Part One: Solace

Chapter One

The field tent rustled around him lightly in the midnight breeze as he lay on his back, his arms crossed above his head on the cot. There was a mild chill in the air, but Solas was cozy and content under the Great Bear Furs. It wasn't the same as being able to hear the leaves swishing above him while he slumbered beneath twisted branches, but if he concentrated, his sharp, elven ears could just hear them over the noise of the thick fabric, flapping periodically like wind catching the sails on a fishing boat. It made for a nice change on occasion, sleeping indoors – if one could compare being in a tent as anything remotely close to indoors.

For many years, he could rest soundly against a gnarled tree root in the mid morning sun after a night of traversing a mountainside, or curl up on the cobbled floors of an ancient ruin despite the crumbled stone pressing into his side, and in his dreams he would explore the Fade through thinning areas in the Veil, made possible by long-forgotten tragic events of the past, wearing at the barrier between the waking world and the realm of the spirits. Some small part of him missed the solitude, the freedom he'd had walking and dreaming whenever he wanted, but he had not been free in the literal sense of the word… Not for a very long time.

He let out a long-held breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a hand, shutting his eyes tightly with exhaustion for a moment before he relaxed again, staring up at the bar holding the tent roof in place. Once this business with Corypheus and the orb was completed, hopefully he wouldn't need to keep searching, forever doomed to look for a way to put things back the way they had been. There might be a way to reset the pieces on the board this time, and his days of lonely purpose would be at an end. Another chance to make things right again, he thought anxiously. This was the closest he'd ever been to reversing the damage before, and it was tempting to convince himself that his plans would all work out in the end, that nothing would come along and make his noble struggle for naught, but time after time, one thing or another had always gone wrong. He had made crucial mistakes along the way, some seemingly minor at the time, and some serious, but all devastating in their effects, far-reaching as they were. Still, he couldn't get ahead of himself; if he concentrated on each step individually as it came, there was less of an opportunity for error. Do not lose sight of it now when you are this close, Solas. His jaw set in determination. Solas. Pride.

But something had already gone off-script.

And then, a new player had entered this delicate game.

The Dalish woman had walked out of a rift in the Fade physically, which seemed impossible enough, for those that entered the Fade in that manner rarely emerged again intact, let alone survived to tell the tale, or so he'd previously thought. Against all odds, though, she had lain unconscious for days, bearing a mark on her hand that coursed with a devastatingly familiar magical energy that he had asked those whom imprisoned her for permission to study at length. Solas had believed that the prisoner would soon die, and the mark with her, thereby crushing any hopes he'd harboured of sealing the breach in the sky that drew spirits out into the waking world. And yet she had lived, miraculously enough, and through her, he'd been graciously gifted another shot at success.

Over the many months in service to the Inquisition, he had imparted what knowledge he could to her, but it was only ever enough for what could be deemed reasonable for a wandering apostate of forty-odd years to have learned in that short a time. Any more and his story might be called into question, and he would have no other choice but to flee into hiding once more until the search for him had died down. Still, she had been receptive to him thus far; more than he'd anticipated, in truth. At first, he had enjoyed the seemingly harmless banter and flirtations they exchanged, and it was intriguing to indulge in such fancies as he hadn't experienced since he was a much younger, more cocksure man. When things took a turn for the official, though, he had paused to give it more thought. There were decisions to carefully weigh, namely whether it was even feasible for him to carry on an intimate relationship, given that it would mean always holding his true self back from her.

Was she as naive as he found the rest of the scattered Dalish clans to be, or was he severely underestimating her ability to understand the information he conveyed to her in private? She had shown a wisdom and a subtlety he hadn't seen in Vhen'alas in what must have been many ages, by now. It was dangerous to entertain the notion that she might actually accept who he was… No, he corrected himself, not a who, but a what. He blanched slightly at the sudden flash in his mind's eye of her beautiful face, contorted in horror, disgust, hatred… for him, and all he had done.

Breathing deeply to stave off the blood rushing through his veins, he forced the lungful of air out the side of his pressed lips and peered out of the corner of his eye at his rucksack on the floor. Solas couldn't remember a time when his mind was so plagued with thoughts before sleep. He wasn't used to this level of anxiety; it made it too difficult to drift off, and that was what he most –

He'd forgotten about meeting Lavellan. She was probably already waiting for him in the Fade.

