A/N: This short story was written as a giveaway prize on my tumblr for RogueLioness She requested a darker story featuring her OC, Samarra Bayart, in a show-down with Solas. This was originally only supposed to be 1000 words, but with that kind of prompt, it naturally spun out of control and here we are.
Samarra is from RogueLioness' epic MGIT story, A Whole New World, which can be found on A03. Since I have no idea what direction she is going in or how events are going to play out in her story (which, seriously, you should all go read!), this is an alternative look at what a final confrontation between Samarra and Solas could be. This is also an alternative look at what Thedas might look like while Solas is trying to bring down the Veil.
This is my first time writing someone else's OC. Samarra was a joy to write and I really hope I got her down correctly. I have also tried to stay true to RoLo's interpretation of Solas. I hope I have done both of them justice! Thank you for letting me play in your sandbox. :)
At the End of All Things
Samarra climbed.
What had once been comfortable familiarity had turned into treacherous chaos. Battered by the ferocious winds and the lightning strikes that accompanied the magical storm, the steep mountain path had eroded away until it clung to the cliff-face in desperation. More than on section had fallen away completely into the abyss below, leaving Samarra to ignore the pounding of her heart and leap. It didn't matter if the road to Skyhold nearly killed her. She had to reach the end of the path. She had to. The fate of every living being in Thedas depended on it.
Wind tore at her hair, ripping her braid loose as she pushed forwards. A gust of debris slammed into her and she threw up an arm to shield her face, her free hand clutching frantically at the cliff-face to avoid being thrown off. She felt pinpricks of pain as sand and pebbles collided with her exposed skin, blown into her by the wind. She gritted her teeth and ignored the pain, pressing her hand against the sheer rock face to steady herself before moving on.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
She shouldn't have allowed herself to come up here so exposed. But in her exhaustion from battle and her haste to reach the centre of the maelstrom, she had left her weapons behind. They would not help her once she reached her destination. Nothing could.
But that won't matter if I'm blown off the fucking mountain first!
Samarra grunted as she fought the wind. Without her bow-staff to focus her willpower, she didn't have enough energy to summon a barrier to protect herself. She felt so powerless, so… ordinary.
She hadn't felt ordinary in months. Years, really. Not since she had left Earth forever. Not since she had shed her identity of research scientist and traded it in for that of a mage.
The ground caved out from under her.
Samarra yelped in surprise as her feet were pulled downwards by the sliding rock and dirt. She pedalled backwards, her heart pounding in her throat as she scrambled away to safety. Her feet found solid rock and she collapsed into a crouch, hands pressed against the ground.
Shit, shit, shit…!
Samarra threw her head back, her red hair whipped around her face in a messy tangle as she searched for an alternative path. Finding none, she spat blood and dirt out of her mouth and pulled herself up. She ran her tongue over her cracked lip as she stared at the widened gap before her.
"Solas!" she screamed, her voice disappearing into the howls of the tempest as she gazed up at the swirling green storm where the castle should be.
No response.
Fuck it.
Samarra dashed forwards—and leapt. She crashed into the other side of the path and rolled, her momentum pulling her towards the abyss. She grabbed an exposed root, her palms scraping along its bark as she pulled herself to an abrupt stop, legs dangling over the edge. Grunting, she dragged herself up and continued to climb, barely stopping to acknowledge the bloody scrapes on her hands. A boulder flew through the air towards her head. She ducked and it crashed down behind her, causing another landslide.
Samarra watched the ground give way, widening the gap in the path even further. I guess there's no going back now, even if I wanted to…
She fought her way along the path. By some otherworldly miracle or the power of her own determination, she made it through to the base of the castle. What greeted her was not the place Solas had led the Inquisition all those years ago. It was not the place she had called home for most of her time in Thedas. It was not the place that had been the centre of one of the most powerful organizations the world had ever seen.
It was not Skyhold as she remembered it, with its majestic architecture, its proud banners and its strong walls.
Under the yellow-green sky and the swirling magical storm, the castle walls bled black and crumbled. Green fire blazed in rings reaching for the sky, consuming whatever they wanted. What Inquisition banners remained were torn and tattered, their colours dulled and stained. As Samarra passed through the gates, a chill ran down her spine. Something moved in her peripheral vision. She gasped, turning sharply, but it was merely a ghost.
