Author's Note: I am taking a lot of liberties messing with the timelines, so bare with me. I am not completely accurate, but I will try to be as much as I can for the sake of continuity but it's not going to be all the same. I love hearing what yall have to say! It really encourages me! In honor of the ending of the series of Game of Thrones last night I knew I had to update this! Let me know what you think! I am trying to not put a codex for the elvish, but use clues from the story, but let me know if I need to. Enjoy!

Warnings: talk of death, language, OOCness, unbeta'd.

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Word Count: 7,085

"What are you doing?" Jon asks, peaking over Solas's shoulder.

"Shh..." Solas shushes before finishing his spell and waving his hand for Jon to sit in front of him. The little boy obeys, crossing his legs and looking up at the brown haired elf with large gray eyes. Solas puts his hands just above Jon's head and casts the spell. Jon gasps loudly, hands shaking with excitement, watching as sparkling lights fall from Solas's hand and around the boy before vanishing.

"What did you do?"

Solas smiles, dropping his hands onto his lap and tilts his head, looking down at the little seven-year-old. "Just a protection spell, Jon. Just in case you need it. It's a one-off, alright? So be careful."

Jon smiles back at him, reaching out to run his hands over the coarse pelt of the wolf that Solas killed in his youth. "Will you have enough magic to be able to get to me soon?"

Solas reaches up and touches his hair, not looking forward to leaving the Fade and having to deal with the gross mess he's sure he's going to be. Thankfully some of the senses outside of magic are numbed. But it won't be out there. He just hopes he's not gross when he leaves. He feels gross, but that's from an extremely long amount of time between when he last bathed and now.

"Patients, Da'len," Solas says softly. "I still need to find my way out of the Fade. I know based on what you have shown me that our homelands are not the same. I have to be careful about where I exit or I may fall into the ocean. I have to leave somewhere I know and then make my way to you. It'll take some time. First I have to exit the Fade without damaging the Veil and undoing my work."

Jon sighs, looking sad, having only half listened to the old elf. "I want you to meet my brothers and sisters."

Ah yes. Jon's brothers and sisters. Robb, Sansa, Arya, and Bran. Bran being a newborn baby that Jon wanted Solas so badly to meet. And Robb was his best friend and he "knew that Solas was going to like him too". Sansa and he got along alright, but being a little girl had little for them to talk about but little baby Arya was Jon's true joy in life. She was about a year now and he loved her so much. Solas knows the day by day life of Arya Stark thanks to a doting Jon.

A moment of silence, then, "Solas?"

"Yes?"

"Do you like the cold?"

Solas stares up at the throne again, curiously. "Not particularly, no." A pause, then he looks down at the seven-year-old, frowning. "Why?"

Jon shrugs. "Um, no reason."

Seeing as Jon's home was called Winterfell, Solas has a sneaking suspicion as to what made the boy curious enough to ask. It's true, Solas isn't overly fond of the cold, but he would deal with it if it meant that he would be able to be with Jon. There was elemental magic that Solas could use to keep him warm and he's sure that he'll be able to figure his way there. He appreciates that Jon at least thought to ask to be considerate of Solas's feelings in regards to the cold, but he probably wasn't completely forthright for fear that it would change Solas's mind about coming to meet him. Unfortunately for both of them, little can dissuade Solas once he's become set on it.

He hasn't seen Jon's parents in a while, but he does feel them sometimes. The come back to check on Jon but don't stay long enough to be spotted. They have become quite knowledgeable of the pathways within the Fade. No doubt the spirits are being courteous and careful around a powerful dragon spirit. It would be next to impossible to tell the difference between a real dragon and a human whose spirit is a dragon. If Solas hadn't used his context clues, he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference either.

But alas, despite how he may feel about the cold, he's hyped himself up to follow through with his decision. He will go to Winterfell, to Jon, as he promised. He won't get the boy too excited just yet. He's not sure how long it will take, but when he exits the Fade, he will find his way to the half dragon, half wolf boy trapped in a human form. Wherever he is in the world.

Still unable to unlock his orb, Solas managed to use his own gathered power to rip open a part of the Veil and exit through it before sealing it closed again without any demons managing to sneak their way out. Thankfully enough. He made sure to check in on his temple before he left, fueling whatever energy he felt he could spare into the curse until the next time he can come back. He left the Fade worried about his prisoners, but knew that he could sit there and fret forever, so he set to leave his favorite place in all the world. The Fade.

