Lyrium, it has long been said, has its own song. Humming, twining, pushing itself into the crevices of the mind until it became a part of thought itself. Solas, now a veritable expert in the physical properties of the red variety, decided this lyrium held more of a thrum. An insistent, aching beat that you felt in your teeth, under your fingernails, digging deep into your spine. The shard placed in his cell had begun to increase the speed of its thrum in the past weeks, as if it were building to something. Judging from the way his mind now wandered, Solas suspected he knew what that something was.
Infection is almost awe-inspiring, can one look at it clinically. The way it started with an itch at the back of his neck, a feeling that something had changed, deep within. So gradual yet persistent. When his fingers began to crackle with red-tinged energy, he was both devastated and unsurprised. Now his vision was red-rimmed, glowing bright when he closed his eyes. Even his dreams had begun to carry the hue.
For a long while, he had kept track of the days, marking them on his wall one by one with the arrival of the morning guard. This practice grew sloppy following their attempts to extract information from him, his perception of when one day ended and the other began becoming fundamentally flawed. Then the guards dwindled in numbers. Some days only one scraped his way down to the dungeons, looking gaunt and haunted. Some days no one came at all. Solas did not know how many days had passed since they last thought to feed him. There was something in the way the last guard had looked at him, that knowing pitiful frown and thick swallow as he tossed extra bread through the bars.
It wouldn't be long now.
His legs tucked beneath him, Solas sat with his head resting against the stone wall. There had been some commotion in the floors above, shouts and scraping boots on the steps. His enthusiasm for goings-on within the castle walls had waned considerably as of late. It simply took too much energy to be interested. So much easier to just sleep. Sleep and try not to dream.
There was an agonizing creak, rusted tumblers turning before the door could be forced open. Evelyn Trevelyan, followed by the fancy mage they'd met in the village. She looked exactly as she had the last moment he remembered seeing her, the real her, down to the moon-shaped scuff on the toe of her boot. She whispered his name, dropping to her knees and fumbling at her belt. Either their conjuring had finally managed a true likeness or….
His eyes widened as her head inclined, the dank musty cell now laced with the faintest memory of wildflowers and sunlight. Solas pushed himself forward to look into her face.
"It's… you," he said breathlessly. "Really you. You're alive." He frowned then, shaking his head as if to clear away cobwebs. "But it isn't possible. I saw you die, Inquisitor. We all did. And when they sent that other, I thought that was a reason to hope, to dream." Again, his head shook and he faltered, leaning heavily against the wall.
"Other?" she responded faintly, frowning in confusion. "What other?
His mouth hung open for a moment, then he snapped it back closed. She persisted, "Were there others of the Inquisition here? Do they still live?"
Dorian's looked uneasily from Solas to the Herald. "There are many rooms," the Tevinter man suggested, motioning for the stairway. "If they're here, they'll likely be in this wing."
The trio came upon the Lady Seeker first, Cassandra looking aghast at finding Evelyn alive. "So, tell me about this Other," Dorian murmured, focusing a white crackle of energy toward the lock.
Solas watched passively as Dorian positively exploded The Seeker free. He blinked slowly, lazily, the effort of keeping his eyes open at times too much to bear. "I... they sent a," vision of her, skin bare and smooth in the firelight, fingers insistent at the hem of his shirt, her mouth on his and everything so very warm. "It doesn't matter. It wasn't real." Just a memory. A memory to take down into the cold and the dark.
Cassandra smiled sadly at them. "All this time," she said faintly. Solas knew how she felt. The days, the long nights, the hard ground and constant painful thrum of the lyrium nearby. It had been unendurable. Yet, here they were, enduring despite the hours of solitude punctuated only by brief flashes of pain. His thoughts thrummed in time with the shard in the open area of this prison, throbbing red and electric hot, filling his ribcage with ruby-tinged sickness. Hard to think with all the noise, the intrusion of sharp cutting into his lungs, pushing his heart to an uncomfortable compression. Ah, yes. It was within him. He had seen it before, and often wondered how long until he succumbed to a similar fate. Rocky red hollowing out his limbs like hot coals, eating away at his body while his mind still burned. He shook his head, noticing the concerned way she was staring. "We should move on. There may be others who yet live."
