Fen'Harel had been content to live as a god among the Elvhenan for thousands of years. This is the story of the slave who shook that complacency and inspired a revolution.
A/N: Sahlin Lavellan is the same Inquisitor featured in my A World Shaken storyline, and [once it's finished] this story should fit tidily between chapters 11 and 12 of that series, but A Rift in Time is intended to stand alone as its own piece.
This is very much the product of being snowed in and bored out of my mind, so let me know what you think about the premise. Also, I'm taking a lot of liberties with the elvish since there is so little to go on. There's a glossary at the bottom, if you're interested, but I've made an effort to provide in-text translations for anything you actually need to understand.
Clarification: During chapters in which two Elvhen characters are speaking to one another, they are speaking elvish. It's fairly self-explanatory as you read and I trust you'd have figured that out, but it never hurts to clarify.
Rated T for now, may shift to M in later chapters.
Chapter One
Sahlin Lavellan shifted in the enormous monstrosity of a chair, certain she looked absolutely ridiculous: a Dalish elf sitting on a throne. The very notion of it was preposterous, even to her. A Qunari at least would have managed to fill out the massive seat. As it was, Sahlin was forced to sit perched at the very end of what had to be the least forgiving cushion her backside had ever crested just to prevent her feet from dangling beneath her like a child's. The elf grit her teeth, suppressing the urge to shift again; she could still hear the ambassador's warning ringing between her ears: "Remember, you must not fidget. That is fidgeting, my lady. Now put your feet here. No, not like that. Here." Her eyes found Josephine standing apart from the crowd, just to the right of the throne's dais. The ambassador caught her gaze and gave her a quick, assuring nod. They believed in her. Josephine, Leliana, even the commander in his unique way, believed in her; they had elected her to serve as the leader of their Inquisition. And though she had agreed, Sahlin couldn't help but wonder now if she might have reconsidered, had they told her the Inquisitor was also responsible for sitting in judgment of their captives, for passing sentences and doling out punishments. It was one thing to defend herself against an assailant, to kill a man who charged at her; it was quite another to see a man in chains on his knees before her and decide him still deserving of death.
Directly across from her, at the far end of the hall, Skyhold's massive doors were being drawn open. The sound of wood scraping against metal echoed through the Great Hall, signaling that the time for contemplations and second-guessing was over. Sahlin straightened herself one last time and sucked in a deep breath. Almost in unison, heads began to turn as those who gathered to watch the proceedings strained to get their first glimpse of the prisoner. Sahlin's gaze moved to follow the others, but the feeling of a pair of eyes still upon her drew her attention from the doors. She found him standing straight-backed amid the Inquisition forces, grey-blue eyes watching her with a wry glint, wholly indifferent to the retinue of guards escorting the imprisoned magister through the Hall. As her eyes met his, he held her gaze with such intensity, such confidence, that for a moment, she forgot to breathe.
A hand pressed against her waist, drawing her back into his embrace. A look, a single look of warning and wanting, of better judgment and not caring. Then his fingers were in her hair, hard and calloused, cradling her cheek, slipping beneath her chin, tilting her lips toward his. His mouth on hers, warm and soft and devouring, taking the breath from her chest, demanding still more. And then, nothing. Hands pushing her away. Another look, of longing and regret, of better judgment restored.
"Solas?" she barely breathed his name, lungs still wanting for air.
"We shouldn't." His veneer returned, quiet and confident, superior. "It isn't right, not even here."
"You recall Gereon Alexius of Tevinter."
Sahlin jumped at the sound of the ambassador's voice, and she could feel the color rushing to her cheeks. Of all the times to be caught daydreaming! She could only hope no one else had noticed. The Inquisitor forced the Fade-memory from her thoughts and turned her attention to the magister, kneeling before her. Gereon Alexius. She had expected to see the righteous curl of his upper lip or the deranged light in his eyes, but the magister's head was bowed low, obscuring his dark features. Still, she could live a thousand lifetimes and never forget that face.