But it left Solas exhausted and annoyed. Such things shouldn't tire him as easily as it does. He should be stronger than that - he is stronger than that, it's just taking him longer than he would have hoped to be able to return to his former glory. He hadn't realized how dependent he had become on his orb until he no longer had access to it. The magical instrument that was the foci for his power is useless to him as it is now. Or, as he is.

He knew he had a few options with that. He could use another powerful mage and have them open his orb, although without proper preparation for it, the opening of the orb would no doubt result in a catastrophic explosion, no doubt killing the person who opened it - and anyone within the general vicinity.

Or, he could rely on his own power for now and keep building up his strength and prepare for when he is able to open the orb himself. And he's not certain he knows how long that is going to take, or if he's willing to wait that long. He hates how dependent he is on his orb, but he feels naked without it. He feels better knowing that if he needed it, he had it to help. But then again, maybe it's for the best that he wean himself off his crutch now.

Or, maybe that's even more foolish.

Regardless, one way or another, he can do nothing about it now.

After a rest that was painfully longer than he cares to admit, he set out to find civilization. He tried not to think about where he came out of the Fade, but in his heart, he knew that it was his home once upon a time. The little village that he grew up in that happenchance been in the northern part of Thedas, was not nothing. So much time has passed and the forest has taken it back so wholly that hardly even ruins remain. His village was very poor compared to the great floating cities of the Elven Empire, and was hardly able to support any sort of super structures, but even so... he can't believe that so much time has passed that almost nothing remains now. And nothing stands out to him any longer.

It's probably been so long that no one but him probably even remembers that a village once sat here. It wasn't overtly large or densely populated, but they were known for their apparel and weapons crafting. Everyone in the village knew how to do it. Another one of those things, like the Rite he took as a boy. He wasn't particularly talented in the art, but he remembers the countless hours working to perfect the weapon or piece of clothing in hopes that his master would praise him and let him out early for the day. He would use that time to sneak away and find a place to lay his head and delve deep into the Fade, his true passion.

How shaken his former master must be to know that Solas, of all of his many apprentices, is probably the only person left in the world who knew his technique. Of all of his very talented and proud students, Solas is the one who probably carries his legacy now.

His master used to forge weapons for the great Elven Pantheon. In fact, his master was the one whom helped them create their foci - helped Solas create his own. He was the foremost prestigious smith in the world. His skill was unmatched and he was said to be the missing link of the Elven Pantheon, that at one point he stood as one of the great Generals-turned-Gods but left that life long ago to live as a simple smith focusing on his true passion: creating works of art. His specialty was enchanted weaponry and magical artifacts, but he also dabbled in the needle and thread, testing his mettle against fineries.

The clothing he made was never pretty, not works of art like his weapons or his artifacts, as he simply didn't have the eye for clothing, but the enchantments were always top notch and he never spared expense on the material. It's a shame that such talent is probably gone now.

And if it isn't, Solas doesn't have time to search through the world to see if anything remains. Jon is human and no doubt bound by a human lifespan. Even before Solas threw up the Veil humans only lived a blink of an eye for an elf. Solas has probably already slept away quite a few lifetimes, he's not going to sleep away Jon's. Or waste it looking into a art he wasn't interested enough in his childhood to study it truly and wholly from the master of it now.

Solas takes a moment to look about the near nonexistent ruin of his home village, almost completely devoured by the forestry and wildlife. If he didn't know exactly where he was, no one would ever think this was an ancient Elven village. They probably wouldn't think it was anything. They would think it was nothing but just another portion of the forest.

Maybe it is, now.

This is probably the one and only ruin that Solas will never sleep in again. He may have left his village when he was young and doesn't have a lot of fond memories here, but this was where he was born, where he began. A lot of the person he is today was forged here. Through the different Rites, through the people, through the connections and through the loneliness and disconnect. This place helped build him. But it's all seen through the eyes of a naïve, idiotic little boy with a narrow view of the world and how it should be.

The only reason he left his village was because the Fade could show him nothing more than what he's already seen because his perception was so limited and sight so short that he couldn't even see the world for how horrible it was. Especially to the people who lived in it. He didn't choose the path of Fen'Harel, it chose him. When he couldn't live with it any longer, he had to accept the choice that was made for him.

