I, for one, am glad Morrigan stopped him from destroying it.”

Morrigan smirked, clearly pleased he was on her side. With the argument silenced, she pointed across the Well to the big mirror that stood there. “You'll also notice the intact eluvian.” she sighed. “I was correct on that count, at least.”

There were more eluvians around the Well, but they were all shattered.

“Can Corypheus still use it to reach the Fade?”

“You recall I said each eluvian required a key? The Well is the key. When we take its power, we will take possession of Mythal's last eluvian. It will be no more use to Corypheus than glass.”

For a moment she gazed at the Well. “I did not expect the Well to feel so... hungry.”

Morrigan was right Eirlana thought, it felt hungry. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the magic resting within the water. The magic was old and powerful, and it had a hunger, a hunger for knowledge, but there was more. Other emotions were bound to this magic, there was a strong sense of devotion, servitude, submission and obedience. The longer she fixated her mind on the magic, the stronger the sense of servitude became.

“A powerful compulsion lies upon the Well.” she said.

“What?” Ryan asked. He and the others looked at her.

“It doesn't just contain the knowledge from the priests of Mythal. It is their combined will.”

“And how would you know such a thing?” Morrigan crossed her arms, looking once again sceptical at her.

“Abelas told us. Listen to it... Can't you feel it? It's a geas.”

“That... would match the legends,” Morrigan thought out loud. “but it does not tell us what the geas entails. If it means to be bound to the will of a dead god? It seems an empty warning.” she shook her head. “I do not fear it.” She turned to Ryan. “Inquisitor I am willing to pay the price the Well demands and take the risk. I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service. Let me drink, Inquisitor.”

Ryan grabbed his chin as he thought. “Any thoughts?” he asked Cassandra.

“If it is truly between you and her... then let her take the risk. Maker, help us all.”

He nodded, and Morrigan stepped into the water. At first, she was a little apprehensive, but soon she waded to the centre of the Well with confidence.

The water reacted to her presence, glowing softly; wisps of smoke and sparks of magic escaped from the surface and swirled around her. Reaching the centre, Morrigan knelt down with a smile on her lips, emerging herself in the water. In a flash, the water exploded with a powerful magical discharge and disappeared. Morrigan lay unconscious on her back in the, now, dry Well.

“Morrigan. Are you all right?” Ryan hastened to her side.

She opened her eyes and stumbled to her feet, looking confused. “Ellasin selah! Vissan... vissanalla...” She shook her head to clear it. “I... I am intact. There is much to sift through... but now we can.”

She fell silent when suddenly dark blue-grey smoke arose around them from the bottom of the Well charged with blue sparks of magic. Whispering voices filled the air. They all looked around what was happening.

“Boss, over there!” Bull pointed in the distance.

Where they had entered the garden, a figure was coming through the doors, it was Corypheus. He spotted them and cried out in rage. They watched as he took to the air, flying towards them.

“The eluvian!” Morrigan yelled and activated it.

“Through the mirror!” Ryan told them, and they all ran.

Behind their backs, a column of water arose, but they had no time to watch what was happening as they jumped through the eluvian.

Emerging from the other side Morrigan, Cassandra and Iron Bull stumbled and fell to the ground. Solas managed to stay on his feet and quickly turned, catching Eirlana in his arms.

Stunned Eirlana looked around, they were back at Skyhold. Half expecting Corypheus following them, she twisted around, but Ryan was the last one to emerge from the eluvian.

With them all safe, Morrigan deactivated the mirror, and for a moment, they all looked at each other speechless.

Ryan was the first to break the silence. “Well, I need to send some birds to let them know we are back at Skyhold. We need to get our soldiers back here. Morrigan, try to find anything useful that can help us against Corypheus.” he walked into the garden, surprising several Sisters with his return.

“Of course Inquisitor.” Morrigan inclined her head.

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

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aeyemenethes-blog · 7 years

Text

Lathbora vira Ch. 9

Next instalment of my Solas fanfic, Lathbora viran. Also found on my AO3 page at http://archiveofourown.org/works/10213937/chapters/24038823

Blood thrummed as an accelerated heartbeat in my ears, calling my thoughts back to the surface. It was all I heard in the beginning, but the crackling of fire quickly surrounded me. Upon opening my eyes, I saw a world of chaos. Corypheus faced the Herald with his corrupt dragon blocking off any access to her. Sitting up, I cradled my throbbing head in my hands feeling a warm, sticky liquid coat my fingertips.