"Ferelden has given him to us in acknowledgement of your aid," Josephine continued. If she had noticed the Inquisitor's lapse in focus, she didn't let on. "The formal charges are apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted assassination—on your own life, no less. Tevinter has disowned and stripped him of his rank. You may judge the former magister as your see fit."
Sahlin dropped her chin just barely, thanking the ambassador for her heraldry. Josephine responded with a slight bow of her own and then stepped back from the dais. It was all a practiced routine. Days earlier, Josephine had spent hours schooling her on trial decorum, the expected gestures and statements. For her part, Sahlin had listened, trying to remember the series of movements and responses the ambassador rattled off. For her part, Sahlin hoped she had performed sensibly enough, and a quick glance at Josephine told her she had. The ambassador was not smiling openly, but Sahlin could see feel the approval in her look. It was all the encouragement she needed.
The Inquisitor returned her attention to Alexius, and a new sense of certainty took hold in her. This was one trial that didn't require any hesitation or second-guessing. He would have killed them all, given the chance, but not before he had tortured the men and women she had come to think of as family, not before he had snuffed out the fire in Leliana's eyes and silenced the melody of Solas's voice. She would not lose sleep over sentencing the magister to a quicker death than he deserved.
Sahlin's eyes never once left the Alexius, but when she spoke, she was careful to raise her voice loudly enough for the throng to hear. "I remember what would have happened to Thedas," she said, "if your teachery had succeeded." I remember the red lyrium growing from the castle walls, she wanted to scream at him. I remember the torture chambers and the demons. I remember watching my friends die. I remember it all. The words beat against her lips, wanting to be heard. But she refused to give the magister that satisfaction, to let him know how profoundly his nightmarish future still haunted her dreams.
At the base of the dais, Alexius raised his gaze to meet hers but it was a blank, emotionless stare that looked back at her. "I couldn't save my son," the Tevinter replied, tone as vacant as his eyes. "Do you think my fate matters to me?"
Sahlin could not have cared less what did or did not matter to him, but Josephine had already prepared her for this moment, for what she was to say in return. "Will you offer nothing more in your defense?" she asked with as much indifference as she could inflect on the words.
The magister's balding head hung low, ignoring her. Sahlin was prepared to continue, to take his silence as a concession, when Alexius abruptly looked up. The blank look in his eyes had receded, replaced with a sharp hatred, and the Inquisitor allowed the faintest smile to trace her lips; it was a feral, victorious grin. She wanted to see the hatred in him, to know that he realized how entirely he had failed.
"You've won nothing," the magister spat, lashing out like a wounded mabari. "The people you saved, the acclaim you gathered, you'll lose it all in the storm to come." Alexius's voice rose with each word until the magister was on his feet. Sahlin's pulse increased with the tempo of the magister's words, and she could already see the Inquisition guards moving to subdue their prisoner. Alexius lunged forward as they closed on him. "You'll lose it all…now!" he shouted.
Sahlin leapt from the throne, reaching for the staff at her back that wasn't there. Screams filled the Great Hall, and she was vaguely aware of the throng stampeding for the door as the sound of an explosion filled her ears. The floor beneath her shook and the room seemed to fold in on itself. Sahlin reached out, grasping in all directions as the ground gave way beneath her. Alexius was no longer in sight, and she was falling backwards into blackness, careening into a silence so deafening it drowned out the shouts, the explosion, everything.
Her shoulder hit the ground first and Sahlin was sure she heard something snap just before she felt her face collide with the stone floor. Then she was hurtling, legs over shoulders, arms over feet, head over heels down a flight of stairs. She grasped desperately for something—anything—to hold onto but her head spiraled, spinning in and out of focus. Everything was covered in snow; the walls of Skyhold were gone. And then, without warning, the world went black.
o – o – o – o - o
"You're going to like this, brother." Andruil fingered the tip of an arrow, her brown-almost-black eyes watching him from over its point.