"Dareth shiral," Solas whispers to the spirits of his people and others that press against the Veil, echoing the words his master said to him, being the only one to see him off from the village from his second - and last - parting, while it was still a village after helping him forge his own foci, the orb he even now has strapped to his side faithfully. He hopes that the spirits of his former village mates are able to safely travel to the side of the Old Gods. May they have found peace.

This is it, the final goodbye. He won't come back here again. The pain in his chest... it's too much. He can't be here. Not anymore. No doubt the villagers were unfortunate victims in Solas's attempt to save the slaves and them from the false Gods. No doubt their deaths are on him. He wasn't overly close to anyone here, not even really his master, but it doesn't mean they deserved to die for someone else's mistake.

The treatment of the slaves was beyond deplorable but there were no slaves in his village - at least, not while he was here. They didn't deserve to die. Solas doesn't doubt that many innocent people died because of him. And now he has to live with it.

Slowly, steadily, he makes his way through the forest, away from the barely visible ruins of his old home village. He listens to the sounds of the twigs snapping beneath his feet as sun beats down on the back of his neck and warming his long brown hair, feeling the warm earth in the soles of his feet. He stops again after a few moments, whispering a prayer for the dead, hoping it will help them a thousand times more than it could ever help him, "Falon'Din enasal enaste."

He keeps moving. No matter the pain, or the exhaustion, he keeps walking, refusing to look back at the shadow of the village that he was born in. Trying to forget the feelings it brings him, and the whispers from beyond the Veil, and memory, of laughing children, yelling adults, magic spells being cast, calls of the peddlers, chides from mothers to their young, and the stark silence the comes into focus, realizing that none it is there any longer. Just noises from his memory and from the spirits that still dwell there, beyond the Veil. They want to tell the story of this place. But Solas doesn't want to know, not about here.

The only ruin he will never sleep in again.

So he keeps walking, refusing to look back at the childhood village he left behind so long ago. He can't go back, there is nothing waiting for him there, and he can't look back, because there is nothing to look back to. He just has to keep walking, moving forward. The past doesn't need him.

The future does.

Solas learned many things in his short time back in Thedas. He learned that approximately ten thousand years has passed since the fall of the Elven Empire. He learned about the enslavement of the elves, the rise of the humans in the Tevinter Imperium, Andraste and her holy war where she freed the elves and gave them the Dales, her eventual death at the hands of betrayal, the rise of the Chantry, the Tevinter Magisters that marched into the Fade and turned the Maker's Holy City black, and the Blight. All four of them.

Ancient dragons, considered Old Gods - but not to be mistaken for the Old Elven Gods, which are even older than that - that were once worshipped by the Tevinter Imperium were being used against the world as the generals of the darkspawn armies that ravage the Deeproads - the home of the dwarfs. It was all so much to take it, especially when he realized the fate of his people - mostly wandering nomadic clans calling themselves Dalish and remembering the past entirely wrong. They say that he was the monster who tricked the Gods and destroyed the Elven Empire... which isn't exactly untrue, but he did it to save everyone. Elves and slaves alike. Er, the other races.

Not to mention that those that don't adhere to the Dalish's laws or were somehow unfortunate enough to not be born within a clan are either called 'unmarked' or 'bare-faced' and scorned for it, or the... the vasalin marks on their faces are horribly warped. They wear the vasalin marks like a symbol of pride and the prospect of it makes Solas absolutely sick to his stomach. They don't understand what those marks truly mean, what they represent. They aren't something to be happy about. They are one of the many shameful things that Solas's people did to those beneath them.

And they don't seem to understand Solas when he tried to explain it to the Keepers of the clans he came across. They scorned him, looked down at him with their smoother faces, not as sharp as his, or as the elves of his time. He realized pretty quickly that unknowingly, a lot of theses elves, so proud of their elviness like it's a badge of honor, have human mixed into them. It's not a lot and to the untrained eye, they wouldn't have realized. But in most of the elves that Solas met, had human ancestors in one compacity or another.

None of them had features as sharp as his own or those of his own time. They were softer; wider eyes, plumper cheeks, the slightest curve to their nose, even his ears were larger and pointer than any other he had come across. They can't see it in themselves because the race has been evolving together, but none of them look as Solas does. He might just be the last pure blooded elf left in the world.

