#veilstricken

[mirevasan]

the first time she entered the Mistwood, she had silently promised herself to never return, for the lack of life in it unsettled her far too much. and yet here she is, stepping foot into the mists once more without hesitation for the goal in mind is far more important than her discomfort with these woods.

it is not that she doubts Cullen. he has always been a trustworthy advisor and companion in matters that were once so new to her. he would not lie to her or unecessarily hurt her but she needed to her about it for herself. not from another's lips, but from Solas' alone. it was the only way to truly know, to fill in the gaps of a story that gnawed at her without mercy, keeping her from the blissful realm of sleep.

so she stumbles through the foliage and bushes, hands pushing aside every branch that tried to stop her, not caring should they scratch her in return for the roughness in her actions. she didn't care if every twig breaking beneath her feet awoke what lived in this place and sent it on a hunt after her. it went against what she learned over the years, letting her emotions fuel every thought and breath but what else was she supposed to do? sit idly by and pretend she knew nothing? to spend every day like she had the last two years, hoping that there would be a glimpse of his figure in her peripheral vision, waiting for her to turn and see him once more?

it was out of the question. she was done being the one waiting.

it is the sight of an orange hue cutting through the fog that tells her she is close. her pace quickens and before she knows it, she has stumbled through the brush into the small opening that made the apostate's camp. it is rather unceremonious, her arrival, but there is no need for pleasantries and politeness.

last time, she had been unwilling but accepting, if only to stop him from disappearing again. this time, she will not relent.

"Solas!" his name comes out in a quickened breath, eyes wide and focused on the other as he sits there, oddly relaxed. such a different picture compared to her with a few leaves clinging to her hair and hands that don't know whether to ball into fists or hang limp by her side. she swallows the lump in her throat as the most important question stumbles out next, her own heart constricting in her chest as she repeats what was told to her.

" Is it true? " a step closer is taken, the dancing flames of the fire casting shadows across her. " Everything that happened— was it all because of you? Do you— do you really want to tear down the Veil?"

@veilstricken

[isolaradiale]

hey could i request a hiatus for solas from dragon age? got a new job and life's been really busy! it's 9/30 today.

Placed on hiatus for you!

– ⋆ mimosa.

[mirevasan]

" But that's what friends are for. It isn't a burden if I was willing to do it." and she was, not just for him but for any of her friends. if she could help, then she would without hesitation. even if that meant saving them from themselves. but perhaps it was presumptious of her. she didn't know his burden and trying to force him into revealing it would only do more harm than good.

it wasn't much, but the explanations Solas did provide was something and it eased that nervousness fluttering about in her chest.

" I don't think we need to worry about that while we're here. For now, at least. It isn't hurting like before and with there being no tears in the Veil here, it's almost like it's gone dormant. Almost." but not entirely, unfortunately. it still caused pain but it wasn't trying to rip her apart from the inside and that was good. concern flashes for a moment as she tilts her head a fraction.

" It doesn't have to be like that though, Solas. You don't have to go out of your way to avoid me here. I missed talking to you."

That is it. That is the heart of the problem, isn't it? Being a person. There had never been a dream. There had been people — real people — living and dying..

❝ i know, lethallan. ❞ It takes him a long moment to reply. When he does, his head is down, and despite not having moved very much. He wishes he could be back in the rotunda, working on the walls as he indulged another story about the Fade or spirits, rather than here, now. Wherever this place is, just as lost and disconnected from the old magic as where they came from.

❝ there was no answer i could have given at that moment which would have done anything but raise more questions, ❞ He finally admits, with a sigh, ❝ a breach sealed, a tyrant felled—a victory i would not taint by asking you to also bear my burdens. ❞

He turned to look at her, finally, seeming more tired than he had a few moments ago, and added, ❝ the anchor would likely not have remained stable forever. i... had intended to go on my own, to return only long enough to eventually stop it from killing you. perhaps, then... ❞

[tainted-chains]

It took Ciara the first day after arriving to accept that she hadn't been whisked to ancient Tevinter. Marble and glass and columns and magic chariots--the only thing missing was the slaves, for which she was eternally grateful.