Bringing my hands away, I saw the angry crimson blood staining my palms. “Well, that’s no good…”

I glanced back toward the Herald and the Magister in possession of my orb, my eyes narrowing. Getting to my feet, I crossed between the alleyways between buildings and shrubs to avoid attracting attention as I made my way to the Chantry. A desperate magic pulled at me with piercing claws so overwhelming that I gritted my teeth against the near crippling suffocation from my orb.

Dizziness slammed into me full of memories of a younger, bolder Elvhen clad I wolfskin with a wild brown mane whipping in the wind as he sought a way to correct a brutal betrayal. Distant screams of a people dying in the chains of slavery begging for an end that I willingly gave, drowned out the crackling of Haven. An end that now I recognized was a terrible mistake.

Ir abelas, I cannot face Corypheus in my current condition, Lethallan.

Reaching the Chantry door, I wrenched it open, wincing at the hollow, nails-on-metal creak the hinges made, and glared to where I knew she stared down the enemy. A bitterness settled in my stomach at leaving the Herald again, but it was out of my control. I spat on the ground.

“Corypheus,” I hissed, feeling the Wolf surfacing. “Su an’banal i’ma.”

. . .

My agents chipped into parts of the wall – a subtle signal – I was going in the right direction down the dark tunnel. Slipping my staff from the holder along my back, I forced magic in the crystal to light the way and leaned heavily upon it as I walked. As I followed the trail, I stumbled on debris, oftentimes stopping to catch my breath. The pounding of my head slowly worsened as the blood continued to tickle. Bringing more mana to the surface, I mumbled another healing spell on the wound to attempt to reknit the flesh. New skin itched and stretched around the wound, stoppering the blood from flowing out. The blood loss caused small shivers to wrack along my body becoming more violent the moment the tunnel widened, and I stepped out into the bitter winds of a blizzard.

Footprints of a stampede of people were barely noticeable, but visible enough to guide me in the general direction the survivors of Haven took. The icy snowstorm battered me as I tracked the group; occasionally I wondered if Cassandra and Varric made it but the majority of concern was for the Herald.

That’s when I heard the wolves.

Several dark, shaggy shapes skirted warily around my campfire. They whined, debating if it was smart to move closer until their alpha – a great black beast – made the decision to enter toward the fire. I raised an eyebrow at his bravery and growled a small warning.

Greetings, Brother, I whined knowing that I might end up fighting them off but hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

You not like other furless demons. Smell like Kin.

I smiled, revealing my teeth to the black creature. He smelled the Dread Wolf crawling to the surface with hackles raised. I quelled the feeling of overbearing dominance and want to rip this pack apart. If they were willing to speak to me then they might prove useful enough to let live. I prayed the leader was wise to not challenge the Dread Wolf directly.

I am Kin, I growled back. Just unable to change forms.

Hopefully, he’d believe the lie.

The leader sniffed the air between us and all my muscles bunched. Sorrow and pity exuded from the creature’s yellow eyes and… opportunity. A look I knew all too well. An alpha wolf – even an injured one – was too dangerous to leave alive, especially one without a pack to protect him. Magic tingled to the surface in preparation, but I hoped the beast would see sense.

Unfortunate… His voice trailed off as he lunged for my throat.

A green tear wrenched open, sending a boulder to collide into the black wolf. He howled, crashing into his pack mates in a tangled heap of limbs. I drew on my magic again feeling the earth shake and the sky split in a rain of fire. I needed to end the fight as quick as possible given my weakened state.

Raising my hands upward, I cast a barrier to surround and shield me from the torrent of fire plummeting to the ground. Yelps and whines hissed from the now singed wolves, but the alpha scrambled to his legs to attack me again. Fury and fear clouded his eyes. I stared back at him in pity.

Fool. The Dread Wolf roared.

The Veil ripped open beside me, drawing the wolf closer toward the rip in the Fade. Angry snarls disintegrated as the black wolf began to backpedal; his eyes wide in terror. Oozing tendrils lashed out hooking onto the wolf’s legs and pulled it closer to the tear.

You should’ve left me alone, pup. I felt my bones crack and begin to shift.

No! I screamed for the transformation to stop. I was still too weak to hold myself in this form.

