Tales among the Dalish, the foremost authority on elvhen antiquity according to themselves alone, generally paint a pretty picture of their history. Their tales rarely paint a pretty picture of the Dread Wolf. It makes sense that they would not, of course, considering the trickster god was credited for the destruction of their pantheon. The cunning wolf, they said, had been jealous of the other gods. He hounded them with his tricks and envious barbs and, eventually, locked seven of them away. For all time they would sleep, leaving their empire to ruin and the elvhen subject to living in squalor and slavery; leaving them to the mercy of humanity. But, as I have said, the Dalish merely assume themselves knowledgeable on the subject. That does not mean they are correct.
Part of me truly believes the Dalish Keepers would expire on the spot if they knew the Dread Wolf was solely responsible for everything that had befallen the People. In truth, he had trouble believing it himself sometimes. It had all began innocently enough, as tragedies often do, with a fondness for a woman.
"I simply do not understand its purpose!" Solas huffed angrily as he paced a ditch into the fine, soft grass of Mythal's personal garden.
The All-Mother watched him tread back and forth with a wry smile upon her lips. "There is no reason for it," she explained patiently.
Her level-headedness belied her own distress, but Mythal was the best of them, Solas knew. Where he grew angry, she became resolved, and more often than not, her diligence and tenacity won over their peers far better than his own cantankerous snarling. If he had been jealous of anyone, it would have been her.
Solas rounded on her abruptly, turning upon his heel with a grace that was difficult to apply to any but one of the elvhen. The gesture might have seemed threatening, certainly, if she did not know him so well.
"Then why?" he asked sharply, a heated desperation creeping into his voice like a fog. "They kill them in the hundreds by the day! They have their palaces and their monuments - enough for a thousand men and women ten times over. To persist with this servitude is cruel. It's unconscionable!"
"Peace, my friend," Mythal said gently, attempting to spell it upon him.
He rejected the magic, finding comfort in his own anger. The Evanuris' slaves were of the People, and they deserved better. They deserved freedom.
Mythal seemed unruffled as ever, and merely continued on. "They know there will always be more," she said, " and so they abuse and imprison them, because in their eyes they are lesser."
She seemed profoundly saddened by this, but gathered herself and let out her upset with a quiet sigh.
"Something must be done," Solas replied, still bristling, though tempered by his friend's sadness.
"I do not disagree," she said, "but we must be cautious. Elgar'nan is already suspicious."
Solas snorted in amusement. "Only because he believes my attachment to you more than it is. It has little to do with his slaves."
She smiled, a serene and gentle thing. "Even so, my passionate friend, settle. We will sway them in time."
There wasn't time, despite her desire to keep things amicable between the other Evanuris. Solas had long ago surpassed the point of friendly, and was now openly hostile. There was a time when he would have indulged in the fine pleasures of life as they did, but then their disciples became servants, and those servants became slaves. He felt a shudder run down his spine at the thought. Nothing was so distasteful to him as being captured - trapped, and having a life forced upon one who did not wish it. He could scarcely imagine losing his own freedom, the mere thought made his stomach turn violently. Perhaps the worst of it was that even if the Evanuris' slaves did somehow manage to find autonomy, the tattoos they bore on their skin, the vallaslin, would brand them as property forever. Worse still, the vallaslin was imbued with magic, a magic that would cause the bearer to submit to the will of whomever the markings symbolized.
If only there was a way to be rid of the damned markings. If he could figure out a way to accomplish that much and free the People from the bonds of the Evanuris, it might be a large enough change in their world that his kin would have to resume their rightful place among the people. Ruling over them like gods was inexcusable. There was some guilt he shared with their fate, however. Were it not for his self-imposed exile from his kin, he might have been able to speak out against the measures taken to transform petitioners into objects. He might have been able to stop it. The past aside, the vallaslin was key. He could feel it in his gut.
"Solas," Mythal queried suspiciously, "you have that look in your eye. What are you plotting?"