She found a lake, a strange, clear-watered lake with what looked to be pieces of art on the bottom. She knelt at the water's edge with a stick, tracing lazy patterns in the waters and thinking about home. "I can hear you," she said, frowning, that not-quite-Orlesian accent she'd tried to cultivate so desperately to cover the native Tevene, traces of Dalish in her tapped rs and of Fereldan in the faint lilt near the ends of her sentences, "I don't bite. Often."

@veilstricken

[mirevasan]

veilstricken said: at least the council and the qunari are your only problems that need to be solved, right,

yeah. it better stay that way, too

[isolaradiale]

whoops, fixed. here's solas on prior reserve. app is at /a or the link on the top bar. thank you <3

Welcome to scenic Isola Radiale, Solas!

You’ll be staying in TOWNHOUSE 207.

You’ll retain the ability to perform a weak flashfire attack five times per day.

You will also be given a wooden staff.

Enjoy your stay!

– ⋆ taygeta.

[mirevasan]

she tries to pretend for his benefit, bit that small moment of contact was enough for her lips to form something of a half-smile. she says nothing as cans fall only to disappear, choosing to go against drawing attention to the behaviour that reminded her of the mabari Cullen found at the palace.

" mm, yes. i had thought it was the fade at first, until i saw someone turn a lampost into what I can only assume was a large piece of candy. " baffling and amusing of a sight it was, but it solidified the sneaking suspicion in the back of her head. that and flemeth, but she wasn't about to mention that to him right now. or ever. like all dreams, this too would reach its end and there is no use in causing a problem.

perhaps it was selfish of her or even foolish, but after years of having to get used to an empty rotunda, of watch closed cans of paint collect dust, she wanted this moment. to not think about what happened before, of his goal, of those conflicting emotions that lingered after every thought of him.

and that's what dreams are for, aren't they? a small moment of peace. of something untouched by the push and pull of life. and so, she'll take it, setting aside everything else.

" you still paint." steps lead her away from his form as she draws closer to partially-finished fresco, allowing herself to reach out and ghost her fingertips along the familiar shapes. " when i met up with the others at the exalted council, a few mentioned you. mostly asking me if i had heard anything." she finds that it's easier to mention it, a strange contradiction to her reluctance those first few years. " blackwall—" ah. old habit. " thom was the most dedicated to finding you asides from leliana, though their reasons differed. "

she lets her hand fall, opting to clasp her hands behind her back as her gaze took in the rest of private treehouse he no doubt thought of down to the very last detail. " is this place something you had in the past? it's peaceful. i can see why you would want it once more."

He wonders for a moment if this is something conjured up by the dream, though he knows that it wouldn't be. He has always been fully cognizant of his dreams, and he can tell when something is a part of them, and when it isn't. She isn't a part of this dream, this time. She's real.

That was always the problem, wasn't it?

❝ in some form. ❞ He replies, at last. The voice is familiar, even if the face isn't. It echoes around him, without having to move lips or tongue. ❝ i built this place to... ❞

To what? He has a poor habit of denying himself comforts, but this little treehouse had been crafted specifically to appeal to his desire to relax. He certainly isn't going to get comfortable here, in this strange city. That would be preposterous.

Solas presses his nose up against her hand without thinking about it, and then withdraws, massive tail thumping once on the ground, hitting the table and knocking several jars of paint off of it, which disappear before they can shatter on the floor. No, no. None of that. He turns his head away and to the side instead, so his nose is pointing out the window, and watches her with three eyes.

❝ this is not the fade, i'm sure you have realized. ❞ He says, trying to focus on something that feels like business, instead of anything else, ❝ it would be wise to be cautious. ❞

[mirevasan]

nobody was watching her (or so she thinks) but even so, she feels the need to sneak away, to find some privacy off in an empty hallway. there's no need for her to duck behind a small nook, but she does anyway, and carefully fishes her phone out of the small bag (a purse, her friend had called it). the screen partially lights up her face as she scrolls and scrolls and scrolls and-- ah. there he is.

there's a chance he won't see it or even respond, but she wouldn't be able to focus unless she did this. and he didn't need to respond, not really. she doesn't know if he's figured out how to text but at least the messages will flash on the screen. that's good enough.

from. lavellan to. solas ( @veilstricken )

[txt] I don't know if you saw the posters in the city, but there's a ball going on tonight. And the next few nights. [txt] You once said you missed the intrigue of such events. [txt] It may not be anything like the one at the Winter Palace, but you should come. It's open to everybody.

she pauses, thinking for a moment.