His people were now living pridefully while shackling themselves to the past. They strive for those days like a lifeline. Either they are monsters who wish to enslave the world once more and bring back the brutal, dark existence of the Elven Empire, or they are naïve, not understanding the past at all. Solas isn't sure which is worse. And when he tried to help them, no one wanted to listen. They didn't want him to wipe out the way they have been living for so long. And once more the elves refused to bend to reality, fancying the make believe world they love so much.

Solas did so much to try and free all of them from the reign of powerful mages that claimed to be Gods when now, all these years later, they want to go back to that time. They don't know that it wasn't the height of the Elven power. Not really. It was the height of power for the Evanuris, but that's it. The elven people were oppressed by the overwhelming power the would-be Gods had. They all struggled to escape from that horrible way of living, and the fact that they are thirsting for its return so ignorantly burns Solas in ways he won't be able to convey. They don't understand and they won't listen when he tries to educate them.

No one likes being told they're wrong, but they have to understand. If not for themselves, then for their children. For all the generations that come after them. They should want a better life for the future, not cling to old, archaic ways that were honestly the worst living conditions for everyone, except for the Elven Gods and the Forgotten Ones. They sat atop of the world and barely spared a glance down at everyone else unless it was to cause death and destruction upon them.

And Solas couldn't even swallow the reality of alienages.

This isn't what he wanted. This isn't what he sacrificed everything for. This was supposed to be for the betterment of everyone. Everyone was being held prisoner by the Elven Gods and the Forgotten Ones and yet this is...

Not only do the Dalish refuse to hear reason and see the Elven Empire for the corrupt, boiling cesspool that it was, but they would also turn their back on their own without a second thought. They would knowing allow their own people to live in filth, prejudice, and poverty. The Dalish ignore their own and yet those in the alienage wished they could be with the clans.

And Solas is sickened.

But it is amongst the destitute and down-trodden that Solas began his network once more. Any and all that wished to be part were welcome. Remnants of his old sect of agents existed, even to this day, the teaching being passed onto apprentices or children to keep it alive even after all this time. They went about their daily lives, all the while still on the look out for his return. They were able to get back to work in creating a fully formatted and functional network.

Or, they will. Soon enough.

Solas could leave Thedas knowing that he had eyes and ears on the look out for anything that he would find interesting. When he informed his people that he was going to leave Thedas in search of Winterfell, they went searching for information while he tried to adjust to life outside the Fade once more. The level of disconnect between the conscious minds of the people and the Fade was enough to make him even sicker with anger - at both the situation and himself for being the sole cause of it. The people were walking around as if their heads were in the clouds, unable to feel the Fade with their waking mind.

And mages, the topic all by itself sends him into a blind rage, he was so upset that he dry heaved until he calmed down. He had his agents, along with searching for more information on Winterfell, to get him texts or books on the last few thousand years so that he could busy himself with learning everything that he needed to. He might not be staying in Thedas for long, but he was hoping to one day come back.

Looking back on everything now, Solas knew that not everyone would be happy with him. A lot of people were content to live in servitude to the false Gods, simply because they didn't know any different, and they wouldn't thank him for what he did, but when he heard of the slaves calling his name Fen'Harel in anger and fear, and using it like a curse, he couldn't help the repeated stabbing pain in his chest.

He did it to save his people - and the slaves, by extension - and yet he was hated for it. It's a harsh reality to simply accept, but he knew that he would have to. Swallow back the pain and pray that he was right in believing it was for the best. So far, his people have suffered worse for his actions. But the slaves have managed to find themselves, so far that is the only light he sees in this entire situation. Never mind the fact that the humans have became the oppressors. He didn't expect a perfect world, but had wished for better than this.

But he can't dwell on this.

He had to leave Tevinter and while they were the most open and forthcoming to mages, seeing as their hierarchy was made up entirely of them, they were not so kind to elves. He was not going to become a slave to those that he saved from such a fate generations in the past. He wasn't going to doom his unfortunate legacy any more than he has. And the painful irony hasn't been lost to him. Those that he saved revile him for locking away those that oppressed them in the first place.