"Fenedhis," he swore irritably, sitting up in his cot, his arm propped up on a bent knee. Solas ran his hand over his smooth scalp, wiping the cold sweat from his brow. Even as he said it, though, he knew it would be all right. There was no semblance of time in the Fade; she wouldn't notice his absence unless he neglected to surface in her dreams at all, tonight.

Pushing the furs away, he straightened his tunic. He never took it off aside from washing it, but it was perfectly clean and protected under his light armour. It was not as though he wore his day clothes to bed; rather, he wore his nightclothes during the day. Well, and why not? If he was going to be dispensing red templars, casting spells and traipsing through all of Thedas at any given moment, it helped to be comfortable, at least. So what if Dorian thought he was the best dressed mage in their band of castaways; let him bicker about that with Madame de Fer, for he paid it no mind. He moved his hand from the top of his head to the side and scratched at his earlobe in irritation. This wasn't like him at all, especially when it came time to meditate in preparation to enter the Fade. He needed fresh air, if only for a moment, to give himself a chance to clear his thoughts.

He left off wrapping his feet before stepping out into the crisp night air, and he sucked the sweet stuff into his lungs like a parched halla gulping spring water on a hot day. He hadn't realised how stifling the air was in that damned tent. Glaring about in the dark, he located a few of the night guards huddled around the campfire, chatting about home and family. Things were quiet for them on the hill, tonight. He'd helped to clear the plains around camp all day, and the immediate area had reverted back to its depressingly grave-like state. His spirit quieted then in silent reverence for the land he'd once known it to be. The land of the Elvhen, of his People…

There. That feeling of responsibility, burrowed deep within his spirit. He welcomed its poignant reminder of his purpose, here. It was crucial that he always remember the part he had once played in shaping the world into the horror it was now, even if the Dalish didn't recall the story any longer... Even if they'd convinced themselves that the false histories they passed down through oral tradition were anything close to the truth.

He knew better. And he would set things right. Soon.

Closing his weary blue eyes and breathing deeply once more, he tied back one of the tent's flaps to allow for more ventilation in the enclosed space. Then he wiped his feet on the mat, stepped inside, and settled back down beneath the Great Bear furs. After that, sleep came easily.

::::::

"Ma halani," she screamed.

Lavellan ran until her breath became ragged and her lungs were fit to burst, but the great beast was still breathing down her neck, snarling with hunger and rage. Her legs were not long enough to make the leaps and bounds she was attempting through the barren landscape. It had gained on her considerably, despite her best efforts to evade the black, shadowy creature of fur, fangs, and powerful muscle. Finding a steep uptake in the area, she raced as fast as she could to it, scrambling desperately to reach the top in the fleeting hope it couldn't follow her there. The tips of her fingers had gone bloody with clawing at the jagged, rocky surface.

"Someone help," she shouted, though she could barely hear herself over the growling of the beast, let alone anyone that may have been nearby. Her bare feet searched vainly for an outcrop to find purchase, but her hand slipped, causing her to lose her feeble grip and skid roughly to the bottom, straight into the enormous paws of the predator.

She was bathed in the hot, sticky breath coming from its slack-jawed mouth, which seemed impossibly large enough to swallow her whole. The guttural rumbling vibrated through her small body like the impact of a blunt weapon. Retching at the stench of death deep in the beast's throat, she turned her face and steeled herself for the inevitable. When it clapped its jaws shut, licking its chops in anticipation of the meal ahead, Lavellan registered her own voice crying out in terror. She hadn't even noticed, not that there was time to do anything more than scold herself for not facing her end with more dignity than this.

It wasn't the prospect of death that frightened her – she'd join her ancestors, or the Creators, or the Maker, depending on who was right about the afterlife, if there was one, and none of those notions seemed so bad to her... It was the dying part that she wasn't too thrilled to experience. And this kind of death in particular was going to hurt, no doubt about it; she could only pray that it would be quick.

The shadow lunged forward with a roar, teeth bearing down upon her, tongue ready to scoop her into the grumbling belly of the beast. She screamed a final time and closed her eyes, bracing herself.

All was silent around her.