[txt] Most people here are wearing masks. If that helps. [txt] I wanted to let you know.

there's nothing to follow up the last message. no, instead, she tucks the device away before hastily returning to the ballroom. as....complicated as everything is, the thought of him being alone when everyone else was in one place....it didn't sit right with her. and so, she hopes this is enough.

[tainted-chains]

NAME / ALIAS: Seanan AGE / AGE GROUP: 35 PRONOUNS: She/They TIMEZONE: GMT WHERE ARE YOU FROM?: Ireland, co. Tipperary specifically CHARACTERS IN THE GROUP: Mizu (Blue Eye Samurai) and Ciara Tabris (Dragon Age) A LITTLE ABOUT YOURSELF: Uhhhhh okay, broad strokes; History teacher and massive nerd, mostly into Star Wars, Warcraft, Mass Effect, World of Darkness, and ofc, Dragon Age. I love historical fiction if it's, like, good, which is depressingly rare(why does every hisfic seem obsessed with making the past out to be an evil dystopia? Humans are just Humans), super duper new to Tumblr RP, my friend Dexter's to blame for this, he plays @veilstricken, I'm still trying to make sure I understand how any of this works <_>

[corvisque]

"There are Dalish in Antiva, but you would be correct. I am not one of them." zevran has always been rather adamant about never claiming a true kinship with his pointy eared brethren -- he is antivan first and an elf second, no matter how the world at large may view him. but in his heart of hearts the matter is, much like all matters when it comes to him, more complicated than he's willing to admit. he does find it a bit odd that this mere traveler, claiming no relation to the dalish, would greet the assassin in such a way. he knows they speak some form of the language in the alienages he's been unfortunate enough to visit, but never that particular phrase. hm.

"I am Zevran." he folds any suspicion of this solas away for the time being. to be examined later on, perhaps.

"Aren't we all?" his eyes sparkle with amusement. they're both very far from thedas, surely solas knows this? "But, alas, these shores have become familiar to me, as of late. Not the same for you, I take it?"

❝ it is. and no, i am not dalish. neither are you, if i were to guess, based upon your accent and appearance. ❞ But he is a bit surprised, as well. He has seen very little of this place yet, but none of it had been in any way familiar. There is no fade, no elvhen, nothing like that at all. He stops, leaning on his staff, ❝ just a traveler learned enough to possess a familiarity with the language. i am called solas. ❞

He is hoping the other elf is not too familiar with the tongue. He hates having to explain his name. Normally he enjoys answering questions—curiosity entertains him, and admittedly, it feeds his ego a bit when others treat him as an authority on things he likes talking about. But he has no decent explanation for his own name, or at least not one that he's willing to share.

❝ and yourself? ❞ He ventures, a note of curiosity in his voice. He picked up the accent, and obviously appearance gives away the rest — he is assuming, but it is an educated assumption. Perhaps someone with knowledge of Thedas will have answers for him about where he is, though he is loathe to ask directly. ❝ you seem to be a very long way from familiar shores. ❞

[accipio]

In spite (or rather, because) of spending the last few months pressed face-first into Nature’s thorny bosom, Hawke has no great love for the wilds. He’s too attached to his creature comforts and too spoiled by the six-odd years he spent living it up in Hightown. 

That’s not to say he won’t venture out of doors when it’s necessary—he just won’t be happy about it. Now, as he picks his way through bramble and mud in search of the telltale red-tinged leaves of embrium, he decides that he’d really like to smack every poet who’s ever wasted parchment extolling the beauty of dewy glens and all that rot.