His pale eyes rose to her face and held her gaze. "Nothing. Or at least nothing yet."
"Be patient." She was asking more than telling, a quiet plea fluttering beneath her words.
Solas tossed his head in arrogant frustration, the small gold clasps adorning his dark hair clinking with the movement. "Patience will not-"
A current of power rippled through the air then, halting Solas' rebuttal mid-sentence.
"Ah, Solas, imagine seeing you here."
Elgar'nan's deep voice preceded his appearance at the opening to the garden's breezeway. Half cast in shadow, his dark features cut out an imposing visage, and even though he was immortal, there was an air of age about him. His eyes, in particular, always seemed to hold all the eons past within them. Solas had found them fascinating once, but now, as their dark fathoms regarded him, there was a distinct chill in the air.
"Elgar'nan," Solas said, inclining his head with barely restrained malice. "I was just leaving."
Casting a spell about himself, Solas had just crossed the threshold to the Crossroads before hearing Elgar'nan speak once more.
"See that you do."
Once Solas was gone, Mythal pinned her husband with a glare. "Don't antagonize him so."
Her husband shrugged, closing the distance between him and his wife in a few graceful strides. "He is trouble, my love," he replied as he sat down on the bench next to her. Gently, he lifted her hand into his, and placed a kiss to her knuckles.
"He wouldn't be, if you and the others didn't treat him so poorly."
His thumb brushed the back of her hand. "His proposals are ridiculous - completely unnecessary and a waste of our time."
Mythal frowned. "We've nothing but time, and his suggestions do have merit."
"Don't tell me you actually buy into his raving?"
She turned to face him fully, her thin, silvery hand coming to rest against his cheek. "I believe him when he says the People are unhappy. He walks among them every day. He sees what the others do not."
"And you?" he asked quietly. He was angry, that much was clear, but it was also true that Elgar'nan loved his wife very much.
"I took his words to heart. I went to the People, and I saw as he did. I am ashamed by my own short-sightedness. They are miserable, my love. Do we not already have enough grand constructs to last us to the end of eternity?"
"You would see them all free?" he asked tentatively.
Mythal nodded her head once and smiled. "Yes! Those who serve will only be the willing. Could you perhaps find a way to mention it to the others? Please?"
Elgar'nan let out a tired sigh, and leaned in to press his lips to her forehead. "I will consider it," he said, "Anduril is still on her journey, but regardless, you know what their answer will be."
Still she smiled at him, lifting her lips to his. "I trust you. You can be very persuasive."
"Says the most beguiling of us all."
Solas had detoured from his intended destination almost immediately after passing into the misty in-between of the Crossroads. If he were to venture home in his current agitated state, he was certain he would accomplish nothing but tearing his study apart in a fit of pique. He had always been quick to anger, his emotions running hot and heady - and he'd never been particularly proficient at hiding his feelings, either. He'd never really had to.
Spirits were always attentive to his needs and feelings. They were his friends. It wasn't as if their desire to help came from his being particularly special; it was simply in a spirit's nature to live out its purpose, whatever that might be. However, Solas did spend an inordinate amount of time alone in the presence of spirits. Their single-minded desire to their task at hand reflected his own burning desire for knowledge, and despite their lack of corporeal form, he could spend hours with them poring over ancient relics and new curiosities.
Solas also dreamed. He preferred utilizing the vast majority of his time to wander the dream world among those who did not mind his company. It was a pleasure to do so, in fact, and in so doing he had learned much about world, both physical and spiritual . Some might have said he was more knowledgeable about the history of the People and their place in the world than even Mythal or Elgar'nan. He would likely have agreed, but surely that was only his pride speaking. It was his constant thirst for knowledge, however, that had ultimately begun to set him apart from the other Evanuris.
While they were content with the way things were, Solas had never been. He had a wandering spirit, forever seeking change and driven to learn and alter his perception of reality. Nothing gave him a greater thrill than testing his intelligence and proving himself wrong - or having the nature of the world he lived in do so for him. He so loved to be wrong, because that meant he was learning something new. The others, as long as they remained unaltered by time and tended to by their slaves, were content to live in ignorance.