The Dread Wolf just laughed at me. I fell on all fours and my scream turned into a howl as my body twisted into the hulking black wolf every elven mother warned their children would come for them if they wandered off alone. Blinking three pairs of scarlet eyes, my body leapt on the other alpha wolf sinking sharp teeth and claws in its hide.

The scent of the creature’s fear drove my lust for killing. The high-pitched whining coming from the other wolves encouraged the Dread Wolf. They knew this was a fight between two alpha males and wouldn’t intervene to save their leader. If he did not live through this he was seen as weak. The Dread Wolf knew this and relished in the battle. Sweet blood coated my tongue and I shook the alpha by the scruff. The torn Veil weakened the beast, causing him to split his priorities from keeping in his world and killing me.

With renewed, savage strength from the Dread Wolf, the scuffle didn’t even last a minute. I quickly dominated my attacker turning his silk black fur into a sticky mass of blood before throwing him into the Void for good measure. The howls of the alpha’s former pack mates brought my attention to them, but neither they nor I attacked. I won this battle. Heads bowed the pack whimpered and exchanged glances between where I stood and where the sliver of Void whirled. Rank fear smothered the fresh, winter air and the Dread Wolf decided to capitalize on such an easy defeat. Sitting back on my haunches, I proceeded to lick the top of one paw as if the fight didn’t ruffle my body. There is someone I need you to help. Do this for me and I’ll allow your pack to live.

A lithe, brown furred wolf padded toward me with head bowed in respect. You are Alpha now. The pack will do as you so order.

My limbs began to shake and the ill settling deep in my stomach grew into a nuisance. These wolves had to leave. Now!

There is another… like me… who will need guidance to find me… help her. The Dread Wolf ordered, ignoring my protests.

I projected an image of Ellana, hoping that the wolves’ minds were large enough to pick up the magic and recreate what I showed. For a few minutes the pack whimpered and growled between one another, then the brown female approached me once more. All six eyes blinked at her as I tried to pull off a bored expression while trying to hold down my last meal.

Too much… I need to return to my Elvhen form.

Inside the Dread Wolf growled a warning to me. You aren’t safe yet… hold out.

We make sure your mate finds you safe. The brown wolf whined, her tongue flopping out on one side of her jowls.

She’s not…

Good. Make sure you do, I replied. It was easier letting them believe the Herald and I were a mated pair. Wolves understood a simple dichotomy between male and female relationships and my head hurt too much to argue.

Make certain she does not see you. My head swam now with black dots filling in the powdery snow in my vision. I felt my balance tilt on its side, but none of the wolves looked at me confused so I probably was still standing. It was time, my strength and mana – coupled with blood loss – waned to thin fibres threading in desperation to keep me conscious.

Go now and leave me. I will know of your success when she shows up.

The wolves left with slight bows of their shaggy heads. As soon as they were specks on the horizon, I dropped the magic that held the tear in the Veil open and reverted to my elf form. I wretched every content in my stomach, including blood. My arms and knees shook from holding my weight, but I refused to fall onto my side.

I’m not strong enough yet… to transform… into wolf form.

Admit it. You enjoyed the killing. The Dread Wolf chuckled.

Leave me! I snarled, grabbing my head to steady the vertigo.

Hours bled together until I stabilized long enough to pack up my belongings, break camp and stumble in the darkness and snow. The curtain of flakes impeded my vision, raking claws against my tattering tunic and leggings, making me hug my body to ward off the cold.

Then the skeletal remains of an abandoned campsite came into view. Its former inhabitants were days gone, but copper and iron pots littered the ground barely visible in the snow that quickly sought to reclaim the land. A few wooden polls stuck out of the frozen earth letting me know, by how fresh the wood was, that the survivors of Haven were the camp’s last occupants. Moving closer to the center, I set up my bedroll and built a fire. I glared at my own personal tent poles and canvas strapped along my backpack, but I didn’t want to waste my waning strength to set it up.

Getting any fire to burn with mostly damp wood was tricky, but with the help of magic, I was able to start a smoky one. The strains in my bones relaxed with the gradual warmth and tender massage from my hands. Slowly, I worked on bringing myself back to feeling like I did before Corypheus invaded Haven. Images of Ellana standing proud and defiant against the Darkspawn Magister filled me with honour and anger. Maybe she wasn’t Elvhen, but she was a better representative than any Dalish I ever met. I only hoped she survived the confrontation.