He’s about to give up and head back to the city proper when the sound of a nearby voice spooks him so badly he nearly jumps out of his skin. He goes rigid at the sight of the strange masked figure, feeling incredibly defenseless without his magic or a proper weapon. 

“Believe me, I don’t intend to make a habit of it.” He looks the figure up and down, noting that they don’t seem inclined to attack him. Yet. “Do you…live here? Or did you just get lost on your way to the cult meeting?”

A wanderer in humble guises, with much knowledge of the elves and their spirits, whispering poison into the ears of travelers. He remembers the old propaganda plastered with images of slavering wolves being held at bay by the 'heroic' elven kings, and the way that it twisted through the ages, until he had become the trickster god of ancient legend.

Maybe he fit the image they had painted of him a little too well.

He stepped out of the mist, masked, next to the traveler on the path. He was masked, and his footsteps were silent, not giving him away until he spoke.

❝ you are far outside of civilization. ❞ He observed, quietly.

[alchemybcund]

It was hot out, and thankfully, not have a body does give some advantage. Not that he felt any grateful, but al also didn't miss the sunburn that caused his skin to itch. For someone who was smart, he does tend to forget.

As he cast a shadow on the ground for any passing critters, the armor teen was only greeted with a stranger who was looking for shade.

"Hu????" His body turns to inspect the newcomer, "um, sure!" Stepping to the side, the teen asked again, "Is this good?? I was mostly doing it for animals as they seemed to like the shade."

Art was a pastime, not a passion, though he'd always been told he was good at it. Painting, fresco and the like, was really his medium of choice. Still, he kept a sketchbook for times like these, when he was restless and there were no grand walls or ceilings to decorate. A spot in the park, good lighting, and nature to look at.

Well, mostly good lighting.

❝ might i ask you to step to the left? your armor casts a long shadow. ❞

@alchemybcund ( starter call )

[mirevasan]

he's right in that and there's something comforting. no, he is not like corypheus, nothing like the one that wished to claim the throne for himself. this is not a plan that was meant to cause wanton destruction and pain, leaving chaos in his wake with gleeful actions. that isn't the solas she knows and even if he didn't tell her the truth of who he was, of his goals, she has faith in that bud of knowledge.

it is small, perhaps nothing worthy of note to any other, but she knew and it was enough for her.

she couldn't begin to understand such a weight, of trying to fix a mistake that has haunted one for ages. and it was different, her and her peoples desire to hold onto the past, keep it living in a time where naught but few traces remained. it didn't involve a plan to return the world to what it once was, killing all that inhabited it, a plan that carried the greates cost. no, elaria knew she couldn't understand the gravity of it and to try and act as if she did would be no more than an insult, like rubbing salt into a fresh wound.

she was no god, witnessing the price of his actions and the consequences born of them. she wasn't even human, more of an outsider to it all. but she was present in the world he wanted to change and that should count for something.

another step forward is taken, steady, refusing to let him withdraw, to repeat the past once again. her right hand reaches out, fingers curling around his wrist.

" and what about me?" her voice is no more than a whisper, pained and pleading. " you never gave me a chance, solas. you decided that on your own without seeing whether or not I could bear the truth." could she have, in that moment? honestly, she can't say. time has passed and she has changed since then. even now, the truth is not a hard pill to swallow but a bitter one, like copper against her tongue. " you never gave me a chance to try and understand. you ran."

that is the truth. not physically, not until the end. " I'd rather have been hurt by the that than left there to wonder and neve have any answers." to be left there, feeling like a fool, blaming herself when it was never her fault. not even cole's words could soothe that hurt that remained, but he had tried. her grip tightens a fraction but not to hurt.

" if I changed everything, then why couldn't you trust me in the end? not-- not about your plan but who you were. i wouldn't have told anyone, solas. i'd never betray you like that." it would have hurt, yes, but it would be a hurt she could survive.

It's that animal-caught-in-a-trap feeling. Solas wants to explain himself. Reach out to her, say I took a risk and made a mistake, I tried to tell the truth, everything I felt was real, I never intended to hurt you. Ar lath ma, vhenan. I am sorry. I am. Ir abelas. He had wanted to tell her, back in Crestwood, but he remembers the guilt and terror that had run through him when he had realized that he'd failed to find the courage. He'd thought, what kind of monster am I, then, if I continue this, but cannot tell her the truth? So he had left, and he hadn't explained why. Perhaps that had been worse. Hindsight has no answers for him.