From the ports of Tevinter he found a sailor who would take him across the sea to Essos, but was kind enough to warn him that "knife-ears aren't seen anywhere outside of Thedas anymore, so turn back while you can." Solas entertained the idea while he was in the Fade with Jon that such a possibility may be reality - of how far the Elven Empire truly fell - but it was hard to hear that the once global spanning empire had collapsed so easily without the false Gods lording over them. It's a shame. He knew the empire was corrupt and twisted, but had hoped for a better future for his people.

Solas paid the warning no mind, certain that he would be able to look after himself even without his orb fully functional. Having never been on a ship before was certainly a trip he wasn't looking forward to again. The rocking of the sea made him so sick all he could do was hold onto the railings and watch the water push past not having the energy to even move in the slightest. He managed to survive the trip only eating crumbs and drinking as much water as he could to stay hydrated. The sailors were kind enough to laugh behind his back and not to his face, and were willing to leave him be through the duration of the trek.

The hardest part of the trip from the exit to the Fade to Essos, despite all the horrible news and harsh reality, was that he was all messed up in his sleep schedule. Every time since he finally left the Fade he hasn't been able to meet up with Jon. He's not sure if that's just because Jon's power - despite the training they have been having in the Fade - is drastically unrefined and he's still unable to control it, or the time is so far apart between Winterfell and Thedas and now Essos that their sleep schedules haven't lined up again since. It was easy to meet up with Jon when he was always in the Fade.

Jon has become his only happy reason to keep pushing on now. He misses Jon and hopes the boy is doing alright.

Crossing the Summer Sea and into Essosi territory meant sailing past Old Valyria which was equal parts fascinating, terrifying, and foreboding. Old, tainted magic radiated from there. They didn't sail too close, for fear of the "stonemen" that the crew were whispering about, but they did sail close enough that across the distance, over the sea, he can see peaks of volcanos, and ash that hangs like a dark cloud over the land now. Normal human eyes wouldn't be able to see, but Solas can see the darkness radiating off of it. That place is definitely cursed.

Solas listened to the crew whisper about it, thankful to have something to focus on other than his churning stomach. They spoke of a human empire that spanned the entirety of Essos and ruled for five thousand years before they were destroyed in an event called the Doom, when the thirteen volcanos that surround their home all erupted at once and killed all on Valyria at the time, effectively crumbling their empire over night. Kind of akin to the fate of the Elven Empire.

From the Summer Sea past Old Valyria and into Slaver's Bay, Solas called it quits on the boat. He had to get onto dry, solid land if he was going to be able to make it to Jon and his home of Winterfell. Once getting to Essos, it was easy to find out information about Westeros. It was also there that Solas was assaulted with a slew of new languages that he hadn't heard before. Well, aside from one.

Two; high and low Valyria spoken by the Masters and Slaves of the aptly named Slaver's Bay respectively. He hadn't known the languages but after a few days there, he was able to start picking up bits and pieces. He wasn't going to be fluent without proper time and practice, but having an idea of what they were saying was better than walking about blind.

The last was considered the common tongue of both Westeros and Essos. A language that he only heard from one before this. Jon. Unintentionally, in their attempts to communicate with one another, Jon had taught Solas the common tongue of his land. There were some similarities between the two versions of the common tongue from Essos and Westeros, and Thedas, enough that Solas thought that the language had simply just changed in the time from when he threw up the Veil and now, and it had changed, but it was a different dialect spoken by different people.

What an unintentional perk. He'll have to thank Jon later.

Solas was quick to leave Slaver's Bay, too. He knew dangerous men and dangerous stares when he saw them, and he was exotic to them. True to their word, Solas saw no other elves in his travels. Solas was cleaned up, hair redone and presentable, but he was definitely not dressed like the people of Thedas, and definitely not the people of Essos. He could tell in the way they watched him that he stood out to them. Especially with his loose dark pants, wolf pelt, belt criss-crossed over his chest, the accessories in his hair, the small skull band on his forehead and the lower jaw of the wolf he wears as a necklace.

He definitely must be a sight for the people. The heat of Essos reminded him of home, and he didn't mind having to remove the pelt for a while and carry it. He kept stealthy through the Dothraki Sea, able to avoid the Dothraki Khalasar so long as he was careful. He was able to witness a battle between two opposing Khalazar and watch with intrigue as the reigning Khal assimilated the defeated Khal's Khalasar into his own. He left when they started their celebrations, wishing that he could stay longer to observe, but he was wasting a lot of time admiring the world around him.