Solas… why did you think giving your orb to Corypheus was a smart idea?

. . .

Days passed as I followed the trail of broken down camps throughout the frozen wasteland as beacons to where Haven’s bulk wandered aimlessly. When I caught up to the current camp, I was greeted by some of Leliana’s scouts who directed me to the Nightingale.

“Solas, it’s good to see you made it. Cassandra and Varric made it two days prior.” Leliana greeted me with relief in her voice, but confusion and worry lingered in her gaze. “Where is the Herald?”

I glanced behind my shoulder toward the front of the camp and shook my head. “I don’t know if she made it out of Haven. I’m sorry.”

Her face fell. “Ah, I see… why don’t you go see Josephine or Mother Giselle to get some food and a check-up?”

As a mage, I could heal myself but my strength was too spent to summon up even meagre magic. I welcomed a chance to rest, eat and mundane medical attention. I walked deeper to the camp to where the white medical tents were erected to see Mother Giselle for treatment of my injuries, and a hot meal.

. . .

Commotion drew my attention a day later when the Inquisition’s Advisors rushed toward the entrance to the camp. Getting to my feet, I tried to see what started the uproar. That’s when I caught sight of her, and my heart lodged into my throat where it hammered. It took all my willpower not to run up to her to help her limp toward the medical tent. Ellana was pallid with lips and eyelids tinged blue from the cold. She shook with every step and appeared much thinner than I saw her at Haven, but she was alive. Alive…

I watched from the distance of my tent until she collapsed into a raised bed in Mother Giselle’s care. Once safe and cared for, I relaxed knowing that the wolves held up the end of their bargain. We were all united at last. As if to supply further proof, I noticed the hulking shapes and glowing eyes of the wolf pack skirting at the edges of the camp. Our eyes met and I nodded my thanks. The brown wolf sat back to deliver one long, low howl that caused some survivors to stiffen. When the howl faded, the wolves turned and ran into the depths of the forest. Their promise kept and duty fulfilled, they just wanted to let me know before they left for good.

With the question of the Herald’s survival answered, I walked back to my tent to think. It was time to give up some information since the Magister revealed himself.

How much do you intend to give, Solas? The Dread Wolf taunted.

I don’t know… but I pretty much did. Enough to sate her growing interest, but not so much to place viable blame on me. That she somehow survived Corypheus was nothing short of impressive, but no doubt she saw the orb he carried.

She might still blame you in the end.

I left my tent walking along the edge of the camp to stare out at the mountains. Erecting a brazier containing the blue flames of mage fire, I surveyed the familiar surroundings. These mountains hadn’t changed in all the millennia I slept, and I recalled the younger world as if it was a dream. Faint images of phantom Elvhen pilgrims astride sleek halla, directing laden aravels away from our homeland appeared alongside the campsite. Desperate expressions full of sorrow and suffering cast glances over their shoulders even as they followed their heavily armoured leaders. They were long dead now, echoes of the past that tore at my heartstrings.

Tarasyl’an Te’las would have people within her walls again. Ellana Lavellan’s will and determination earned the Inquisition that much respect from me. Besides, the fight with the wolf reminded me I still too feeble to face Corypheus alone. If I wished to attack him in the future I knew I would gain that opportunity at the Herald’s side. How the mountains surrounding us sloped, we were possibly a week’s trek out from my former fortress. My agents reported that we still had two weeks’ worth of supplies, and Leliana sent hunters out daily in search of fresh meat. We would make it if I could convince the Herald to move the Inquisition. The Advisors would listen to her unlike they would me.

That was for another time, for now, the Herald of Andraste needed rest and healing above all else. Speaking with her could with another day or two.

The sun set once more before the Herald woke. I watched her throughout the entire night’s passing trying to formulate how to broach the subject about my orb. She spoke to Mother Giselle in hushed tones before getting to her feet and joining Cassandra and the Advisor over at a makeshift war table in escalating argument.

“Shadows fall and hope has fled. Steel your hearts. The dawn will come.” Mother Giselle started singing a low reverent voice, walking toward the Herald with slow strides and head bowed. “The night is long and the path is dark. Look to the sky, for one day soon; the dawn will come.”