Something in him thrashes and blunts its teeth against the bars of a cage that he cannot afford to open. The precipice that he has spent the last several years standing upon feels suddenly close again.

❝ i did not tell the truth about my identity. ❞ He concedes, after a moment, his voice slightly quieter than usual, ❝ but about my feelings, i spoke honestly. ❞

Lavender eyes meet hers. His expression is somber, with a hint of pain in it that he's desperately trying to leash. He needs to explain, still.

❝ i created the veil. when i return to thedas, i will bring it down, and in so doing, end the modern world, as you now know it. ❞ he said, in his more typical tone, though still with gravity, ❝ i have plans to minimize the damage. i am not corypheus. i do not revel in terror. but i will save the elven people, even if the world must die for it. ❞

He took the barest half-step back. A subtle shifting of his boots on the ground. He had been fidgety, during this conversation, shifting his weight, but mostly in place. Now he turned his head away, slightly, unable to maintain eye contact.

❝ i lay in dark and dreaming sleep as countless wars and ages passed. i woke, still weak, a year before i joined you. i saw the truth of what i'd done to strike the evanuris down, and walked through life as though it were a nightmare. ❞ Made by my own hand. ❝ with the fade severed from the waking world and most peoples' conscious connections to the fade blocked, it felt almost like a land made tranquil. then, when my plans went awry, and i came to the inquisition, i... learned that i was wrong. you changed everything. ❞

He echoes the words he spoke once in a dream, a memory of Haven. You were never a title or a role to me. If you had been, this would have been simpler.

❝ what i mean to do is not easy. i wished to trust you with the truth. i knew that doing so would be... ❞ Foolish? Certainly his resolve would not have survived it. It's difficult enough to hold together as-is. ❝ painful. it was i who could not bear it. ❞

[mirevasan]

how could she be so blind? how could she not see it? emotions calls to blame herself, to curse herself for not noticing sooner but that is foolish, isn't it? not even leliana had known the truth, her agents unable to find anything about him in the two years that had passed. no, if he didn't want anyone to know, then it would remain as so. nothing she could have done would have changed that yet that brings no comfort.

no, it seems such things like comfort and relief were far beyond her reach.

it's as if someone is pouring molten lava down her throat. nobody ever said the truth never hurt and she understands how a lie would be kinder. kindness cannot be afforded anymore.

this part does not hurt as much. she learned as much when he told her the truth of the vallaslin. but he also didn't believe in gods and now it makes sense. " they were mages first?" she thinks of how cassandra, how she thought mages needed to be supervised. how circles were created for such a purpose, the truth about tranquility and feels the nausea build once more. " That's why you sealed them away." just and the stories were just another thing the Dalish got wrong, her own voice echoes inside her mind. people trying so hard to preserve the ancient ways when most of it turned out to be nothing more than lies? fabrications to suit the narrative and hide the truth for the 'greater good'.

just like with ameridan.

i tried to tell you the truth once before. memories she had tried not to think about for years come to her once more, like pouring salt into a still-open wound. "Is that why—" words fall short once more, her voice unable to finish that sentence. time does not heal all wounds and it is as if this one has been torn open once more. her gaze never moves from Solas as she takes a step forward, words tumbling out only to come to a halt as she tries to find what to say.

" Why didn't you leave then and there? Why stick around if you weren't going to tell me the whole truth in the end? " she doesn't try to hide the pain that carries through her voice, the lingering hints of anger following suit. " You knew and you still—!" no. no, this isn't about her, it can't be about that. she can't let herself get caught up in that, not right now, not like this.

" What happens to them, then? If you succeed and tear down the Veil? What about everyone just trying to live their lives, Solas? You can't just expect to fix something like this and have everything go back to the way it used to be. Why help the Inquisition at all if this was your goal, why—" she falters once more, unable to still the hurt. " I trusted you, Solas. Why couldn't you trust me, too?"