It was his desire for new experiences that had set him along his current path. Solas remembered the very day one element of the universe set herself in his path and made him see, really see, what his pride had made him blind to for years.
It was a night, he reflected, that he hadn't been able to sleep. It stood out in his mind because he had never before experienced such a problem in the whole of his life, which had been a very long while. He had tossed and turned atop his furs and luxurious silk pillows, but the peace of dreams had eluded him. Solas suspected that this disgruntling interruption to his normal routine had to do with the news he'd received earlier that day.
Anduril had journeyed into the Void.
Despite his protests that she not embark on such a dangerous, and likely deadly, endeavor, the huntress had merely taken his warnings as a challenge - not that she would have been inclined to listen to him in any event. Anduril had always held a special brand of disdain in her heart for him. Though, he'd chuckled to himself with a grin, he couldn't have imagined why. Solas had not minded her animosity, however he did mind that her foolishness had the potential to harm them all.
Shaking his head, Solas had rolled off his bed and onto his feet with a heavy sigh. It seemed he would have no peace for some time yet. He had waved a hand absently in the direction of the eluvian propped up in the corner of his room, and had watched the space around him become bathed in a dim, blue light. He had considered the portal a moment as he had meandered over to his desk and poured himself a glass of wine.
There were many places to venture, but Solas had found himself gravitating to locations that would be brimming with people and life and conversation. Perhaps the business with Anduril had made him aware of just how much of a recluse he had become over the centuries, and thought he had normally preferred the still and the quiet, he was not wholly without the need for contact with the People. He'd not walked among them for some time, and had found himself curious as to how the city of his youth appeared then, what must have been centuries later. He often had lost track of time when he pursued a particularly fascinating subject of inquiry.
Solas had hummed through a swig of wine thoughtfully, eyes illuminated by the eluvian as he regarded its presence. Visiting Mythal had been out of the question. Although she was his dearest friend, she could not have been bothered to console him every time he was troubled, and spirits, though eager to help, may have never fully comprehend his unease on their own. He had found himself in need of physical interaction with the world, and there had been only one place he had thought of to go.
The night markets of Arlathan had once been great, unending festivals of light, music, and color. He had remembered there had been one excursion here in his youth that had not ended for many days. He had grown drunk on the finest wines of the empire, tasted the sweetest delicacies of the artisans filling the streets, and perhaps more than once, their daughters as well. Though what Solas had seen before him had been a far cry from the bustling, dizzying and euphoric fair of his memory.
If he had willed it so, the market would have returned to its former splendor. He could have achieved it to soothe his discomfort, but that would have done little to sate his curiosity for the reason behind its current state.
The once exuberant merchants had been replaced by men and women who had appeared morose, unlively, and had worn tattoos on their faces that had looked disturbingly familiar. The tapestries of color hanging overhead had faded, and the wisps that had once lit the seemingly unending corridors had all gone. Solas tasted the unfamiliar tang of despair on his tongue, marvelling at how the other Evanuris could have allowed such a place to exist.
Solas, a curious and ponderous creature, had been unable to help himself from approaching a nearby vendor to inquire after the market's fate. What had disturbed him further, was that upon noticing his approach, the merchant appeared to panic. The man had dropped to his knees in the mud with a profusion of apologies on his lips. While Solas had a scant few servants, he had never demanded his help to prostrate themselves before him thus, and had felt wholly uncomfortable at the notion that this man had seen to appease him in such a way. It had made him ill to think that a merchant should place himself lower than he. Were they not both of the People?
"Stand," Solas had demanded, refusing to see the man robbed of his dignity a moment longer. It had only seemed to make things worse. The merchant had trembled before him, even as Solas had bent near to assist him to his feet.
