The Fool Card: The youth gazes to the sky, even as he nears the cliff's edge. His hand grasps a flower. His dog prances joyously beside him - or is his bark an unheeded warning? The white sun stares blankly down. It may be an empty beginning or a sublime fulfillment. Zero or infinity.
Veda Lavellan crossed her arms over her chest, shivering. Moments before, she'd barely noticed the cold mist rising over the waterfalls or how the Veil rippled over her skin, light caresses turned teasing and cruel.
She listened to Solas' footfalls receding into the distance, holding her breath until she was certain he was out of earshot. Only the ancient stone halla would see her tears.
She was a fool. A damned fool. She'd heard the warnings, the ones Solas had given her each time they'd drawn closer. She'd dismissed them all, because he said she was special and somehow, she thought she could be special enough to change his mind, to change everything.
Veda had been expecting another end to this story when Solas had taken her hand and guided her to this secluded grotto with its romantic vista. When he laid his hand upon her cheek and told her how much she'd come to mean to him, she'd anticipated that, here, at last, all the gentle words and torrid embraces were going to find their fulfillment. She imagined they'd make love on the grass with the rush of the cascades singing in their ears, that all the fantasies they'd indulged only in the Fade would at last come true in the flesh.
"For now," Solas said, "the best gift I can offer is the truth..."
Another man would have given her flowers or some pretty bauble to string around her neck. But she had chosen him – although at times, it seemed less of a choice than an imperative, she wanted him so badly.
Others might not have understood it. Solas had a gentle nature but he was opinionated, sometimes caustic. He wielded his intelligence with keen precision, like a surgeon with a scalpel, cutting even as he tried to heal. He was older than her, too, by at least decade, perhaps more. Sometimes it felt like a hundred centuries more, and so it was hard to take much offence when he called her dal'en and spoke to her as if he was the Keeper and she, his newly elected First.
His starkly bald head and well-worn clothes didn't adhere to convention either, yet after a few hours in his company, other men seemed vacuous and bland, without distinction. She thought his eyes were the most piercing she'd ever looked upon and she gladly would have spent an afternoon admiring the resolute line of his jaw or counting the faint freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose.
It hadn't mattered to her that Clan Lavellan would've found Solas as thoroughly unsuitable for her as the Orlesian court did. Even at Skyhold, they'd had to keep their affair quiet. If people were willing to accept an elven Inquisitor, it was at least in part because her advisors were humans with respectable lineages and good Chantry backgrounds. No one outside of her inner circle knew much at all about her elven apostate Fade advisor. Even inside that small orbit, she knew many of them were uncomfortable with the idea that he was teaching her about more than simply how to close Fade rifts.
All she knew was that, once Solas was there, it had been impossible to contemplate giving her heart to another... and he'd been there, guiding her, from before she'd awakened in Haven with the mark embedded in her hand.
It'd come together so readily that it'd seemed like destiny. Circumstance had thrust them together and created a sense of fellow-feeling, then of understanding and friendship. They were both elves in a place overrun with humans, both apostates caught in the grip of the Chantry and its dogma. Seeking his company had seemed natural...then inevitable.
If there had been any choice in the matter, it had been a fool's choice. A fool's dream. A fool's unquestioning faith in the lies of her ancestors. She had chosen Solas with as much caution and sense as she'd chosen the vallaslin that had once masked her face.
Solas told her what the markings had meant in the days of Arlathan.
The pain she'd endured as they etched the vallaslin under her skin had been for naught. For less than naught. The markings on her face were but an echo of a past where her ancestors had been slaves, thralls to the elven gods as they would later be to the magisters of Tevinter, as now they were to a history they couldn't remember, let alone understand. The Dalish had vowed never to be slaves again, and yet they still were, if only to prejudice and to ignorance.
"Then cast your spell," she told him. "Take the vallaslin away."
"Sit."
At first, Veda had been unable to meet his gaze. It'd seemed easier to look down and away, as he readied the magic, his eyes intent upon her marked face.
