"[Dreamers] could kill their enemies as they slept!"—Felassan (Dragon Age The Masked Empire)


Nine

Rosa Faces Her Fear


"So, Chuckles," a now-familiar gravelly voice called from the table as Solas walked at his slow, pained pace to take his seat beside Tal. "Did you get a chance to read any of my books yet?" Varric held a leg of chicken in one meaty fist as he flashed a lopsided smile in Solas' direction.

"I'm afraid not, Master Tethras," Solas admitted, sighing and sagging into his chair as he sat.

Rosa, sitting beside the dwarf, stared down at her plate, engrossed in stabbing at the medley of vegetables there with a fork. Her gaze flicked once to him and her lip twitched upward in a small smile, but otherwise she seemed absorbed with eating. Tal, meanwhile, was content to use his fingers, tearing strips of meat from his own chicken breast with the fervor of a starving man. Noticing Solas, Tal wiped at his mouth and smiled in greeting as he rushed to swallow his mouthful. "Revas! Great to see you."

Solas nodded to the younger man, returning his smile. "How are you, da'len?" he asked.

Tal grinned. "I'm having more fun than the Dread Wolf did when he tricked the Creators."

Solas winced at the description. Tricking the Evanuris had been decidedly not fun. More like nerve-wracking, terrifying, and devastating as it'd very nearly killed him and had killed countless others. Forcing himself to stifle his initial reaction, Solas asked, "And what is so amusing you?"

"I am, of course," Varric put in, smirking as he took a big bite of his chicken leg.

Tal laughed at him. "Oh, you're definitely part of it, Varric," the younger elf said with a nod of appreciation. "But more so, it's just our classes." He sobered abruptly, looking between Solas and Rosa. "My clan never valued me because my Keeper never liked me. He told me he would never name me his apprentice, even if he had no other choice."

Rosa snorted, scowling with distaste. "He was an ass, Tal. Better not to dwell on it, or anything from the past."

"I know, I know," he replied in a tone that suggested he and Rosa had discussed this topic countless times previously with Tal's sister reassuring him the fault hadn't been his. Focusing more on Solas now, Tal added, "But, point is, I never learned anything from him. It was Father first and then Ghilath's First who took pity on me and taught me the basics. Enough that I didn't shoot sparks out when I sneezed."

Varric laughed. "You shot sparks out when you sneezed, kid?"

"Only once," Tal admitted with a sheepish look.

Varric laughed harder now, slapping the table with one meaty hand. "Wow, I need to write that one down." Apparently meaning to make good on the idea, he began fishing inside his coat, producing a leather-bound journal and then a small self-contained inkwell and a quill feather.

Solas arched an eyebrow but remained silent at this exchange. It seemed that, despite not being a Dreamer like Rosa, Tal was still remarkably powerful. Long before he'd become the Dread Wolf, Solas had volunteered as a teacher at various remote villages similar to his own whenever he tired of wandering alone in the wilds. In his experience it was only the most powerful children who had such notable accidents. In the middle class villages Solas had seen relatively few of that caliber, but later, when he served Mythal and tutored some of her descendants, adopted children, and the nobility's heirs, he'd seen far more such incidences. How common was it with the Veil in place?

Glancing briefly across the table at Rosa, he wondered again how they had come to be related. Unfortunately neither brother nor sister had made much mention of their parents. Were they full siblings? Half? Surely not adopted? If Tal shared the Naseral clan's Elvhen Dreamer blood it'd go a long way in explaining the youth's magical strength and his surprisingly Elvhen features.

Clearing his throat as he gave in to his curiosity, Solas asked, "You said your father was the first to teach you magic? Your father was a mage then?"

Tal opened his mouth to reply and then snapped it shut again, frowning. His lips pinched in a thin line before he said, "Yes. Didn't know him very well though." He swallowed and began picking at his chicken, pulling off another strip. "He's dead."

"Ir abelas," Solas told him. "For your loss, da'len." He knew what it felt like to lose his father. And his mother. The old pain still tightened his chest at the memory. After his parents had been slaughtered in the slave uprising within Elgar'nan's lands, Solas had had to proclaim the rebellion a triumphant success to further his cause as the Dread Wolf. Fen'Harel had no parents, no family, no birthplace—but Solas did. Fen'Harel could shed no tears for the innocents killed foolishly in his name—but Solas did, in private.