Or a spirit.
The translucent figure of solider running from the infirmary to the stables, a memory preserved in the Fade. A memory that now lived again, sputtering into existence as the world of the imaginary and the world of reality crashed together after millennia of separation.
"SOLAS!"
Samarra charged up the stone stairs that led from the lower to the upper courtyard, pushing past the encroaching memories that pressed in around her. Her foot sunk through a step as the stone melted and bled black. She wrenched herself free, nearly losing a boot in the process, and threw herself towards the upper courtyard. A flaming boulder crashed down from the heavens, narrowly missing her and decimating the stairs behind her entirely. Samarra's hand leapt to her chest and she stood, momentarily paralyzed, watching the green flames leap and dance. She could feel reality bending around her as visions of the past, present and future flooded by a mess of colour and sound.
It was all falling apart. And she was running out of time.
She knew where Solas would be. She didn't need to question it—she never ad. He was where he had started it all. From Skyhold's tallest tower he had raised the Veil. Considering his taste for dramatic parallels, it was from this tower he would destroy it completely, restoring Thedas to what it had been in ancient times and bringing about a new age of magic and chaos.
A world that would ultimately bring an end to all life as they knew it.
It was a circumstance mythic in proportion. On Earth, it would have been called Ragnarök or Armageddon. Here, they called it Dinan'shiral, the journey of death, a name stolen from their enemy whose dark path had led to this.
How the fuck did I get mixed up in all this?
Samarra knew the answer, but it helped to ask the question. Somehow, it brought her ease. She repeated it over and over again as she fled through the breaking castle and climbed the tower. She had no words, no plan, nothing. She knew she was walking to her death—to the world's death—but she had never had a choice in the matter. She was the one last, desperate hope.
Time froze as she reached the top of the tower.
She froze.
He stood at the centre of the tower, in the eye of the storm, surveying the destruction of the land beyond. His cloak billowed about him, his dark armour glistening in the strange light. His wolf mantle lay heavily on his shoulders. Even though she had yet to see his face, she could see the conflicting pride and despair in the way he carried himself.
And then it began to rain green fire.
A large, shimmering dome enclosed the tower. He had cast it without moving an inch. He had thought of it, and through that act alone, willed it into existence.
"Why are you here?" he asked.
"To answer a question," she replied.
"Then ask," he said.
Samarra too a step forward and cried out in pain as something red and hot flashed up her body, twisting her muscles, paralyzing her. She sucked in ragged breath, white spots flashing before her eyes. Solas remained still, unmoved, his back still to her.
"You will stay where you are, Samarra."
"Solas—"
"Varthan!" he roared. "You have broken my trust time and again. I will not allow you the chance to manipulate me—"
"As I will to you!" Samarra snarled. "Tel'din dirtha to'em mythrenn ma ema'danemra on'el oaruth unelana!"
He paused, the wind tearing at his cloak. "I could break you here," he said coldly. "You know that."
"Yes," she said. "But if that was your intent, you would have done so already. You see everything from up here. You watched my ascent. You knew I couldn't protect myself, and yet here I am, unscathed. A miracle. I wonder how that happened."
Finally, he turned. He glanced over his shoulder, his face half in shadow, his piercing eyes—the reflection of an immense, ancient power—finding hers. "I will not listen to your witticisms, Samarra."
She snorted. "I don't know how you interpret that as witty—argh!" The red hot pain flashed up her body once more. Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground. Great, she thought. And I said I would never again end up on my knees before the Dread Wolf… "I don't know how you interpret that as witty," she tried again, gasping and smiling through the pain, "but I see ultimate power has no improved your sense of humour."
"You should not have come," he uttered darkly.
"Why?" she shot back. "Is it because you're afraid I'm going to mess things up? Or is it because you're afraid you'll have to kill me with your own hands, instead of letting me die as an innocent casualty like all the rest?"
His nostrils flared and he turned to fully face her now. There was so very little of him left from who he had once been. He was still the same man, he still had the same shape, the same features, but there was something in his eyes, in his voice, in the line of his jaw and the composure of his bearing that spoke to another identity. One he had hidden away behind another lighter, reserved version of self. One that had consumed that other.