Her breath rattled in her throat, a whimper escaping her quivering lips. Eyes tightly shut, she surmised that it must have happened... She must be dead. Was she? She was far too afraid to open her eyes and check. She hadn't felt a thing… Was that how it was for everyone?

"Lethallan?"

Her eyes shot open in surprise. Kneeling beside her, a man – an elf, she observed specifically – held a hand out to her. Staring openly, her large green eyes watered suddenly. "A-am I… dead?" She stammered, her small voice shaking.

"No," his eyes smiled sympathetically, "you need not worry yourself; it was but a dream. I have dispelled it, though, and it is over now." He appeared to reconsider that before adding, "Well, no it isn't. But that portion of the dream is, whatever it was… Stand, lethallan."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "A dream?" She asked, taking his hand and allowing him to help her to her feet. There seemed to be a haze around her mind, and she tried to shake it loose with no success. The elven man placed his hands on her cheeks to still her head, and he waved a hand in front of her face, a blue mist shimmering before her. It gradually melted her confusion, as though the sun had come out to burn off the lingering morning fog.

"Better?" He asked, a look of expectation written on his face.

Lavellan blinked twice, and her memory returned. "Solas," she breathed, "it's you!" Throwing her arms around his torso, she hugged him gratefully, flooded with relief. "What happened?"

"I'm not entirely sure," he admitted, his voice lifting a bit at the tail end of his statement. It always lifted like that when he had found an opening to educate people on the goings on in the Fade. "The nightmare was your own making. I cannot see it, as what you fear is not the same as what I fear. The spirits feed off of the emotions and thoughts of the dreamers passing through. They echo what they see, what they hear in your mind. It is their way of attempting to understand," he explained. "If you are particularly susceptible, the more aggressive ones will manifest your greatest fears. It takes a wealth of control to guard your thoughts from those who would exploit them - that's not at all different from the waking world," Solas added sardonically. "The only real difference is that, here, those things cannot harm you, vhenan."

He patted her back and gestured to where he had found her. "I came upon you huddled next to the rock, there. Nothing was with you but a spirit," he reassured her, shrugging his shoulder as though this was an everyday occurrence; to him, it likely was."I dispelled the surrounding area, and the spirit departed, losing interest." He was almost proud of himself, but it only befitted his namesake.

He pulled her back at arm's length, and with his thumb and forefinger, took her chin and lifted it so that he could study her face . "You are still haunted by what you have seen," he observed, the skin between his brows wrinkling in empathy. "I apologise that I was not here sooner, then. I should have arrived more quickly. I… had trouble sleeping."

She laughed softly despite herself. "You? You had trouble sleeping? That's… new territory for you, isn't it?"

"It is unusual, yes," he smiled faintly. There was something behind his eyes which piqued her curiosity, but if the information wasn't forthcoming, she thought it best to let it go, for his sake. Something was undoubtedly troubling him, but he wasn't ready to talk about it, yet. "Come, let's take a stroll," he suggested. "You need to clear your mind of what you experienced before we can explore further." He took her hand in his and they walked companionably through the landscape of her nightmare, for a time.

Seeing her dream in this light gave her a new perspective. It was still barren, as cracked and lifeless as before, but no longer as threatening. She'd always seen it this way, she supposed, but had never really had a chance to examine it, mainly because there were other things on her mind - or, more aptly, on her tail.

"This is a recurring nightmare I've had since childhood," she told him, "though I never really got a good look at it... Too busy being chased."

"It may help you to stand in it for a while," Solas advised, slowing their pace somewhat and looking into the oddly brown and yellow tinted sky. "If you become more familiar with the surroundings, perhaps next time the dream comes to you, you will recognise it for what it is before you are overcome with fear."

She felt slightly embarrassed at that. "I wasn't overcome, I was just… reacting naturally, to try to save myself from what I thought was real."

"Of course," he corrected himself, his head lowering in a slight bow of apology. "Forgive me, lethallan; I did not mean to imply you are weak. And even if you were in the moment, it's perfectly understandable to react as such... I hope you can excuse my poor manners."