Facing his own tray of food, Solas almost missed the hard stare Rosa was giving Tal across the table. When his gaze fell on her the Dalish woman seemed to deflate, dropping her eyes back to her plate and stabbing another carrot. With a sidelong look at Tal, Solas saw the youth had tensed, withdrawing into himself, seemingly with grief at the reminder of his deceased father—but somehow Solas didn't quite believe it. What am I missing?

Then Varric broke in with a sigh. "Sorry to hear about your dad, Stoic. Unfortunately we all have to face it sooner or later. I lost a brother, too, actually. Granted he was an insufferable ass who tried to kill me, but that didn't make it any easier." He hung his head, screwing up his face as he began digging inside his coat, looking for something else.

"Sorry to hear that, Varric," Tal commiserated, smiling sympathetically. "I'm lucky. I still have my—"

Rosa cut him off. "Tal," she scolded in reprimand, violet eyes narrowed. "We don't discuss the past."

"See, there's that story I got wind of at lunch," Varric said, brightening now as he produced the same silver flask from earlier in the day. He drank noisily from it, exhaling with satisfaction afterward. Extending it to Tal, he said, "Here you go. Drink's on me."

"There's wine now," Rosa pointed out as she frowned with disapproval. "That's enough alcohol for one evening, Tal."

"I'm sorry," Tal snapped, glaring at her. "I missed the part where you're my Keeper now." He reached for the flask, smiling politely to Varric as he took it.

"I am your elder," Rosa grumbled, her voice dropping into a deeper tone of warning. "Praise Mythal for that. Because if our positions were reversed you would…" She stopped, huffing and piercing more vegetables with greater force than was necessary, apparently taking out pent up frustration.

"Fenedhis lasa," Tal growled, tossing back the flask, taking a big gulp of it without letting the metal spout touch his mouth. As he passed it back to Varric, he said to Rosa, "Void take your paranoia, asamalin."

"Whoa," Varric said, head swiveling back and forth between the siblings. "Unresolved issues much? Look, Violet, if me sitting with you three makes you uncomfortable all you need to do is ask me to leave."

"No," Rosa said to the dwarf around her mouthful of vegetables. "Never mind. That wasn't about you."

"Whatever you say, Violet," Varric said with a shrug as he replaced the flask into his inner coat pocket. Picking up his chicken again, he bit into it with gusto.

Eager to change the subject, Solas spoke up, "I had hoped to read your account of the events in Kirkwall, Master Tethras, but sadly I saw no sign of it in the library."

Varric gave a grunting, rough laugh. "Can't say I'm surprised. You do know you're in a Circle tower, right?"

"Indeed," Solas said with a nod and a tight smile. "But it occurred to me it may be tucked away in one of the other mages' rooms. I had hoped you would know if it has been banned from the Circles in general or if I should investigate further with the assumption it is here but simply missing."

"If it has been banned by anyone, my publisher hasn't told me about it," Varric said with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "But you know, it could be in one of the Templars' rooms too, Chuckles."

Solas raised an eyebrow. "I imagine the events you recorded in Kirkwall would hold less interest within their order. The Champion supported the mage rebellion, did he not? I doubt many of the Templars consider such a tale worthy of their time."

Varric chuckled as he shook his head. "You'd be surprised. Seeker Pentaghast has read it, and not just so she could grill me about it. Sometimes when she questions me…" He smirked. "I get the feeling she's got some kind of crush on him."

"The Seeker?" Solas asked, unable to hide his mixture of amusement and surprise. Having met the woman personally, Solas found it difficult to picture her doing anything that'd tip Varric off to some underlying emotion other than duty. And yet…he'd also briefly caught a glimpse of something else beneath her demeanor—admiration for him when he volunteered to place himself in supposed danger to protect others.

Tal chimed in too: "Truly?"

"Yeah," Varric said, his brown eyes laughing at their reactions. "You can't make this shit up. That's how you know it's true."

"You said the Seeker came here on the Divine's orders?" Rosa asked Varric.

He nodded. "Sure did." Grunting, he leaned back in his chair, the half-eaten chicken leg gripped in one hand. "Why do you ask?"