Fen'harel lifted a brow but did not bother to look up from his reading. He rarely cared for matters brought to his attention by Andruil, though that hardly seemed to abate her pestering. There were times when he feared they had walked this earth for too long already, that they were each going mad in their own unique way, the huntress most of all.
"Won't you ask me what I know?" Andruil pursed her lips into a pout that was more unbecoming than it was enticing, but he knew the woman well enough to realize she would not leave until she had spoken her piece.
"What is it then?" he growled, gaze still fixed on the page before him. "What do you know?"
"One of mother's slaves dropped out of the sky this morning. Well, I suppose the priests say she fell from the Fade, but what do they know anyway?" For the first time, Fen'harel looked up at her, mouth half-agape. That earned him a quick smirk from the huntress before she turned to leave. "I thought that would capture your attention," she teased. Andruil's voice echoed through the corridor as she made her way to the Eluvian. "Oh, and by the way, mother is asking for you."
Fen'harel had slammed his book shut long before he heard the last of her words. Dropped out of the sky? For once, the Dread Wolf made haste to follow after the huntress.
o – o – o – o - o
The world came crashing back into existence all at once, too bright and too loud. Sahlin clenched her eyes shut, pressing a hand against her temples. Everything hurt. She was vaguely aware of voices talking somewhere nearby, but they were too loud or too wrong for her to make out anything coherent. Was that elvish? She tried to hold onto the words, but the world was already going black again…
When Sahlin awoke for the second time, the pain was duller and the world felt softer. She was able to open her eyes and keep them open and, slowly, the room around her came into focus. At first, she could just barely make out its colors and shapes: a pale wall here, a bright chair there. Above her, the ceiling was a swirl of translucent blues and whites. She knew that couldn't be right. Her thoughts ached. Everything ached. All around her, the room was a blur. Shadows and flashes of color ran together like paint made with too much water.
"Dirthara-man na tel'shiral Elgar'Inan, din'rivas."
The words tore through her like an arrow through the skull and for a moment, Sahlin thought the world would go black again. But this time, the colors and shadows remained, lingering just within her vision.
Another voice was speaking, this one softer and more bearable than the first. "Dar atisha, ma'len," it said.
Sahlin struggled to make out the words, but they were too quick and the accent too foreign. It sounded like some form of elvish. But the few words she did understand refused to make sense; it was as if someone had flipped open the Keeper's dictionary and selected words at random to shove together. Her head throbbed. The two women—she was fairly certain both voices belonged to women—continued their exchange in their all-wrong elvish, but Sahlin could already feel the edges of her vision beginning to cloud again.
"The Great Hall…" she stuttered, trying to hold onto what shred of consciousness she had left. It was such a vague memory, but she was sure it was somehow important. Skyhold, the Inquisition, Alexius. Her eyes widened as the memories returned. "The explosion!" she gasped. There had been an explosion at Skyhold, she was sure of it now.
"Da'asha dirth shemlen?" It was the first woman again, the one with the loud, piercing voice.
Sahlin squinted in the direction of the shadow she thought belonged to the speaker. It was little more than a dark wisp of black, but Sahlin thought if she could make out any details, the woman would be glaring at her. None of it made any sense.
"Dirth shem-len?" the dark wisp spoke slower this time, annunciating each word. The pronunciations still grated against her ears and the words didn't seem to fit together properly, but Sahlin finally thought she understood the question.
"Yes," she whispered—it hurt less if she whispered, "yes, I am. I'm speaking shem." Speaking shem, it sounded absurd; she spoke Common, like everyone else at Skyhold. Her heart missed a beat. This wasn't Skyhold. The realization fell on her like a weight of bricks. This wasn't Skyhold. But then where was she? Tevinter? That would explain the strange accents. This wasn't Skyhold.