❝ i was solas first. fen'harel came later. an insult, taken as a badge of pride, something to inspire my allies and frighten those who stood against me. ❞ He closed his eyes, for a moment, and then added, ❝ i am certain that you understand the weight of a title that all but replaces your name. ❞

That, and the obscuring brush of history. To be obliterated in favor of the legends they will write about you—not the truth, but whatever it is that pleases the people of the world. He knows, better than most, how time and tale can turn men into monsters.

And he knows he should not be saying all this. There is still, even now, a small part of him saying you are caught in a trap. Gnaw off the leg and run! It would hurt. He would bleed. He wouldn't stop bleeding. But he could—

No, he shouldn't lie to himself about being any more than he is. He could hardly pretend that the small and soft part of his heart wasn't still there.

Still afraid to die alone, Dread Wolf? You would give up everything for fear? Or is it something else?

❝ the legends that the dalish hold about the elven gods, they are... half-truths, among tall tales and propaganda. ❞ He goes on, ❝ before what stories formed of them, they were mages—kings and queens made into tyrants, and then risen to godhood. ❞

It sounded so far-fetched, to say it out loud. He turns to face her. He shouldn't look away, and this part, at least, was not so hard to admit.

❝ i am the one who lead their slaves to rise against them. ❞ Solas shifts in place. He's trying not to look uncomfortable explaining, but failing. ❝ so they called me dread wolf. and i... ❞

The veil. The end of everything. The unhealed wound on reality, which was his fault. People had screamed and cursed his name as their whole world unraveled into nothing but fragments and dying memories. Everything since had felt like nightmare and tasted like ashes. Until—

❝ i tried to tell you the truth once before. my own weakness, that i could not. ❞ He half-lifts one hand to her, and then lets it fall, ❝ what is the old dalish curse? 'may the dread wolf take you'? ❞

[mirevasan]

it was like a game of cat and mouse and already she was tired of it. Elaria never cared to know every secret those she cared for held. they deserved their privacy and if one wanted to tell her? then she would wait until that time and listen. more often than not, it was her asking hum a myriad of questions rather than the other way around and he indulged in her curiosities.

but this was different. and as her own steps come to a halt, she can't help but to wonder why he won't just tell her. even as he changes the subject.

truth be told, she hadn't thought much about the Anchor until he brought it up. as if on instinct, pain coursed from her palm, shooting up through her arm until dissipating at the shoulder. it was something she was used to, barely worth batting an eye over. rarely was it an all-consuming fire that felt as if it lasted for hours rather than seconds. and in this strange place, it seemed as if the pain had dulled to an extent.

eyes drop to her left hand as she brings it up for inspection, fingers flexing slowly as that green glow washed over her. " I'm fine, Solas. " her voice is noticeably softer, lacking a bite. " It's not as if the anchor is trying to kill me at the moment. Now, answer my questions." a pause as her hand drops, gaze focusing back on him. " And stop with the Inquisitor. There's no Inquisition here-- it's just me and I was a person long before I ever became the Inquisitor. " though that seemed like ages ago now.

It was not supposed to happen the way it did. The whole business was supposed to be easy. Leak some information, let the villain do the hard work and die trying. Take the orb. Secure the Evanuris. Tear down the veil. Restore the Elvhen. Simple, straightforward, hands clean. After all, what would the loss of the modern world have been? The end of a bad dream. Putting a halt to a post-apocalyptic nightmare where the entire world was dying and they didn't even realize it, one that had been his fault in the first place.

His real folly was not wanting to be alone. Being too afraid of isolation to keep an appropriate amount of distance. Letting people get close to him... or letting himself get close to other people.