Rosa's gaze slid to Solas' and stayed there for a second, reading him as he did the same to her. The gossip they'd overheard in the library from the senior enchanters had suggested the Divine could be so determined to quash the rebellion that she'd even stage an assassination attempt on herself with the Templars' aid. Rosa's lips parted to answer Varric and then she frowned, shaking her head. "Just curious," she answered cagily. "I wondered where the shemlen's precious Divine stands in all this mess."

"Eh," Varric said with a shrug. "The impression I get is that Divine Justinia is just trying to strike a balance and keep the peace. But she's…" He frowned, likely struggling to find the correct terminology. "…more proactive than the previous Divine."

"Do you believe that is better for mages and the Circles?" Solas asked, smiling politely. "Or do you believe it will be worse?"

"Honestly?" Varric said, both brows lifting into his forehead. "I haven't a clue." He brushed his free hand, the one not holding the chicken leg, over his bristly jaw, coated as it was in stubble.

Unable to help himself, Solas shot Rosa a searching look and found her staring back at him, her lips pinched in a tight line. She believes the Divine was involved in her own assassination attempt. The thought made Solas' stomach clench, tight with nervous tension and something akin to excitement. Regardless of the Divine's stance on the burgeoning mage-Templar conflict, the attempt at assassination was yet another escalation. Solas and the Dalish siblings needed that…

But if the Divine proved to be solidly against the mages in perfect agreement with the Templars, then the mages might be too cowed with fear to revolt. Particularly in towers like this one, which seemed to be fairly lackadaisical in its restrictions and seemed to have a Knight-Commander capable of seeing reason.

They continued their meal with Tal and Varric doing most of the talking while Rosa and Solas stayed focused on finishing their food. It wasn't long before a mage appeared in the entryway of the dining hall to usher all of the apprentices back to the barracks for the evening. The usual squabbling over the water closet came and went as the apprentices went through their bathing rotations.

Solas' bathing day was set to be tomorrow evening and he watched the proceedings around the baths with interest, feeling his own skin prickle with accumulated sweat and grime. Tranquil hauled in much of the water in wooden buckets and then allowed the runes along the side of the tub to warm it. Apprentices shared the tub typically, two to four of them at a time segregated by sex, though the older apprentices, post-puberty, were afforded private baths. The rest of the apprentices passed the time before lights out and sleep by studying, reading, or conversing quietly.

Solas spent his time perusing his way through a copy of Varric's Hard In Hightown while covertly observing the bunks Rosa and Tal shared. The Dalish siblings showed little interest in the prospect of a bath from what he could see. Instead it seemed they were quietly talking in elven. They were too distant—and the barracks around him too loud and chaotic—for him to overhear anything that was said. Whatever they discussed, it seemed by Tal's frequent frowning and unhappy looks toward his sister that their earlier bickering had not yet ceased. Curiosity stirred inside him, wondering at what had created such a wedge between the siblings.

At lights out, Solas tucked his copy of Hard In Hightown beneath his pillow and quickly slipped into sleep. When he opened his eyes in the Fade, he found himself standing on a pale stone floor in a brightly lit space with bookshelves lining either wall and extending as far as the eye could see. His heart sank and his chest tightened with old grief and loss as he recognized the Elvhen library. Orange-red spirits hovered in the distance, moving over the rows of titles. The memory of magic tingled over his skin, its song caressing his ears.

Turning gradually in a circle, Solas saw he stood on an island floating in the void, the diffuse golden light permeating everywhere around him from runes and wisps along the floors and ceilings. A bridge of pink and green stretched to the next nearest island, shimmering. Solas knew that, had this been real and not a Fade-constructed memory, if he walked over to it he could alter the bridge's appearance to suit his whim with but a thought.

It was a beautiful dream, one he'd happily linger in despite the pain of ancient grief. Yet to someone like Rosa, it would appear truly bizarre and she'd know that with as weak as he'd been he hadn't fancifully imagined this dream into being. He couldn't let her see it…if he could change it, anyway.