Across the room, the shadow-figures had all started talking at once, the two women and a man now as well. She thought the new voice sounded vaguely familiar, but it was impossible to tell with the accent and the speed at which they spoke. Sahlin strained her ears, listening. It wasn't Tevene. She was sure of it. Whatever they were speaking it was some broken, mottled form of elvish. That calmed her somewhat, but it still didn't explain where she was.
"Where did you get this amulet?" It was the man who spoke, this time in Common. More importantly, she knew that voice.
Sahlin strained to find its source, to make out anything more than foggy shadows. How did she know that voice? It was a distant memory, a melody lingering just beyond her reach. The shadow that belonged to him was moving closer, until it stood almost directly in front of her. She could just barely make out the dark grey of his robes, lined with silver embroidery. Beyond his robes the other two shadows were coming into focus as well: one was still little more than a black wisp, the other a slightly more corporeal blue figure.
"Do you understand me?" the grey robes shifted as the man in front of her bent down, bringing his face nearer to hers. His appearance sharped enough for her to make out long, red-brown hair and a pale, angular face. Sahlin strained to make out more details, but there was another flash of grey as his hand moved, drawing her attention with it. "Where did you get this?"
She squinted at the object, but it was oscillating back and forth in his grasp, a black and yellow blur that could have been anything. She gave up on the object and turned her attention back to the man holding it. She knew him somehow, she was certain. If she could just make out—
"Look at it, da'len," he said. And the memory fell into place.
"Solas." Sahlin barely breathed the word, but she knew it was true. The voice was his, it had to be. The accent was different, harder somewhow, and he spoke more quickly than usual, but there was no mistaking it now. The man crouched in front of her was Solas.
"A pride demon?" he remarked. But Sahlin was no longer listening. She could feel the tears burning against her cheeks and relief swelling in her chest. She was still in Skyhold. The injury to her head must have been severe, but if Solas was with her, it would only be a matter of time before he and the Inquisition healers managed to repair her injuries and return her to new.
Sahlin closed her eyes, certain it would be safe enough to sleep, if only for a little while longer…
"A demon gave this to you?" Solas demanded, so loudly it threatened to split her head in two.
A demon? What was he talking about? Sahlin forced herself to open her eyes once more. Solas's blurred face still lingered just in front of hers, shrouded in a reddish brown. Was that hair? It was getting harder to think, but Solas was speaking again, his voice higher now, more urgent.
"How were you able to enter the Fade?" His tone set her nerves on edge. If Solas refused to let her rest, then something must have gone terribly wrong.
Sahlin swallowed a deep breath and braced herself. She needed to sit up, to clear her head. Solas was still crouched in front of her, and she moved to brace herself against him. She lifted a hand to his shoulder and used her other hand to hold onto his arm, hauling herself up.
"Solas, stop," she panted, blinking back the searing pain that tore through her skull. "You're not making any sense. What demon?" If she thought the black wisp was loud, her own voice was almost deafening as it ricocheted between her ears. "Where's Cassandra?"
Solas's arm tensed beneath her fingers, and Sahlin raised her gaze to his. She could just barely make out his eyes. They were the same, intense grey-blue she remembered, but the similarities stopped there. There was nothing of Solas in that look; the eyes that met hers were hard and threatening, dangerous. Sahlin froze.
"You go too far, slave," Solas whispered.
Without warning, Solas grabbed hold of the hand she had rested on his arm and wrenched it back. The corners of her vision darkened in pain and Sahlin hoped she was fighting against him. Somewhere, far away, she felt like she was, like she was kicking and screaming for him to let her go. But the world was going black again and she could feel herself falling, falling…
TRANSLATIONS
Dirthara-man na tel'shiral Elgar'Inan, din'rivas: May that teach you not to venture into the Spirit World, slave.
Dar atisha, ma'len: Be easy, my child
Da'asha dirth shemlen?: The girl speaks the language of the humans?