The first of the Maker's children

watched across the Veil,

and grew jealous of the life

they could not feel,

could not touch.

In blackest envy,

were the demons born.

Dirthara'ma

Skyhold (one week after the destruction of Haven)

She came to him long before morning.

She entered his study cautiously, moving soundlessly, floating through his chambers like a shade; the only sound was her soft, silken robe brushing against her bare skin. Yet this faint sound was enough to wake Solas – or perhaps it merely tore him from the half-slumber that was his nightly sojourn into the Fade, walking the bulwarks of Skyhold amongst spirits and powers as his body rested in the physical world. He felt no displeasure; after all, this is what he desired. It's what they both wanted.

He did not move, did not stir. Riannon fluttered closer, shrugging off her robe and slowly, diffidently, rested her knee on the side of the soft couch he had set up as a bed. Solas simply listened to her movements with quick ears, not betraying his hyper-attentiveness. She carefully climbed onto the couch and then onto him, sliding under his thick blanket and wrapping her thighs around him. She felt cool, like a welcome stream on a hot summer's day. Leaning forward on straining arms, she brushed his face with hair that smelled of sandalwood. He breathed in the scent, sinking into a sea of delight. As if impatient, she leaned over and touched his eyelids, cheeks, and nose with the slightest brush of her lips. He smiled and, very slowly, delicately, grasped her by the shoulders. She straightened, escaping his fingers.

He reached out to cup her breast, opening his eyes, and she was gone. All that was left was darkness and a feeling of overwhelming, immeasurable sadness. Before he had time to properly chastise himself, he turned instinctively towards the door, sensing a presence.

She was there. Naked, robe at her feet, she stared at him, her lovely expression contorted by pain. Her face was like the moon, pale and somehow wavering. One could spend a long time looking at her features, but none stuck in his mind beyond an impression of astonishing beauty spoiled only by a long-healed scar that stretched from her neck to just under her eye. Her long, thick hair was reminiscent of a scintillating river of gold touched by starlight, dampened with sweat and marred by dirt and ash. Her eyes, large and green, started at him as if she were seeing him for the first time.

That's when he noticed the Mark, and his heart sunk even lower. His wards had failed. The corruption had spread. Tendrils of ugly, rotted blue and green streaked up her arm, past her shoulder, and across her breast.

It would reach her heart within an hour.

"Ma vhenan?" she whispered in a voice so quiet, it threatened to get lost in the faintest breeze.

He began to get up and she recoiled as if she were expecting to be attacked.

"No!" she cried. "Ma harel lasa! Why did you lie to me? Ma vhenan…"

She collapsed to the ground, her body shaking with seizures, and he found himself paralyzed. He wanted to go to her, he had to, but something –

"Da'len!"

And with a shudder, her entire body relaxed. Her eyes stared past him.

-/-

He awoke in a sweat. Sitting upright quickly, he looked over at the doorway and found it empty save for a faint blush of reddish light as the sun began to rise in the east. He was shaking.

It took him a long time to regain control of his emotions. He knew the dream for what it was and yet he could not crush the vast dread that enveloped his entire being like a thick cloak. He wiped tears – trivial, weak tears – off of his face in frustration. He rose from the couch quickly, as if by leaving he would be able to escape the nightmare, and dressed quickly.

And then he did the only thing that made sense for him in that situation: he went straight to the kitchen and brewed himself a pot of tea.