My ears perked at the soothing sound, and I glanced up wistful at the full moon. Her soft tone, full of verbose melancholy, returned my thoughts to another war with its fated hero and another people seeking the faith from an unseen Creator. It transpired so long ago that it lay forgotten – trodden on by the feet of the living – but hearing the priestess singing breathed new life of those events inside me.

“The Shepherd’s lost and his home is far. Keep to the stars; the dawn will come.” Voices joined Mother Giselle’s as people emerged for their tents and crossed to the center of camp. “The night is long and the path is dark. Look to the sky, for one day soon; the dawn will come.”

Everyone drew nearer to Ellana singing and bowing to their knees at her feet. They sung in great reverence to the elven mage with fervent belief she was their Herald of Andraste. I watched on with narrowed eyes and thoughts that refused to quiet.

“Bare your blade, and raise it high. Stand your ground; the dawn will come.” No voice save my own held their silence now, and all looked at Ellana, expecting her to lead them out of the darkness they spoke of. “The night is long and the path is dark. Look to the sky, for one day soon; the dawn will come.”

I was leaned on my staff content to keep my distance until the song faded and I felt compelled to join the Herald. If I was to say anything it needed to be now while I still possessed a willingness to speak. Crossing behind the tents, I made my way to where Ellana stood with her back to me.

“Solas?”

I stopped and turned to see Mineve – the elf who studied creatures – standing with her hands folded in front of her. Catching my gaze, hers dropped as if she began regretting the interruption. I shook my head needing to get to the Herald.

“Speak to me at my tent later.” I left before the apprentice mage could react.

“It’s all one world, Herald. All that changes is our place in it.” Mother Giselle said to the Herald as she walked away.

Wise woman… one worth heeding if the Herald has a mind.

I approached Ellana from behind and caught her smouldering blue eyes still weary from her ordeal in the blizzard. “A word?”

Without altering my pace, I led the elven mage back to where I erected my brazier. With a casual wave of my hand and pull from my magic, I ignited the blue veil fire and turned to wait for her. My heart fluttered at the sensual dip of her hips as she drew near, and my pupils dilated as I caught that heady blend of her aroma. Remembering those stolen moments with Ellana before I left Clan Lavellan, I clasped my hands behind my back to keep from seizing her in a passionate kiss.

“The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. Her faith is hard-won, Lethallan, worthy of pride… save one detail.”

Ellana stopped before the brazier and stared at me in confusion. The heat from her body washed over me, drawing the small hairs along the nape of my neck to stand on end. A slight flare of my nostrils was the sole show of arousal I allowed slip, but she didn’t catch notice.

I turned my body to keep a suddenly stiff member from drawing attention and angled my face toward her. Squaring my shoulders finished the calm façade I worked to establish in front of the Herald.

“The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It is ours.”

No doubt existed in my mind that the Magister carried the orb with him when he faced the Herald. Without taking the required time to study my orb, he had no idea that recovering the Anchor – once placed – was impossible. Likely, the creature didn’t even recognize his prize as Elvhen. That wouldn’t stop the boastful would-be god from correcting his first mistake.

“Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave.” I hoped sharing this would spark her inquisitive nature just enough without casting suspicion on my knowing this information. “We must find out how he survived… and we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn the orb is of our people.”

Surprise sparked in Ellana’s eyes followed by subtle distress. “All right. What is it, and how do you know about it?”

Suspicion. Did I really doubt she wouldn’t make even a minor connection? She hadn’t outright accused me of withholding information, but she did demand an explanation. My heart skipped and my jaw ticked just slightly. I did so love her overpowering curiosity, so unlike her people. Fortunately, I devised an answer that should sate her questions without revealing more than I was ready to give.

“Such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods.” I shifted my weight from side to side, easing the tension from my abdomen. “Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon.”

As this orb is dedicated to me…

“All that remain are references in ruins, and faint visions of memory in the Fade. Echoes of a dead empire.”

I told her the truth, while skirting around my direct involvement. She would believe I came upon the answer through my many trips to the Fade and, by omission, I would be saving her from a cruel truth.

“But however Corypheus came to it, the orb is Elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith.”

Another of my many mistakes that needs correcting.

Ellana blinked and shifted to let my words settled inside. Her eyes reflected sorrow and she sighed. “Even if we defeat Corypheus, eventually they’ll find a way to blame elves.”