"It's all right, Solas; no harm done," she smiled, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

He turned to her then, wrapping his arms around her in a sweet embrace. Pressing the blood writing on her forehead against him, she tucked a stray lock of her blonde hair behind her pointed ear, and turned her head to press it against his chest. She was surprised to hear his heartbeat there; after all, if this was the Fade, then this wasn't his physical body, and he shouldn't have a heartbeat... Then again, he shouldn't have warm arms and a solid chest, either. Perhaps she heard his heart because she knew it ought to be there, or because he willed it, and it was just so. Not that it mattered now, though she was certain Solas had thought endlessly about this very thing before. Best not to ask, or we'll be talking theoretical Fade physiology for hours, she thought, amused at the idea. She'd have to approach the subject with him around their companions, just so she could see their eyes roll back into their skulls as they prepared themselves for the sheer boredom of it all, praying for bandits or bears to mercifully end their long suffering.

"Would it help you to discuss it?" He asked her suddenly, cutting through her musings.

"What?" She blurted, startled. Could he hear her unspoken thoughts here? She pulled away for a moment to look up at him, her eyebrows raised.

"The dream," he clarified, seeing her confusion plainly. "Your nightmare, I mean."

"Oh," she laughed, "I thought that… never mind. Anyway, you want to know my deepest, darkest fear, do you?" Lavellan smirked.

Solas let out a small chuckle. "Well, when you put it that way, it almost sounds rude to have asked," he teased her. "Perhaps it's unnecessary. I only thought that if you spoke to someone about it, it would help you to understand it, or acknowledge it. Facing the fear, in a sense."

"If I talk about it here, won't a demon pick up on it and conjure the nightmare again?"

He smiled softly and used a free hand to cast a shimmering ward around them both. "There," he reassured her. "Now you can't come to harm."

She held him to herself again, sighing out her tension. His arms rested around her as he landed a kiss on the parting of her hair. "I guess it is silly," she started with a wince, "but I've had this terrible dream since I was just a len. The womenfolk of my clan used to frighten us little ones with tales of him when we misbehaved, and I had more than my fair share of…"

She felt Solas stiffen in her arms, almost as though he was struck with an electrical force, frozen in place, but alive with currents flowing violently through and from him. He stepped away from her abruptly, a look of utter shock over all his features.

"Solas?" Lavellan asked, alarmed. "Solas, what's wrong?" She looked around, half expecting the ward to have failed and a demon to have manifested her nightmare just behind her. Finding nothing there, she turned back to him. "What's wrong?"

His face fell blank just as suddenly as it had contorted, but his body didn't quite relax enough. He was trying to regain composure, to represent himself to her as though nothing had gone amiss, but he was failing miserably. "You…" He was breathless. Whatever had happened had knocked the wind right out of him. "You dreamt of Fen'Harel?"

It wasn't a question. It was stated more as a fact than anything else, but one he couldn't believe he was hearing, nonetheless.

Lavellan stared at him openly, eyes wide with alertness and apprehension. "The Dread Wolf, yes… It's not that uncommon, is it? I don't see how it should have garnered that reaction from you, though."

Solas was unable to look at her momentarily, instead turning halfway away so she could see him only in profile, closing his eyes. The landscape around them transformed, instantly lush with lively, green foliage, twisting trees, flowering embriums, and fluttering, chirping birds. The air was considerably cooler and easier to breathe here. He must come here to be at peace, she realised.

He opened his eyes then and walked away from her swiftly to a nearby stream he'd thought into existence. She watched cautiously as he cupped his hands under the surface and brought the water up to his face, splashing himself. Another cupful he doused over his head, pearls of fresh water spilling over his smooth scalp. For a long moment, he continued to sit motionless, staring out into the high branches of the trees across the rushing creek.

Not many things took Solas by surprise - not that Lavellan had ever seen, anyway - but now, her skin prickled and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Her hackles were raised, for something was dreadfully wrong with him; she'd clearly struck a nerve with her revelation. Slowly, she started for him, but he rose then and turned to her. The broken look carved into his face sent a chill through her, and at this point, she thought she could afford to hazard a guess as to what was disturbing him.

"You've had the dream, too," she said, her voice raised slightly so he could hear her over the flowing water. "You and I, we both share this nightmare…"

"Not in so many words... but in a sense," he replied, giving her no more than that. He seemed to look past her eyes and into her soul just then. His composure reset, he sighed and walked the short trek back until he stood before her once more, though not as closely as he had previously. His eyes were filled with a sorrow he couldn't seem to find the words to convey. After a few attempts to speak, his mouth simply closed, unable to express his emotions or do them justice. All the while, Lavellan stood motionless under his woeful gaze.