He had just moved when a warm breeze brushed past his arm, and suddenly before him had stood a woman. A very angry-looking woman. Her bright eyes had pinned him in place even as they narrowed threateningly, and the firm set of her jaw had alerted him to the notion that he was certainly in trouble - even if he'd no clue what for.
"Leave him alone!" she had said. Her tone of voice had issued a command, not a request, and he had been momentarily tickled by the fact that someone would presume to order him about.
Despite her obvious ire, he had straightened himself to his full height and regarded her with a rather indulgent smile. "I was not doing anything untoward. I simply wanted to know what had become of this marketplace. I remember not long ago it was not," he had glanced about at the cracked plaster of the surrounding buildings and the muck that squelched underfoot in the narrow alleyways, "in such a state of disrepair."
The woman had seemed caught off guard by his comment, shifting her weight before leveling him with a curious frown. "Are you daft?" she had asked.
Solas had thrown his head back and laughed, much to the woman's displeasure. At the sound of his mirth a few wisps had ventured near, curious to see what was going on. He had shooed them gently away with a wave of his hand as he attempted to wipe the tears from his eyes. When had been the last time he'd laughed so well? He could scarcely remember.
"No," he had chuckled in response. "Ignorant perhaps."
"I'll say. What's your name? Where are you from?" she had asked, and had shifted her stance from something defensive and closed to a softer, more open posture. He'd never had much trouble getting that reaction from anyone but for the other Evanuris who were more knowledgeable of his guilesome nature.
"I'm from the area," he'd side-stepped with a bit of humor in his voice. "As for my name, I fear it's a bit telling."
The furrow between her brows had deepened at his evasiveness. Surely, he had not been making himself out to be very trustworthy. He had to admit, however, that he'd enjoyed teasing her.
Solas had clasped his hands behind his back as he answered her the first time, but did not rush on to continue. Quietly, he had observed her. Eventually she'd done as he had expected, and filled the silence for him.
"Well?" she had prompted gruffly.
Solas grinned. "No. You'll have to try again."
She bristled. "You know perfectly well what I meant. What is your name?"
He had cocked his head to the side and smiled. "Solas."
Her frown had deepened as she mirrored the tilt of his head. "Solas?"
"You wished to know my name, and that is it. Truly."
"Who in their right mind would name their kid after one of the-" She'd stopped abruptly, her eyes quickly scanning him from head to toe. That was when the blush came. It had been furious and red and, oddly enough, rather charming.
"The what?" Solas had queried with a smirk.
"You're one of the Evanuris," she had grumbled, though Solas had been pleased her reaction did not mimic that of the merchant who has since fled. At least this woman had not seemed to fear him or submit to him with any misplaced reverence.
"I am." Solas had relented on her, his curiosity immediately seizing an opportunity to get her to explain what had happened to this place and, he noted with a somewhat uneasy feeling in his stomach, why everyone he had met was wearing a symbol of the Evanuris on their face.
She had breathed a deep sigh and, looking up at him, said "I'm glad you're not Elgar'nan. I might be a pile of ashes right now."
Solas had laughed again. "I must thank the spirits for that," he had replied with a wry grin. "Were I to look anything like Elgar'nan, I might have never left my home again for fear of frightening Arlathan with my own hideousness."
"Are you sure you can say that?"
Solas had hummed to himself a moment, then shrugged. "It's not as if he can do much to me for calling him ugly."
"He doesn't seem all that ugly to me."
"Oh?" Solas had said, raising his brows in surprise. "Have you seen him?"
She had nodded, then began to walk toward a side street and away from the few pairs of eyes that had been studying them with great interest. "I see to one of Mythal's temples. I have seen him, but in passing. He cuts a handsome figure."
Ahhh, he had thought. This woman was one of Mythal's acolytes! Then her boldness truly made sense. While some of the Evanuris had desired their priests, acolytes, and servants to be seen and not heard - to carry out their every whim without question - Mythal was far more reasonable. She preferred those in her care to act respectfully in her stead and they managed her shrines and temple complexes.