Unless I tear down the Veil before they find out…

I furrowed my brows. “I suspect you are correct. It is unfortunate, but we must be above suspicions to be seen as valued allies.”

She needed to think I stood on her side, ready to die for her at a moment’s notice. Only then would I be able to fit the pieces of the puzzle flush, and enact my plan with her still blissfully unaware of my intentions. It was a dangerous game I played, but with benefits exponentially greater than the risk. It was time to solidify my alliance with this Inquisition and give its Herald my most valuable card aside from my true self.

“Faith in you is shaping this moment, but it needs room to grow.”

All suspicion of me drained from her face replaced by a hungry inquiry. I fed off it as my eyes traced the mountains in the distance. “By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed you.”

Fanning out the fingers of one hand, I pointed to a distance from us. “Scout to the North. Be their guide.”

Bringing my hand to rest back at my side, she returned her attention me. I gave her a faint smile knowing she would catch on to what I was offering to the Inquisition. “There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build… Grow…”

Ellana’s eyes narrowed, her brow puckered together and she shook her head. “What place is that? How will I possibly find it?”

For a few minutes I let the silence grow. I had her attention captured and now it was time to ensnare it for my uses. “Skyhold… I will guide you, Herald.”

Ellana searched my eyes but I held my gaze firm so not to betray my plans. “Alright, Solas, we’ll leave at dawn.”

I raised a brow at her statement.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“Ellana… you’re our salvation.” I amended the words I really wanted to say. “We can’t afford to lose you.”

“You won’t.” Her fingers grazed along the tip of my shoulder, spreading a blush across my cheeks. Pausing, her tongue wet the bottom of her lip, and I saw her throat working as if deciding whether to chance a kiss.

I took a step back and bowed my head. “Good night, Lethallan.”

As I made my way back to my tent, I kept my gaze straight ahead, not chancing a glance backward.

Solas… idiot… just give in… how long has it been since you took someone to your bed?

Too long…

Would one night really kill you?

Yes!

“Solas?”

“Ah – Mineve and… Elan Ve’Mal. On dhea’lam.” This served as a pleasant enough distraction from the persistent desires growing deep in my groin They both met my eyes and stood with rigid postures. I clasped both of my hands behind my back, and gestured for the two of them to accompany me inside my tent. “An’daran Atish’an. Thu ea?”

“Ma enaste lan em lath’in’iseth.” Elan Ve’Mal said as she entered through the tent flap. “Ame son, emma serannas.”

Mineve dipped her head in respect. “En’an’sal’enast ea amahn. Am son, i na?”

I gave a tired sigh, but managed a ghost of a smile. “Am te’son, emma serannas.”

She nodded and we followed Elan Ve’Mal inside. The apprentice mage wrung her clenched hands in front of her, and kept glancing at the other red-headed elven woman dressed in dressed in a modest peasant dress.

“Something bothers you, Mineve?” I drained a water flask into two goblets and set them down for the ladies.

“Ma serannas, Ha’hren.” Elan picked up a goblet and took a drink.

Mineve followed suit, but tapped a finger on the goblet’s rim. “Are the vallaslin tattoos unique to the Dalish? Or is that another thing we got wrong as well?”

I sighed and shook my head. “It is complicated and I don’t have time to explain. The Herald wants us to move out tomorrow.”

“So… what would you have me do?” Mineve asked, and I saw the hesitation mixed with fear clouding her eyes.

As a new recruit to my network of spies, I understood. She only found out less than a month ago that I was Fen’Harel when I approached her about working for me. Unanswered questions still reflected in her eyes, but it was the Dalish fables she grew up on as a child that kept her from voicing them. Such a contrast to Ellana’s boldness.

“I have set up a replacement for you so you can become my eyes and ears in far flung places of the world, while continuing your research for the Inquisition.” My gaze moved over to Elan. “You, I will keep close, taking Adan’s place since the two of you have prior history together in the College.”

Both elves nodded and listened as I discussed my plans with them in further detail. They were polite and strict in their formality, reminding me of the old days living in Arlathan. A few hours dragged closer toward the morning when I finally told them to get some sleep. Once alone, I turned down the fur in my bedroll and shrugged out of my clothing. I stretched all the kinks out in my back and limbs before snuggling deep in my thick furs.

Sleep found me in a vision of a glorious raven-haired elven woman and a forbidden love I struggled to keep at bay.

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