After this, there would be no going back. As accepting as they were, even Clan Lavellan wouldn't understand her decision. If she tried to explain, they'd think she had lost her mind. To take the word of an outsider over that of their Keeper, the woman who'd nurtured her magic, who'd chosen her as their First. Even if they didn't shun her, they would not believe and they would never follow her.
Tendrils of pale blue light emanated from Solas' hands. His fingertips grazed over her skin, brushing over her chin, her lips, the curve of her cheekbones...
She looked up then and his face was a revelation. There was pride and pain and such unspeakable tenderness in it and all at once, she knew that even if they ripped off all their clothes and re-enacted every scenario they'd played out in dreams with such yearning, she would never be more naked to him than this.
"Ar lasa malla revas. You are free."
Free. The word held beauty in it, but also the promise of loss and struggle. She'd relinquished her past. Her future was an unwritten page.
He'd helped her back to her feet, inspecting his handiwork with a faint smile. Veda would've liked a mirror to see it for herself, but for now, his eyes were her mirror. The image that shone back at her was love, and it was a vision to behold.
"You are so beautiful," he murmured and she could believe that he saw her that way, despite her scars, her mistakes, her countless imperfections. Perhaps because of them too.
Solas leaned forward, his lips melting into hers, his hand sliding down the small of her back, to the curve of her ass, as he drew her still closer. She felt his desire, not only in the urgency of his kiss, but in the jut of his erection straining against those wonderfully snug deerskin trousers.
It's going to happen, she thought. Just as it was meant to. In body as we have been in mind and in spirit.
He started to ease her down to the cavern floor and she was ready to surrender – then, all at once, he pulled back. There was distance in his eyes where once there'd been so many promises.
"And I am sorry. I distracted you from your duty. It will never happen again."
His voice was empty, as drained of emotion as if he'd been made Tranquil.
She couldn't breathe. He'd plunged a dagger into her chest and all she could do was bleed for him. The pain was so raw that dignity meant nothing. She begged him not to leave her. She told him she loved him. Whatever else she left out must have been all too evident from her ragged voice and the tears glimmering in her eyes.
All he could muster up in reply was "Please, vhenan," as if her feelings were an embarrassment. He claimed she had "a rare and marvellous spirit" - no true compliment, because if she was so rare, so marvellous, he wouldn't have been running in the other direction.
"In another world," he said, as if that would offer some comfort.
"Why not this one?" she pleaded.
Solas lifted his hands, as if to fend her off, although she wasn't reaching for him. "I can't. I'm sorry."
His face was a mask of pain. He turned his back on her and walked away, shambling, almost limping, in his retreat. Usually, his walk held a measured grace, a quiet but unmistakable confidence.
It hurt her to see him like that. It was like watching an animal that had gnawed its leg off to escape a trap. She'd been the trap.
That was how it ended. That was the culmination of all those lingering looks and stolen kisses, those endless walks circling the tiny perimeter of Skyhold's garden, discussing history and magic and the Beyond.
That was the end of afternoons in hidden away in the cobwebby little reading room in the fortress' east wing, quiet with the books and with their thoughts, with only his breathing, his hand enveloping hers as reminders that she wasn't alone.
Never again would she venture to the peculiar rotunda he'd staked out for himself and find him painting; never again would she hold his brushes and keep him company as the lines took shape on the walls and became recognizable figures, scenes from the battles they'd fought or the choices she'd made as Inquisitor.
How desperately she'd wanted to be distracted from her duty and how grateful she'd been when he'd offered an escape into dreams and memories captured within the Fade like dewdrops glistening on a spiderweb. It'd been so easy to fall in love with him after that and to fall in love with the feeling that at least one person saw her and wanted her for who she was, not as the Inquisitor or the herald of some cloying Chantry prophetess.
Veda wasn't sure how long she lingered in that place, huddled on the damp grass, sobbing as if she intended to compete with the waterfalls. It must have been a long time, because they'd set off for the grotto when the sun was still high in the sky and now a velvety dusk was settling over the waterfall and the stone hallas. Faint glimmers of snowflakes danced beyond the mists.