❝ it was... ❞ He said, stepping further away from the path until the trees started to close in around him again. He didn't want to be happened upon, and she was going to follow him anyway, it seemed, so there was no point in staying there. ❝ the anchor — how are you faring with it? ❞

It wasn't quite a deflection — the anchor had been what had drawn him to the Inquisition in the first place, though not the reason that he stayed. Solas had wondered about it. He doubted that it would remain stable forever, and without his own powers, there wasn't much he'd be able to do for it. He stopped, turning to face her, and added, ❝ ...humor me, inquisitor. ❞

[mirevasan]

there would never be an easy way to go about this. there was nothing that could be said or done that would ease the wounds it would inflict, nothing to staunch the bleeding and there existed no salve to help the hurt. it would be like ripping the bandage off without thought and mercy because there is none to give here. that is what she told herself on the way over here in some feeble attempt to prepare herself for the truth. to somehow make stomaching it easier. but no matter the precautions taken, it will never be enough.

" fen'harel....?" he was right— the stories about the dread wolf among the dalish were known to her like the back of her hand. they were ones of caution, of the betrayer to the other gods. he had told her many moons ago how the orb was elvhen in origin, but little else. but as he speaks, turned away from her as if a mean to protect herself, the pieces start to fall into place.

the orb of fen'harel. his agents. years of slumber, too weak to open it on his own. she recalls a conversation in the snow-covered mountains, when she knew so little. no ordinary mage could cause the breach. she had needed the rebel mages just to close the first rift, an action that had left her in a coma for days.

i would have taken the mark you now bear. he had said it would eventually kill her, unable to remain stable for much longer. how could he have hoped to use it then? he means he kept that thing from killing you in your sleep. but how? how did he know how to stop that from happening?

entered the fade. she remembers Adamant Fortress. remembers throwing her hand out, a rift opening and coming to inside the fade. words spoken by the fear demon to Solas, ones she couldn't understand in their entirety. it had known, hadn't it? and he was excited, amazed, to be walking the fade. it made no sense but she was too distracted, too caught up in everything to notice. and then—

he wanted the orb in the end. whole, together. she recalls the anguish on his features perfectly cclear, the sorrow upon looking at its shattered state. and then he was gone, vanished so not even Leliana could find him. all of this would be impossible for a simple apostate mage. she thinks of him, guiding her to skyhold. she thinks of the rotunda that grew in color with each passing month. of a desk littered with books, the almost prideful smile on his features with each question she asked. the truth of the vallaslin, the ability to remove what was once used by the other gods alone—

it finally settles.

it does not crash around her like the snowy mountainside of haven. no, it drapes over her shoulders like a heavy coat, anchoring her to reality. to a truth that she should have seen sooner. she remains rooted in her spot, gaze half-focused on Solas, half-focused on something far away from here. when she speaks, it is neither a question nor denial.

" you're fen'harel."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the wolf sits on his shoulder and whispers, why tell them where you are if you don't want them to find you?

A thought that he's had more than once. Every time he had crossed paths with an inquisition agent in the last two years and surreptitiously dropped a hint or a lead here or there that would have certainly eventually come back to him if it went on for long enough. The war between the part of him that says you have to fix your mistake and the part that says you're going to destroy everyone, again.

He stands, his back to her, pulling himself up by his walking stick and turning halfway, to look over his shoulder.

❝ yes. i suppose there is no circling around the truth. i have owed it to you for some time. ❞

He doesn't bother to ask her how she knows. If she means to tell him, then she will tell him. The corners of his mouth drop, his expression falling into something somber.

I must tell you... the truth... what would have happened if he had revealed all sooner?

❝ the orb of fen'harel. it built up power through my many years of slumber. when i awoke, i was too weak to unlock it myself. i had my agents leave a trail so that the venatori might locate it. ❞

How is he supposed to explain this? Is there a point to explaining it? The explanation does nobody any good. It does not make anything better, or different. But he has to—has to say something, even if the rational part of him says it is a bad idea to be so forthcoming.

❝ corypheus was to unlock it for me, and the resulting explosion was to kill him. then i would have taken the mark you now bear, entered the fade, and torn down the veil. i did not expect him to survive. for everything to unravel as it did. chaos and destruction were never my goal. ❞

His gaze flicks to the ground.

❝ that is the truth of it. certainly you have heard enough stories about the dread wolf, among the dalish, ❞ Lifting his head, he let out a sigh, ❝ perhaps all this could be considered one more. ❞