"Ir abelas, ma vhenan," he apologised.

"You're sorry?" She asked, incredulity dripping from her tone. "For what? For reacting so strangely? Solas, it's just a damn nightmare! How is any of it your fault?!"

He stepped toward her then, his hand reaching for hers, but she took one step away and he forced himself to halt his progress, letting her look at him critically as his arm fell back to his side. "Lavellan – "

"Don't! Just… Deep breaths..." Her anger seemed to subside as she breathed slowly, the hot blood draining from her head and leaving her feeling woozy. She looked about herself for a place to sit and recover, but nothing suited. With the wave of a hand, Solas conjured a tree stump from nowhere, and she muttered her thanks as she plunked down.

He was moving more freely than he had before, or perhaps her head was spinning worse than she'd thought. No, he was definitely pacing in front of her slowly, like a caged animal searching for an opening... or an escape.

"Listen to me, vhenan," he implored her, an edge in his voice. He closed his eyes in frustration and removed the edge. Turning and kneeling before her, he grasped her hands in his in a vice grip. "What you saw," he attempted to reach her, "that nightmarish vision of a terrible wolf, that – It's just not real."

She was quickly becoming confused again. "I'm aware of that…"

"No, I – " He was having some sort of difficulty explaining what he wanted to convey to her. Exasperated, he let out a ragged sigh. His eyes closed, and after a long moment he was once again fully composed, though something had changed within him, like a growing sadness. "What the Dalish told you... the stories of Fen'Harel, the conniving trickster who selfishly locked the gods away… "

"Let me guess," she finished for him, "was that all wrong, too? We seem to have gotten a lot wrong… It'd be a shorter list to say what we got right."

Solas might have snorted with mirth under different circumstances, but his brow furrowed painfully instead. "You see, ma vhenan," he explained in such hushed tones that she had to lean forward slightly to hear him, "you must understand that you have nothing to fear from those old tales... Nothing. You need not be afraid that the Dread Wolf is going to come to you in the night and…" His eyes searched her face, at a loss for words as the thought faded away.

"And… steal my soul?" Levallan finished for him.

Solas gazed at her with such hurt that it practically tore the heart from her chest to see it. For the life of her, she couldn't comprehend why her nightmare anguished him so, and it had her worrying deeply for him. Love and compassion enveloped her in a warm embrace, and before she had decided whether to act upon the impulse, she fell into his arms and kissed him insistently. He reciprocated with a desperate need, wrapping his arms around her so tightly that she couldn't pull free, even if she'd wanted to.

After a time, their lips parted, and he rested his forehead lightly against hers, both of them kneeling on the soft, cool forest floor of Solas' dreamscape. "Fen'Harel could never steal my soul," she whispered to him, her hand resting on the back of his neck and kneading softly at the base of his skull. "I already gave it to you, Solas..."

He blinked in astonishment at the admission and swallowed around the hard lump in his throat threatening to choke off his words. "Ar lath ma," he managed to say before kissing her again.

If a kiss was capable of possessing a person, Solas had managed to do just such a thing to Lavellan. Holding her to him, he arched her back until her body lay sprawled on the grass. She pulled him down with her as the moment swept them up in a frenzy. It seemed an age had passed between them before Solas pulled back to look her fully in the face. There was love behind his eyes, but something else more wild, more intense was at the forefront now, and she thought she could see his mind settling on something.

He laid down next to her slowly, brushing his lips against hers and playfully nuzzling her, turning her head by nudging his nose against her cheekbone so he could take her earlobe between his teeth. She heard his shallow breathing loudly in such close proximity, to the point where it started to resemble light panting; all the little noises coming from within him surged through her. He licked at her neck so gently that it tickled to the point of absurdity, then bit down in rough play, mixing pain and pleasure in a way she'd never experienced.

Just then, he stopped abruptly, resting his head on the nape of her neck and willing himself to catch his trembling breath. "No," he breathed to himself as much to her, "I cannot do this… This is not how it was supposed to happen."

Lavellan turned to face him, a deeply suspicious look in her eye. "Solas, don't do it," she touched his arm in reassurance. "I want you... You're thinking too much, just let it – "

"Wake up," he commanded her.