Closing his eyes, Solas reached outward with his senses, ignoring the ache that started up from his vacant mana core, and willed this dream away. The Fade had been sluggish with him since coming to the tower, failing to react to him at all for the first week or so. Now, however, he felt the caress of magic diminish as the dream changed and shuddered with loss even as his heart surged with triumph. He envisioned the forest that he'd explored around his village's land instead, but imagined it without the telltale presence of the Fade—no green ether, no wisps playing in the canopy, and no sign of the brilliant colors that'd typically be in the sky.

Opening his eyes after a time, Solas saw he'd been successful, but he swayed as pain streaked through his temples. Hissing through his clenched teeth, Solas stumbled down to his knees in the loamy earth. Breathing raggedly, he blinked away the moisture in his eyes and clutched at the thick moss beneath his hands as he waited for the agony to pass. It was similar to pain brought on from drinking or eating something cold too fast, but this was a new, unfamiliar ailment that'd only begun plaguing him in the last week since he attempted to reshape the Fade in larger increments. This was his biggest effort yet and, as such, it hurt the most.

Yet, when he could breathe and focus again as the pain receded, Solas found himself staring at the verdant forest. Golden sunlight filtered through the canopy and birds sang from the trees. Toadstools were scattered over the forest floor, sprouting from thick leaf litter, and brown half-circle mushrooms protruded from the tree trunk he'd collapsed beside. Ants scurried around his fingers and one had crawled up his arm under the sleeve. Rolling it up, Solas flicked the little insect away as he got to his feet.

It was only a few minutes later that he sensed the presence of another Dreamer, like eyes on him from behind. Whipping around, Solas saw Rosa leaning against the mossy tree covered in mushrooms. She wore her Dalish Keeper armor and had her arms crossed over her chest, a tight smile on her lips as she regarded him.

"Andaran atish'an, flat-ear," she said with a dip of her chin. "A lovely forest you've dreamt up for us."

"Lethallan," Solas replied, also giving her a nod. He tucked his hands behind his back. "I assume Rogathe has not slipped away from you over the course of the day?"

"Nope," she agreed, her eyes dropping to the leaf litter. "But I've had some time to think about what went wrong. You said Rogathe was ready to leave me. It could let go and return to the Fade, but it didn't. That means I kept it here." She tapped her breastbone with a sigh.

Solas chewed the inside of his cheek as he nodded. "Yes." He refused to reveal how much it impressed him that she'd managed to deduce this for herself. "I suspect it is unintentional. Rationally, you understand that Rogathe places you in greater danger than you would be in without the spirit's presence. Yet, unconsciously, you cling to Rogathe, craving its power."

"No," she growled, pushing off the tree. Her hands fell to her sides, fisting. "It's not that. It can't be or else I would have tainted Rogathe, wouldn't I?"

Solas watched her, breathing slow and deep as he contemplated his next words. The air in the woods smelled musty and moist, ripe with life. It reminded him of his much younger self, relatively free and careless save for the need to hide the true strength of his innate powers. As gently as he could, Solas said, "I did not mean to suggest you desired Rogathe's strength out of selfishness or with a mind tainted with carnage."

Her brow knit, eyes narrowing with confusion rather than hostility. "Then…" She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat as her features warped. "Ah. I see." Staring down at her hands, which had begun fidgeting in front of her, Rosa said, "You're saying I'm afraid. Of the Templars. Of being trapped in the tower forever. Of losing Tal…" At the mention of her brother, Rosa cut herself off. Her mouth twisted and she let out a quavering breath.

"Precisely," Solas said. "You cling to Rogathe the way you would a good staff, or a blade hidden up your sleeve. It is senseless to disarm oneself of an invisible weapon when surrounded by hostility." He nodded, keeping his voice even and calm to ensure she knew he intended no mockery and that her situation was nothing to be ashamed of.

"I didn't think I was clinging to it," Rosa murmured and her mouth twisted with frustration. Groaning, she rubbed at her face. "How do I let go, Revas?"

Solas smiled at her, warm but closed-lipped. "I'm afraid I cannot help you with that, lethallan." Shifting on his feet, he took a slow step closer to her, his hands tucked behind his back like a lecturer. "I suppose if you were not a Dreamer I could have entered your dreams and manipulated them to influence your subconscious. But, as you are decidedly not a mindless, idle sleeper I am unfortunately unable to render any assistance."