As she trudged back to Skyhold, the snow began to pelt down on her, flakes sticking in her hair. The wind whipped against her face and the plaintive howls of a wolf pack echoed through the mountain pass.
She remembered the hopeless trek after the avalanche at Haven, how the cold had sunk deep into her bones and she'd started to believe that she would freeze out there and be buried under a shroud of ice. For a time, the cries of the wolves had been the only thing keeping her going, the only thing that had made her feel less abandoned and utterly alone.
It was much easier to find the Inquisition now. Skyhold towered over the icebound landscape, its banners and flags flapping in the storm, recognizable even from afar. If Veda felt lost, it wasn't snow blindness, but the chill that had settled upon her heart and cut her off from everything that had once been her comfort.
She was another person. Not First of the Keeper. Not Dalish. Not Lavellan. Not loved.
Free, perhaps, but free to be alone.
When she went back into Skyhold's great hall, some would hardly recognize her. Those who did know her would see that she was broken, bare-faced and frozen to the bone, not the clear-headed leader they needed to face Corypheus and his armies.
Josephine fell in step with Veda nearly the moment she passed through Skyhold's gates.
"Inquisitor, there's a matter I've been meaning to - "
The ambassador glanced up from her clipboard with its endless notes and figures and did a most undiplomatic double-take, nearly upsetting her candle from its stand. "What happened to your face? I mean, your markings..."
"Why don't you ask Solas?"
"I see. I'm sorry to have inquired."
Veda sighed. "I'm sorry, too. It's just not a good time to ask. Another time, it will be easier. But you had another matter for me – what is it?"
She listened as patiently as she could as Josephine summarized a feud between two of their noble guests over order of precedence in the dining hall. It would fall to her to decide which of the two should sit closer to the Inquisitorial seat at table.
Veda managed to keep herself from cutting in until Josephine began working her way through their various family connections and distinctions in extensive – some might say, excessive - detail.
"Which one is less of a pompous ass?"
Josephine frowned at her notes. "I should say the Baron of the Seridoux, but..."
"Has he ever called me a rabbit? Or compared my ears to knives?"
"No, it's just that he has considerably less influence than..."
"Give him his petty victory. We have better things to do than play these Orlesian games."
Josephine gave her a cautionary look. "These 'Orlesian games' are what have gained the Inquisition such influence. I'm well aware they can be bothersome, but it would be best not to dismiss them out-of-hand."
"You and Leiliana are far better at this than I am. I know you'll do what you must to placate the nobility. I just - at the moment, I'm not feeling up to any great feats of Andrastian charity. Chalk it up to my being an ignorant elven savage."
"Ignorant elven -" Josephine was too flustered to spit out the last bit of the insult. "Where did you hear this? At the Ball?"
"I eavesdropped on a lot of talk at the Ball. Some of it was relevant to our mission. Some of it was less so."
The whispered slurs were actually less galling than the casual prejudice. First, there was the cruel irony of the Orlesians dancing and feasting at Halamshiral, once the last hope of her people. After that came the noble lady who greeted her with a cry of "Rabbit!" and tried to dispatch her in quest of a missing ring carelessly dropped while tossing caprice coins in the fountain. A little later, there'd been the Empress' herald introducing her lover as her "elven serving-man" and still worse, the way she and Solas and the whole Inquisition had been forced to smile and pretend it was so.
That last deception had made the nobles like her better. It pleased them to think she kept elven servants, just as they did. Somehow, it made her look taller in their eyes and rounded out the points of her ears. They imagined she was happy to dance and gossip with humans in the vain mockery they'd made of her people's ruin.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Josephine said. "Considering the circumstances, we thought it came off quite well."
"It was better than I'd expected. In truth, I thought they might have lured us there to assassinate me, so insults were a pleasant surprise." Veda said. "If it's any comfort, elves are just as bad. Perhaps we're worse. We're hypocrites into the bargain."