But they were both him. She knew that—she had always known that, even before she had met him. She wasn't the Oracle for nothing. She had known his secrets long before he had even thought to admit them to her. She knew who he was, what he was made of. If Solas and the Dread Wolf were two sides of the same coin, she could flip that coin back to the other side. She could pull the Solas from the Fen'Harel and end this once and for all.
"You're trembling," he said.
"I'm facing down a god reborn," she replied. "Why wouldn't I tremble?" She slowly got to her feet, her muscles aching and protesting. "Or maybe that has to do with the after-effects of the paralysis spell you so politely cast on me. Twice." She raised a hand to push her loose hair back.
"Do not come any closer!" he warned, throwing up his hands, a spell shimmering between his fingers.
"I haven't fucking moved!" Samarra shouted. Laughter bubbled to her lips. This was ridiculous. This was all so… ridiculous. And real. And terrifying. What else was she supposed to do but laugh? "What are you so afraid of?" she called. "I'm not even fucking armed. And even if I was, do you think I could take you in a fight? You're a god—or something close to a god—and I'm a mere human mortal. I'm powerless."
"You have never been powerless, vhenan."
"Don't call me that."
"We were lovers once, were we not?"
A blinding light flooded her eyes. Flashes of memory crawled about her, through her, piercing her mind and spirit. She felt his lips on hers, felt the sharp bite of his teeth, the feel his body beneath her hands, the heat of his skin against hers… The excitement, the pleasure, the ecstasy, all of it rushing through her, making her feel every touch, every kiss, every moment—
"No." Her eyes opened, and she came back to the world. Somehow he had purposefully awakened those memories in her. He was distracting her, disrupting her focus, driving her away from her purpose. With the Fade crashing around them, he could make her lose herself to her own history. "No," she repeated. "That wasn't love. I don't know what that was, but it was the farthest thing from love."
Even as the words left her lips, she was uncertain whether she believed them or not. But she held firm, steadfast, staring him down.
Solas blinked. The shift in his expression was subtle, but he seemed pained by the vehemence of her statement. "If that is what you have come to accept, then so be it, Oracle." His hand snaked out and grasped hers by the wrist. He pulled her forwards, to the centre of the tower.
Samarra looked up and all she saw was white. "What are you doing?" she cried.
"What I should have done long ago, but was too weak to attempt it," he replied coldly. "Both in power and in heart."
"What the hell—"
"I am sending you home," he said, his grip about her wrist tightening until his knuckles turned white. "You do not belong here, Oracle. You never have. Your meddling has sacrificed a great deal and Thedas will suffer for it—"
"I AM NOT THE ONE RIPPING DOWN THE VEIL!"
"AND YOU HAVE NEVER UNDERSTOOD WHY!" He dragged her forwards and she nearly crashed into him. "You came into this world believing you understood it all," he hissed. "You thought you understood the history, the politics, the way of life, but it was only a game, a story, a fiction to you—!"
"It stopped being a game long ago," Samarra said hollowly.
"You can tell yourself that as many times as you wish, but it will never be true," Solas said. He glanced up at the flashing white light above them. Something akin to thunder cracked through the air. "Goodbye, Samarra."
He raised a hand.
Samarra shrieked. She fought him, tooth and nail, desperate to use any way of interrupting his concentration and preventing him from casting his spell. But he held her back with ease as she kicked and screamed, blocking or dodging every blow, every scratching fingernail even as his grip on her tightened.
"This isn't the end!" she shouted. "I'm not leaving here like this, I'm not going to—"
"Let me succeed?" he interrupted. Her wrist twisted in his grip. "I already have. The Veil is breaking—"
"But it's not broken yet," Samarra gasped.
"It soon will be."
"Then let me stay!" she shouted.
"You will die," he said quietly.
"Yes," Samarra said. Her knees nearly buckled under her again. "But I'd rather that than go back home knowing that I am the only survivor of Fen'Harel's wrath. I won't abandon my friends like that. I won't abandon you to this lunacy. Not like you abandoned us."
Solas gazed down at her, his expression softening for the briefest of moments before he flung her away from him. The force of his push threw her across the tower. She landed hard, her arms scraping against stone as she rolled, drawing blood. Something audibly cracked in her knee and she cried out in pain.