She shot him a questioning look. "Are you saying you can shape the Fade again? Are your powers returning?"

"Somewhat," he hedged, moving around the opposite side of the tree from her and flicking casually at the mushrooms growing there. "But not enough to be reliable, unfortunately."

"So," Rosa said, smirking. "It'll still be on me to safeguard your orb."

Solas' fingers grazing the slick, slightly slimy surface of the mushroom stilled as he processed her terminology. Your orb…

"It is not mine, Rosa," he said firmly. He could just see her watching him around the girth of the mossy tree trunk. "No more than the Fade is mine."

She snorted and made a sweeping gesture to encompass the Fade. "We're Dreamers, Revas. We might as well own the Fade. Bad example."

"We do not own it," Solas retorted testily, glaring. "As for the artifact, I found it, presumably, within the ruins. If they were some type of uthenera tomb as you suggested, then perhaps the sleeper perished in earlier raids and left this foci unguarded as a result. These relics may have been given to all ancients who entered uthenera."

Her features eased into an expression of contemplation. After a moment, she shrugged. "Could be. I can't say one way or another. Either way, I take it I'm still in charge of scrambling people's dreams to ensure the foci remains safe?"

Clenching his jaw, Solas nodded. "There is no need, however, to scramble anything unless they decide to study the orb." Pausing a moment, Solas circled back around the tree to be closer to Rosa, watching her expression for hints as he asked, "Have you ever influenced another through dreams before, lethallan?"

She arched a lone brow at him; her lips curling in that coy smile he'd grown to both hate and love. "Have you?"

More times than I could count, Solas thought. Of course, in Elvhenan other Dreamers girded their dreams to ward off such attacks. Lesser Dreamers and their servants or allies lacking the full gift had to use herbs to keep themselves from the Fade or risk falling prey to those more powerful or cruel. While in service to Mythal Solas had killed more than a few in their sleep, or driven some insane after only a night or a nap. But to reach such capability Solas had had to train alongside Mythal, observe her methods to perfect his own. How had Rosa managed such a thing?

She must have known another Dreamer.

"I have not," Solas lied. "But I know from Tevinter tales such things can be done. I have studied ancient texts and walked the Fade speaking with spirits to glean some measure of understanding regarding what is needed." He stared at her, trying not to frown at the coy smile she still wore. "It is a delicate task, one I am uncertain you are…suited for."

She cocked her head, smirking at him. "Well, then I suppose you'd best do it yourself, flat-ear. If you can't trust me to do your dirty work you'll just have to wait until your talent returns in the fullness of time."

Frowning with irritation, Solas huffed. "I cannot. You know this."

"Do I?" She inched closer, getting into his personal space. Solas refused to recoil or cringe backward. Even in the Fade she carried a potent scent that sent his stomach roiling and his blood flushing with heat.

Her violet eyes drilled into him with challenge. "The only thing I know is you're very much afraid of what will happen if the shemlen interact with it. So afraid, in fact, that you'd risk sending someone like me off to do it, even though it's clear you consider me some kind of blundering bull in a fine porcelain shop. Better to smash their minds than allow the foci to be studied or misused, apparently. But we've already gone over the fact you don't feel I'm qualified." She shrugged, her smile turning hard and humorless as she crossed her arms over her chest. "At this point you just have to trust me."

"This was not about whether I trust you or not," Solas snapped, glaring at her. He'd wanted to fish further information out of her, to learn how much she knew about her powers as a Dreamer—and how she'd learned it in this post-Veil world where their kind was all but extinct. He'd also wanted to ensure she could act with the precision needed to accomplish the goal and still remain safe herself. Clinging to that sentiment, he said, "I merely was concerned for…" He broke off, averting his gaze as he realized how…personal that sounded.

"For what?" Rosa asked. Her arms fell to her sides and she took a step closer to him. "For the foci?" she prompted. "For the First Enchanter? The Knight-Commander? The Seeker?" She walked around him like a circling wolf, looking for the best spot to nip at her prey.

"For you," Solas growled, still glaring as he pivoted to face her, but as their eyes locked with one another he felt his irritation drain away.