Though perhaps it had been an abuse of his somewhat elevated position as a known, powerful mage, Solas had rolled a shoulder in seeming indifference before asking his first question. "Would you care to tell me what has been going on in the past few years? I fear I have been a bit caught up."
"What do you mean?" she had asked, looking genuinely perplexed.
"The Evanuris used to walk among the People. They frequented this very place, in fact. I cannot imagine they would allow one of the former jewels of Arlathan to become such a-"
"Slum?" she had finished for him.
"Yes," he had replied earnestly. "It is very different from what I remember."
"Does "caught up" mean that you've been asleep for the last few ages? Living under a rock, perhaps?"
Solas had smirked at just how close to the truth she was. Looking around once more, he had immediately sobered. What had he missed while so preoccupied with his own curiosities? What had befallen the People to make living such a misery and not a gift?
"That is...not far from the truth," he had said.
"Well then, I'd be happy to fill in the gaps for you, but only if you help me carry a few tomes back to the temple for me."
"What is your name?"
She had looked up at him, considering him for a long moment before she had answered. "Ellana."
"As you say, Ellana."
Solas hurried toward the next eluvian, his feet padding across the ground almost silently. When he passed through the massive, glowing portal, he just as quickly found himself in front of a long, glassy reflecting pool. The edge of the feature was rimmed in blue tile, darker than a night sky and a glossy as the sheen of finely spun silk. It matched the larger pieces on the floor which paved the way from the pool deeper into the breezeway of the whitewashed temple.
He did not come here often. Since the night he had discovered the great waste his kin had been responsible for, he had dismissed all of his servants. Now the temple lay a hulking mass of silent stone, eerie in the hushed atmosphere with no other living soul about.
The path ahead was dark to even his eyes until he made a small gesture with his fingers. Sconces of veilfire sprang to life along his path as he went, and faded after he had gone. He wordlessly passed a statue of a great wolf which regarded him with stony indifference, and faded back into the inky blackness like a spectre.
He came to a stop in a grand, circular room, the small mosaic tiles of the glittering effigies adorning the walls making him curl his lip in disgust.
He forged straight ahead, the image of Mythal rippling and fading as he passed through yet another eluvian. This one led him to a modest, by the Evanuris' standards, wayshrine. Here stood a simple, open-air, rounded pavilion connected to a few sparse rooms belonging to the shrine's caretakers. Here petitioners would bring their offerings to Mythal, and then burn them in the large fire roaring at the center of the complex.
He had not come to place an offering, though.
Crouched near the fire was Ellana. She was weaving some kind of magic at the base of the brazier, likely an enchantment to keep the fire burning for a few more weeks without fuel. She was swearing under her breath, the complexity of the curse turning the sour hue of his mood around almost immediately, and the nature of her task had him thinking. True to his nature, Solas could not help but begin to devise a trick.
Soundlessly, Solas padded around the fire and settled into a crouch behind one large pillar. Struggling to suppress a laugh, he cupped his hands around his mouth and blew, small crystals of ice forming on the tips of his fingers.
Instantly the large fire died with a sizzle, and Ellana shot up from her position at the base of the great iron bowl with yet another flurry of curses. Also a rather skilled mage, she managed to get the fire going again, but Solas had shifted positions during her moment of concentration. Now at the opposite side of the pavilion, he gathered his magic, cupped his hands to his mouth, and blew once more. Again, the fire died, but by now, Ellana had wised up.
It likely did not help that he hadn't been able to contain himself, and fell out from behind his cover, holding his sides as he laughed.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously on him as she once again encouraged the fire within the brazier back to its formerly intense blaze. "Don't you have someone else you could be bothering?"
"Shouldn't you be more in awe?" he quipped back with a chuckle. "You are in the presence of a god, after all."
Ellana snorted and rolled her eyes at his sarcastic tone, then moved off to attempt to set her enchantment once more. She did not ask him to join her as she milled about the blaze attending to her work, but he did so anyway. He rose to his feet and stood beside her, watching her carefully.