He could help it, though, whenever he would sleep, he would delve back into the Fade, first he would go to the Golden City to check on his Temple, then to the Castle to look for Jon, and then he would explore the Fade in the areas in which he sleeps. New, expansive places beyond even Thedas. It was a dream come true for Solas, but he knew he couldn't dally for long and once his body was rested, he would awaken and move on despite wanting to stay and see more.

Solas became acutely aware of how the days became weeks became months until he had to wonder if years had passed. He knew the trek would be a long one, but he hadn't prepared himself for how long. By the time he had finally made it to Pentos, he found no one who would cut his journey down like he had hoped. No one would take him to the only harbor in the North of Westeros, White Harbor. After much debate on what to do, either take a ship from Pentos and go to Gulltown and travel north from there, or go up to Braavos and chance that they have ships that go to White Harbor or not, Solas decided to take the risk. He was used to Essos at this point and would like to stay for a bit longer.

At this point he wasn't sure at all how much time had passed since he first left the Fade and hoped that Jon would remember him when they saw each other again.

So he headed north to Braavos, which was an experience all on it's own, where magic was especially strong there, with their Many-Faced God. Unfortunately, Solas managed to find a sailor heading for White Harbor but they were leaving immediately so he couldn't stay and explore more, like he wished that he could. But he knew he couldn't stay, who knew how long it would be until the next sailor was heading there to trade goods? No, he had to go.

A part of him had to admit that the reason he didn't sail from Pentos was because he didn't want to sail again. He hated it just as much the second time, but this time the Braavosi men were kinder to him, offering him medicine to make him feel better and commenting on his strange appearance with joyous laughs as they were a weird people themselves. The sail from Braavos to White Harbor was so much longer than it would have been from Pentos to Gulltown and Solas regretted every moment of it, but he just kept looking forward and tried hard not to think about the rock, rock, rocking of the boat.

Solas knew the trip from Braavos to White Harbor wasn't as long as it was from the port city in Tevinter to Slaver's Bay, but his stomach couldn't tell the difference and he felt just as bad the second time. The Braavosi men got a good laugh about it, wondering if he would get sea legs soon and while Solas honestly doubted it, he thanked the men, being the first onto the docks, much to their amusement, and set about on his way.

There wasn't any snow, like he expected, but it was cold. Cold enough that he was happy to have his wolf pelt slung over his shoulders again and not have to carry it around in his arms everywhere. Solas, reluctant to break down and wear shoes, he uses magic to keep the rest of him warm. Thankfully gold is universal and Solas was able to precure a more accurate map, this time of the North and splurged on an inn for the night to get some sleep. Still no connection with Jon, but that wouldn't matter, hopefully, as he would be seeing the boy in person soon.

There is great magic in the North, which surprised Solas. It was stagnant, coarse like the hairs of his wolf pelt against his skin, but it was there. The magic hasn't been rejuvenated in Westeros in a long time, but he could feel there was powerful magic collecting up further north. He wasn't sure if it was from Winterfell or not, but it was very powerful. And ominous.

The Northmen were able to tell he didn't belong the moment he stepped off the boat. The peddlers were kind enough for the sake of business, but everyone watched him, even moreso than they did in Essos. Which coming to see now, Northerners of Westeros seem like very practical, blunt people and they can spot something out of the ordinary a mile and a half away. And when he asked for a map of the North, and admitted to the peddler selling him the map that he was going to Winterfell, the Northmen around him looking weary, eyeing him up and down more. A stranger in their midst and they don't trust him for a second.

And the looks they were giving his pelt was akin to insult.

It wasn't until he was on the road bright and early the next morning that he learned why, from a traveling merchant.

"They think you are insulting their liege lord," the merchant says as they leave, Solas having a stare down with one of the guards while doing so.

"Do they?" Solas says, finally looking down at the merchant man. "Why?"

The merchant laughs, running his hand over the crest of a deer or perhaps a stag on his person, offering Solas a black toothed smile. "You aren't from around here are you? From Essos?"

Solas shrugs, not caring to give away too much to this stranger. "Beyond Essos, actually."

The man's dark eyes widen. "Ah! Than maybe you don't know! The sigil for the Warden of the North's family is the dire wolf. Sigil for House Stark."