"What plan did you have, Samarra?" Solas roared, looming above her like a shadow. "What do you think you could accomplish in coming here? Did you truly believe those words would work?"
Samarra dragged herself to her feet. "They're your friends down there, as well as mine," she spat. "Or at least they once were. Don't you remember them?" She limped towards him, battered and bruised, the pain in her leg excruciating. "Don't you remember, Solas? Varric always trying to twist you into a game of Wicked Grace. Cassandra dropping her guard and choosing to trust you, all to prove a point. Dorian arguing with you about magical theory—and all those times he was right and you were too stubborn to admit it. Sera putting lizards in your bedroll. The Iron Bull challenging you to all those chess matches."
She had nearly reached him now. He stood, frozen, watching her approach, his clouded eyes refusing to meet hers.
"Helena," Samarra whispered. "The mark you gave her, whether you intended to or not. The change she implemented because of it. All the good she was able to do, all the lives she changed because of it." She was standing in front of him now, the wind swirling around them both. He flinched as she reached out, but she only took his hands in hers. "That night in Haven," Samarra continued. "All the people we saved… and all the ones we couldn't. And you. You led us all to safety, to… here. To Skyhold. Would you really save us all, only to destroy us later?" She wet her lower lip, her heart thundering in her chest. "There's still time. You can reverse what you have done. You hold that power."
He shook his head. "You know why I must walk this path. I took everything from the People. I must return it."
"Is restoring what once was worth destroying what now exists?" Samarra said. "You created this world when you made the Veil. Do you not have a responsibility to it?"
"Samarra," he murmured. He raised a hand, brushing her hair back from her face. An old gesture, from a time long ago, before things changed.
Samarra's hand gripped his. With her other, she gently touched the side of his face, turning his head downwards towards hers. Her eyes found his and she stared at him, forcing him to confront her and all she represented. Suddenly, the barrier around the tower fell and the storm cascaded down upon them. The tempest whirled and roared, pulling the tower away stone by stone. Solas and Samarra remained unmoved, frozen where they were, his dark cloak billowing about them both, her red hair flying out behind her.
Flashes of memory had engulfed them.
Their minds had always been pliable towards each other, and Samarra had used that to turn the tables on him. Just as he had made her relive moments of their time as lovers, she now flooded his mind with every image, every moment where he had helped someone in need. The memories pressed in against them, desperate to live again. Refugees in Redcliffe, villagers in Crestwood, city elves in Halamshiral, humans, surface dwarves, even Vashoth and a lone Qunari… people who he had not merely immediately helped, but whose lives and whose ancestors' lives he had ultimately shaped by creating the Veil so many millennia ago. Then she threw him the faces of their allies and friends in the Inquisition—both as they had been before this war began and where they were now, alive, wounded or dead. Finally, as she felt the tower tear away from them, she summoned a single memory of herself, of the moment when they had finally connected without mistrust or anger or manipulation or dark desire: a simple touch of the hand and a farewell parting under a blazing sunset.
"You wanted to save your people," Samarra breathed into his ear as the tower crumbled about them. "Are we not your people, too?"
Solas closed his eyes.
With a thunderous crack and the deafening, terrible silence that followed, it all came to an end.
Samarra gasped.
She fell forwards into his surprising warmth, golden light falling about them. There was solid stone beneath their feet. The tower no longer shook and gave way. The sky was no longer green and no fire rained down from it.
The storm had passed.
And the Veil had not fallen.
Samarra looked up at Solas. He avoided her gaze, but in the warm light, she could see the tears clinging to his eyelashes. And then he himself fell, his knees buckling under him. He fell into her arms and, lacking the strength to support him, they collapsed together onto the stone. She held him close, too stunned at what had just come to pass to speak.
She would have no words to say for a very long time.
"Ma serannas," Solas whispered.
Samarra never knew how long they stayed there in silence, holding each other at the top of that castle tower. The scientist from Earth and the god of an ancient realm, two souls connected at the end of all things.
Elven Words and Phrases
Varthan! — Enough!
Tel'din dirtha to'em mythrenn ma ema'danemra on'el oaruth unelana. — Do not speak to me of trust when you have broken it more soundly than I ever could.
Ma serannas — Thank you.
Thank you for reading!