"Inquisitor, I don't understand. You never felt this way before. What happened? What changed?"
"It doesn't matter. I shouldn't have said anything. I'll be better tomorrow. Perhaps the Inquisition can wait until then?"
"Yes, certainly. It's just...we will need to tell them something about the change to your face."
Josephine was right, of course. Both their allies and their enemies would want an answer. If they didn't get one, they were bound to assume the worst. Perhaps they'd guess blood magic or demonic possession if they were fearful of the Inquisition's pact with the mages. If they were looking for a more down-to-earth answer, they might spread rumours that she'd been spirited away and replaced with a look-alike from a Valle Royaux alienage.
"You know what they'll want to hear. The work of the Maker and all that. Let them think it was a miracle."
It wasn't entirely a lie. Before Sola had stopped, before he'd turned away, it could've been... miraculous. But it was over now, whatever she'd believed, however much faith she'd had in their connection.
"As you say, Inquisitor." Ever polite, Josephine dropped a curtsy before taking her leave.
Veda mounted the stairs up to the Great Hall two at a time.
When she reached the vestibule, the dwarven mason, Gatsi, turned to gape at her. An Antivan contessa gasped and dropped her fan. Dozens of eyes locked on her face and it was all she could do to keep her head down and continue walking amidst the murmurs of the court.
At last, Veda made it to the stairwell leading up to her quarters. Each stair she climbed brought her closer to the refuge of her room, where she could draw the bed curtains, curl up under the warmth of the blankets and escape the stares and the inevitable demand for answers.
Upon entering, she saw garlands of flowers trailing over her desk. Pink and purple petals lay scattered over the floor like confetti.
Some small, hopeful part of her wanted to believe that this might be Solas' idea of an apology. Upon further inspection, she knew better. Solas wouldn't have known to leave breadcrumbs on her balcony because she liked to hear birds sing in the morning. It would never have occurred to him to tuck a glass halla under her pillow because it was similar to a toy her father carved for her when she was a child.
She scanned the room, eyeing the dark corners in particular. Those were where Cole felt safest, where he was most wont to hide.
"Cole? Where are you?"
His hat was the first thing to materialize out of the shadows. Then came his wan face, with its almost bloodless skin, his drowsy eyes half-obscured by hair. Then the rest of him, right down to his scuffed boots.
"I felt your hurt from far away," Cole said. "A stone thrown down an empty well. Echoing."
His voice was child-like, and in his gloomy way, almost eager.
"Cole, this is very kind, but you didn't have to do this."
"We help everyone. Now you need help. It's only fair."
Veda remembered Solas' expression just before he turned to walk away. If anyone might benefit from Cole's compassion, it was him. As lonely as she felt, she did have a few friends whom she could trust and reach out to in her heartbreak. Solas didn't let people in as easily. He had her and Cole and the spirits of the Fade - and now she wasn't an option.
"I'm not the only one who's sad right now."
Cole nodded. "I know. I brought Solas one of those frilly Orlesian cakes. It didn't help much. His pain has too many layers. Past, present, future. Like peeling an onion and finding another onion inside. It stings your eyes and makes your head hurt."
"That sounds like an apt description."
"Besides, he doesn't like me helping him," Cole said. "It makes him angry. It makes him scared because then I might know too much."
Interesting. Very interesting indeed. Talking to Cole was always full of strange discoveries, sometimes marvellous, sometimes awkward, sometimes just baffling. Veda was surprised Leiliana didn't try to make use of his powers for gathering intelligence. He knew more secrets than anyone, even if most of his disclosures were spewed out in a kind of lunatic poetry.
"What do you know?"
"Not too much. Because he doesn't let me. Just like he doesn't let you. But he can't make a person like you forget. Only I can, when it hurts. That's how I help."
It was alarming to remember that Cole was entirely capable of erasing her memories. However angry she was about how things had ended up with Solas, she didn't want to stop remembering what had sparked between them, if only for a brief while. It had given her hope. It had shaped her for the better. It was the closest she'd ever come to completely opening herself up to another person and however poorly it had ended, it would be worse to think it'd never happened.