Honestly surprised, Solas blinks a few time, now feeling that the uneasy gaze of the people makes perfect sense now. He's surprised that Jon never said anything to him about it. A bit of warning would have been nice. He didn't mean to come here and insult people.

"I see," Solas says slowly. "I didn't know that."

The merchant laughs. "Figures." He roughly pats Solas on the back, shaking his head. "Good luck if you're heading to Winterfell."

"Why?" He asks, as if he wanted to know, but he has an aching suspicion.

The merchant throws his head back for another laugh. "That's where the Stark's live! And you got the beast of their sigil hung over your shoulders! And no doubt with the fierce loyalty of Northern men, someone has already sent a Raven to alert Lord Stark that you're coming."

Solas sighs, resigned to his fate. He wasn't going to get rid of his pelt, especially now. He would just have to apologize to the Lord Stark and be on his way to look for Jon. Solas had many things to occupy his mind, especially from the swirling energy that was growing beyond Winterfell, once it came into view, that he had a tough time just ignoring like it wasn't happening. He's not sure whether the nagging in the back of his head is because of intrigue - which is very possible - or because of something else but they arrive at Winterfell before he can come to an accurate conclusion one way or another.

And the merchant was right. Before the gates into Winterfell stood a man and a row of guards a few paces behind him. All of them seem to find him immediately in the crowd as they make their way around them, slowing a bit to watch curiously but sharp looks from the guards made it impossible for them to just sit around and gawk. Solas slows to a stop as the last of the travels slip past him, then into Winterfell. Yes, Jon should have told him about the wolves. He will have to speak to him about this next time they speak.

His staff, that he had been doubling as a walking stick, is gripped tightly in his right hand.

The man dressed in heavy pelts and blackened leather with a sword strapped to his side, studies him curiously. His face is lined with years of a hard life, but he's not all that old, especially for a human. Solas can feel the untapped magic coming from him. He's a mage, but Solas doubts he knows how to use his power, just like Jon. He's starting to see a common theme here.

Solas uses his left hand to lift the skull of his pelt off his head and drops it back behind him so they could stare face to face with one another. Solas can imagine what these people are thinking. Not only is he an elf, something none of them have probably seen before, but he's dressed like a barbarian, and he's not wearing a shirt or shoes in this cold.

"Forgive me," Solas says, walking a few paces closer to the Lord so that they may speak comfortably, stopping only when the guards tense up, reaching for their swords. The Lord holds his hand up to halt them and nods for Solas to come a few steps closer. He does and stops a few feet in front of the man. "I don't come from these lands and admittedly was ignorant to the wolf being your House's sigil, Lord Stark, until I was already here. I apologize if I offended you."

"Where did you get it?" The Lord asks, surprising Solas by how innocent the question was. There was no anger on his face, and while his expression was hard, it wasn't mean or angry.

"I have had this pelt with me since I was a boy..." Solas says slowly. "It hunted me in the forest outside my village. I killed it and to honor it, keep it with me always." He reaches up and touches the lower jaw bone hanging around his neck. The Lord of House Stark watches the movement curiously.

"My men feared that this was some sort of declaration against House Stark, you say this is not true?" The Lord asks.

Solas nods. "Yes, Lord Stark. I meant no sort of aggression toward you or your family. I am simply here to look for someone. Not to cause trouble."

The Lord lets out a little sigh. "Forgive my men, sir, for they are still weary from the Greyjoy Rebellion." At Solas's blank expression, he shakes his head, dismissively. "Never mind that. Perhaps I can assist you in finding who you are looking for."

"The time of a Lord shouldn't be wasted on something as simple as helping me find my friend," Solas says, shaking his head.

The Lord opens his mouth when a voice cuts him off.

"Solas!"

The ancient elf peaks around the Northern Lord to see Jon, now years old, maybe ten, rushing past the guards toward him, his dark eyes impossibly dark in the waning light being weighed down by heavy furs to keep his little body warm. Behind him two more boys about his age watch one, curiously, sharing looks with one another but remaining behind the safety of the guards and the walls of Winterfell.

Solas hugs the boy tight, heart filled with joy. A part of him worried deeply that he would come here to find that his little friend had grown old and died long ago. Time had no meaning to him or his people as they were immortal, so it was hard to get into the mindset of judging the days. No doubt Jon is older, a few years having passed since he left the Fade, but Jon was still a young boy.

And after years of separation, they were together again. This time in the real world.