"Have you been very busy today?" he asked, gaze traveling to the neat heft of debris within the flames.
"Very," she replied, brushing her fingertips against the metal base and murmured a few words of magic before a symbol began to glow beneath her fingertips. "Petitioners have been traveling here from miles around to seek Mythal's guidance. I've heard every woe from a lack of a good harvest to maidens being taken from their homes and made as offerings to Dirthamen. I have to say, that man has quite the voracious sexual appetite."
Solas couldn't help but growl quietly at that. He knew what happened to those girls. He wished he didn't. It was a shame that the wasteful nature of his kin had reached even this place, far from the twisting crystal spires of the city.
Ellana straightened away from the fire, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "And you?" she asked.
"Frustrated."
"I can see that," she said quietly.
Her hands came together in front of her, fingers brushing against one another in a nervous gesture Solas might have missed had he not come to know her so well. Despite the fashion of their meeting, the two of them had become fast friends. Ellana had been a source of curiosity to him, and she had answered so many of his persistent questions. In turn, Ellana had wondered at the particular nature of Solas' magic, and had been delighted when he had summoned a spirit of knowledge to regale her with tales from afar. Although, there was a part of Solas that knew she was more important to him than that. He was almost afraid to examine it.
"I am having trouble staying patient," he admitted with an ounce of shame. "I want things to change, but I fear that my isolation from the other Evanuris has done far more harm than good when it comes to asking for their consideration. Mythal has asked me to wait for Elgar'nan's thoughts on the matter, but I do not believe he will be thinking of more than just himself. I worry that if I wait too long, if I'm not fast enough, things will deteriorate even more quickly." He paused, taking a deep breath. "This slavery must end. This is not how the People should live."
"I am sorry it's difficult, but perhaps Mythal is right," Ellana volunteered.
"You are right, of course, and so is she," he sighed.
"I did not say it to be right, only to ease your mind. You are troubled and it has been wearing on your for weeks now."
He grumbled to himself at that, hands clasping behind his back as they were wont to do whenever he was thinking deeply on a matter.
"And for what it's worth," she said loudly enough to draw his attention away from his thoughts, "if you had not isolated yourself from the other Evanuris, perchance you would be something like them. I, for one, am glad that is not the case."
Solas smiled at her despite himself, feeling something in his chest ache at the surety in her voice. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could utter a single syllable the eluvian behind them crackled loudly across the space as it activated.
The brand of power that preceded whoever was passing through the eluvian was familiar to both of them, and so it was no surprise when Mythal finally emerged from the glowing portal. The All-Mother obviously knew where she was, but she took a moment to glance about her surroundings until her eyes focused between Ellana and Solas as if she had to assure herself that she was indeed in one of her shrines, and that Solas was here speaking to one of her people. It was indeed a curiosity, one that caused a single brow to quirk up at her old friend in question.
Solas said nothing, greeting Mythal with only a small nod of his head. Ellana, however, bowed respectfully at the waist to the powerful Evanuris that she has faithfully served for the majority of her life. "My Lady," she said, "is there anything I can do for you?"
The All-Mother smiled at her, shaking her head once. "I was merely going to ask you if Solas had passed through here, but it seems I needn't have bothered."
"Yes, my Lady. It seems he is always underfoot."
Solas scowled at Ellana's needling, shooting her a impotent glare as he huffed in indignation. Looking back at Mythal, he noticed that his old friend was regarding him with an strange and contemplative expression, but it swiftly vanished, replaced by tight-lipped resignation.
Something was wrong.
"I only just left you," Solas began slowly, "has something happened?"
Mythal tried to hide her wince at his question and failed. "Anduril has returned from the Void, and she is," she hesitated, "changed."
Solas felt a weight settle uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. "Changed?"
"Yes, and we are needed."