"You're not allowed to make me forget, Cole. I don't want that kind of help."
"What kind of help do you want?" He gave her a frightened look and ducked down under the brim of his wide hat. "Not the knife. You promised you wouldn't let me. You promised."
Veda's eyes widened. "Cole! I would never. I'm sad. I'm not suicidal. And even if I were, I would never...No. Just no. I can't believe you thought I'd ask that."
"Alright. I'm glad. The knife needs to stay in the barrel unless we're fighting bad things."
"Yes. That's right. Now if you'd like to help, I have something that you can do."
"What?"
He needed her reassurance, so she tried her best to smile, even if it came out weary. "Be my friend, Cole. Let me hurt, even if you don't like it. If it makes things any easier, you're welcome to put breadcrumbs on the balcony sometimes. I do like the birds."
Cole nodded happily."They will sing and you'll remember waking up in the forest."
"Yes, that's right." She'd loved to wake up in the woods on summer mornings, with birds trilling and sunlight flashing through the canopy.
"But no forgetting?"
"No," she said. "I need to remember."
Cole turned as if to leave, but then all at once, he seemed to think better of it. Stopping dead in his tracks, he reeled around to face her.
His eyes were wide and glassy. Blue veins stood out against his waxy skin.
"He told you the truth but it was just a piece of the truth and that made it worse than a lie. If he told you the real truth, what's in the mirror and what's behind it, then you'd think everything was a lie, but it wasn't."
Veda thought she understood. Some of it. The part about mirrors was supposed to be a metaphor about identity? Maybe? Okay, well, the lying part – that was obvious.
"You're saying Solas has been lying to me? Just to me or to everyone?"
"Not lying." Cole said, a touch impatiently. "Just...not telling. Sifting, shifting, slinking at the edge of his thoughts. It's like walking in a dark room and touching something. You don't know what it is. It's there and it has a sharp corner like a box, but you don't know. And then he moves it so I can't find it again and even if I could find it, who's to say it would be the same box?"
Or what might be inside the box, if ever they were to pry it open. Mystery upon mystery, and all pointing to no good.
"So it's a lie of omission then. He's hiding something."
"Yes." Cole seemed calmer now that he'd gotten it off his chest. He carefully brushed his hair back over his eyes. "You mustn't say that I said. Solas is my friend. I don't want to get him in trouble."
"I won't. You needn't worry."
"Good. I'll go now. I'll come back tomorrow. With breadcrumbs, but not with spiders."
Birds ate spiders as well as bread, but Cole knew from their visit to the Beyond that Veda didn't like anything with eight legs, whether it was as tiny as an eyelash or as large as a druffalo.
"Alright. Goodnight, Cole."
As he descended the stairs, Cole faded slightly with each step, until she could see only the tip of his hat and then nothing at all.
Veda sat down on her bed, pondering this latest piece of the puzzle.
What Cole told her shouldn't have come as any great surprise, at least not to a thinking person. But to a fool?
She'd been so willfully blind, lovestruck, dazed by Solas' facility with words and magic. Even when she'd noticed something about him that didn't quite add up, it'd been easy to discount it as another one of his quirks or just...not to think at all. She'd been a sleepwalker, swept up in the throes of a gorgeous dream, still certain of her happiness as she walked towards the edge of a precipice.
It didn't help that Solas had seemed damnably easy to trust: unassuming in appearance, scrupulously moral in his speech and actions. She'd never thought that his unusual charm might be as much a work of artifice as Dorian's perfectly curled moustache or the painstaking tailoring on Vivianne's Orlesian robes.
Veda wasn't sure what to make of it. Perhaps Solas was a danger to the Inquisition. Perhaps he was only a peril to her heart. Either way, she was going to unravel him. She'd have a reason then, an explanation for what had come before, and perhaps it would prove salve for her wounded pride. Dread Wolf take him, she'd never let that man make a fool of her again.