The floor above yielded only Alexius' guards, men who were possessed of both the strength and madness only the constant exposure to red lyrium could produce. Evelyn moved with the familiar grace that caused a lump to form in his throat, watching the way she danced across the floor, feet sure of their landings. His own fight felt heavy, clumsy, as if he were wrapped in a warm wet sheet he could not struggle hard enough to get out from under. The urge to lie on the metal grated floor and allow himself to drift was nearly overwhelming. Again, he caught her gaze upon his face, the memory of her hand on his cheek just moments ago. Such sadness, to know this now, at the end.
His mind was frequently overtaken by sweeping thoughts, memories of life before, regret over what might have been. With the battle raging around him, he would be momentarily lost in reverie, snapping back only when her voice called out, his movements to spellcast being performed automatically in response. Despite the growth crowding out his organs, he felt empty within.
This feeling of gnawing nothingness did not improve when they found Leliana. She was a specter of her former self, sunken eyes in a face scarred by pain and torments he could only imagine. Despite her condition, she seemed all-too capable of leading the charge, driven by some unknown force toward a certain vengeance. Solas slumped into formation behind her, only half-listening to directives as she conversed with their Inquisitor. In his mind, great green fields stretched as far as he could see below a crystal-blue sky that tugged at his heart. It was a shade that he found great comfort in, one that covered him during the moments he no longer wished to remember. The same shade regarded him now, Evelyn again staring at him as if she could see his thoughts. Solas squared his shoulders, hoping it helped him affect an air of confidence. She had to be steadfast in her mission, this was not the time to worry about what ate away at him from the inside out.
Their party lingered in the barracks, regathering their strength before pushing ahead. Leliana and Evelyn sat apart from the others, heads bent low as the Spymaster recounted everything she knew of the hallways beyond. Dorian was engrossed in a guard's journal. Solas found his breath hard to catch, each inhalation scraping his airways. The way Cassandra's breaths came in staccato bursts betrayed her own struggle with the cancerous rock. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she settled, her rid-rimmed eyes meeting his with a mix of sorrow and understanding. "It will end soon," he whispered before withdrawing his touch.
How they survived remained a miracle, in his eyes. After the worst of Alexius' dark magicks had finally faded away, the small group stood in a loose gathering in the center of the room. Outside, the consistent pounding of the doors at the far end of the great hall echoed through the chamber. 'They will be through soon," Leliana said quietly. Solas nodded.
Dorian continued to work with the amulet, attempting to unlock the abilities hidden away. His brow creased with frustration, mirrored in Evelyn's face as she watched his ministrations. She glanced at Solas then, the sad smile attempting to be hopeful.
"Do not fear for me, Herald," Solas said, wincing with the effort of speech. His body had been substantially battered in the fight, the gravelly pain inside his chest now matching the abrasions on his skin. "If you succeed, there will be nothing here to fear."
"And if we don't?" Dorian called back, a thin layer of perspiration visible on his face.
"It will not matter anyway," Leliana said grimly. "We are already dead." Solas found himself unable to look at Evelyn.
Splintering from beyond, the faint roar of demonic voice. They were nearly through the door. He gave Cassandra a sideways glance, who inclined her head in agreement, tears forming at the corner of her eyes. "We are ready," he said to Leliana, fingers gripping at his staff.
The two women turned to the door, Solas feeling the tearing pull of duty and desire. "Open it for nothing," he said to Leliana before he and Cassandra disappeared and the spymaster sealed the entrance behind them.
The hall was dim, smell of sulfur and decaying flesh wafting from the south. The remaining forces of darkness were shoving away the fortifications as if they weighed nothing, although it had taken nearly all his energy to assist with their placement less than an hour earlier. Cassandra took in a shaky breath. "Solas?"
"Yes, Seeker?"
"It has been a pleasure to serve by your side, all the way until the end."
He smiled slightly, "And mine as well, although such a bitter end I never imagined."
They were no match for the horde they faced, Cassandra felled first by a large guard wielding a spiked maul, caving in the chest of her armor with a sickening crunch that made his stomach turn. He found himself grasped in the elongated claw of a terror demon, his own strength failing him as he was lifted. His last thought was of wildflowers and sunlight, the scent of her hair.