The high, gilded walls of Elgar'nan's throne room were as obnoxious as they were beautiful. Every surface shimmered and glittered, creating a disorienting sensation of being completely surrounded by one's own reflection. Solas found it eerie - a bit much - but he suspected Elgar'nan rather liked the effect as well as the opportunity to stare at himself from wherever he was. He was never able to take his eyes off of himself for very long. Finding fault with Elgar'nan was not the reason he was standing in the middle of his atrocious throne room, however.
Anduril stood before her adoptive father still wearing her armor with hair a wild mess of tangles that was hastily pulled back at the nape of her neck. She was covered from head to foot in gore - a thick, black ichor that bore no resemblance to any blood or fluid from any living creature he had ever seen. The stench of the stuff permeated the air, and it was only with a small touch of amusement that Solas noticed June holding a sleeve up to his nose.
Solas stood apart from the rest of his kin, loathe as he was to call them as much, and reclined against one of the overwrought frescos as he watched Anduril retell her harrowing adventure. Nevermind that she was the only person to return from such a mad journey.
"I traversed the Void, and I am telling you there are creatures in the beyond that defy this world with their very existence. They are more powerful than even the strongest Titan."
"Are you saying we should exterminate them?" Elgar'nan spoke with a curious air, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
"No." There was a feverishly mad gleam in Anduril's eyes, and her words slipped out as a breathy sigh of wonder. "We should harness them - use them against the dwarves and humans or any who would stand against us."
Solas snorted loudly at that. Since when had the humans and dwarves done anything more than defend themselves against the unchecked expansion of the empire?
Anduril rounded on him with a speed that should have frightened him were he not used to such displays of aggression from her. She had opened her mouth to surely deliver unto him some scathing observation of his character before Falon'din interceded.
"What is the point of such an endeavor?" the necromancer asked. "The dwarves pose no threat. They've retreated even farther underground as of late, and the humans do little more than curiously explore our borders. The economy is sound and our offerings are consistent, if a bit lacking as of late. Unless one of your beasts is made of enchanted gold, I daresay harnessing one is a waste of valuable resources."
Ahhh, Falon'din - as fiscally aware as ever.
Anduril's eyes swept the room, and Solas took a moment to observe her closely. Her skin was cracked and pallid, and Solas found that further inspecting the state that she was in was liable to turn his stomach. Despite that, she was still uncommonly beautiful, though her green and gold-colored radiance had been replaced by something darker. Her eyes held a milky opacity to them, and when he tried to peer into them he felt a cold finger of dread slip down his spine. There was nothing, nothing but madness, there! It was no wonder Mythal seemed to be so concerned and, taking another look at the faces around them, it appeared Elgar'nan felt much the same.
If there was one thing to be agreed upon, it would be that something was very obviously amiss with the huntress.
"For power, of course," Anduril finally replied with a flash of teeth that was not quite a smile. "Why settle for Arlathan when we could rule the entire world? Why not extend our reach and gain more riches, more influence, and even more power? Imagine the hunts, Solas!"
She turned toward him with that shining insanity in her gaze, and Solas felt his hackles rise. That immediate, visceral reaction to her attention deeply concerned him. He did not fear Anduril, but he did fear what she had become. He did not know this creature.
He turned his reply over and over in his head, considering what he might say to stem her foolish was also her reaction to consider. Anduril was the explosively temperamental sort, and without learning more about the changes her journey had wrought upon her, he was unwilling to antagonize her here.
"I want for nothing," he said simply then, despite his thoughtfulness, couldn't help but add, "and besides, the hunts I have are all on your lands, killing your beasts. Where is the fun if I do not get to annoy you in the process?"
She practically growled at him for that, but his reply only annoyed her and, thankfully, had not made her aware of just how disturbed he was by her presence .
"Anduril," Mythal spoke then, and everyone in the room stilled to listen. "You must be exhausted from your journey. Why don't you rest and collect your thoughts on this matter?"
Anduril bristled angrily. "I have no need to think further! If no one here sees the benefit of harnessing the Void's power, then I will do so alone." Her frown smoothed almost too easily back into an eerie smile. "Then I will be the most powerful of the Evanuris!"