She stared at him, frozen a moment as her violet eyes skittered over his face. Solas remembered her hand on him in the library and felt his body flush with warmth, his heart skipping a beat as it picked up its pace. The daringness of her, the gleam in her gaze, reminded him powerfully of Mythal with a rush of dizziness. She was too real. The desire to reach out and touch her, squeeze her shoulder or brush his fingers on her cheek was nearly unbearable, making his hands twitch. It would be so easy to do, here in the Fade, where he was whole in body and not wracked with pain. Here in the Fade where everything was so much easier…

Then Rosa broke the moment as she scoffed, withdrawing a step and smirking at him. "Careful, flat-ear, or you could give me the wrong impression."

Solas felt his lips quirking up and then down as he struggled to maintain a pseudo-neutral expression and failed. "I know with certainty that I have already inadvertently given you many false impressions," he wisecracked, finally letting himself smirk back at her.

Rosa lifted both hands, palms out in a gesture of stop. "No, no, no, Revas," she said with a chuckle. "You're supposed to ask me what wrong impression you might give me." She winked at him. "Don't you know anything?"

Letting out a short laugh of his own, Solas shook his head. "It would appear I do not." He opened his mouth to ask that question, to play along, but snapped it shut again. He could guess where that would lead and didn't want to encourage either of them. This…flirtation could not be allowed to progress unchecked. It was too dangerous. For him, for her, and for both of them in achieving the ultimate goal of escape from the Circle.

Whipping around elegantly in a single motion, Rosa strode through the leaf litter a few steps away before turning to look at him over her shoulder. The dappled sunshine glinted from her armor and made her mischievous gaze all the brighter. "Don't you know how to play the game?"

Solas arched a brow. "I was not aware we were involved in a game." He hesitated a moment, frowning. "Unless you're referring to the Orlesian national pastime of courtly intrigue?"

This drew a scowl, complete with a wrinkled nose from Rosa. "Ugh. Not that old shemlen nonsense. We Dalish don't have time for that rubbish."

"Well," Solas said with a slight nod. "It is indeed difficult to practice courtly intrigue when one lacks a court. Or a kingdom."

"Mythal have mercy," Rosa grumbled, rolling her eyes. "You should have been named Abelas, flat-ear. You're a real killjoy sometimes." She proceeded to walk further into the woods, passing between light and shadow, her back to him.

Solas watched her go in silence, distracted by the sway of her hips until he recalled that they had not resolved the most pressing issue, other than the foci: Rogathe.

"Where are you going?" Solas called out to her.

She shouted to him over her shoulder. "I have a long night of dream stalking, Revas."

He started to jog after her, the leaves and moss crunching and rustling underfoot. When he had closed the distance enough that he could reach out and lay a hand on her shoulder—though he did no such thing—Solas said, "Please, don't go yet, lethallan. We must find a way to decouple you from Rogathe to keep you safe."

She halted mid-step but kept staring straight ahead through the tranquil, verdant forest. Her shoulders heaved once and then she flexed, stretching slightly. "I have an idea of why I've trapped Rogathe."

"What do you believe?" Solas asked.

She shot him a sidelong look, her jaw clenching. "I'm not going to tell you."

"And why is that?" Solas asked, voice sharp with annoyance.

Her shoulders rose and fell as she huffed out a sigh. "You've made it clear you don't trust me countless times, Revas, and I let you do it. Why do you refuse to allow me the same consideration?" She turned her head, narrowing her eyes at him in criticism.

Frowning, Solas started to protest, "I am simply attempting to safeguard—"

Rosa interrupted him, pivoting to clasp his bicep in her hand with a firm grip, startling him into complete silence at the surprise of her touch. "Rogathe is a spirit of bravery. It will leave when I calm my fears."

Struggling to focus beyond the warmth of her touch, radiating even through his tunic, Solas nodded. "You intend to shape the Fade to calm your fears?" he asked, guessing. She could alter her own mood or mind with the right dreams, convincing herself to let go of the spirit. It seemed a likely solution.

She tilted her head, eyes still narrowed. Her lip curled at one corner in a lopsided smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yes," she said with a half-shrug. "You think it will work?"

"I believe it could, yes. The Fade could provide a catharsis through dreams, as effective as any meditation. But should that not work, please, do not hesitate to ask for my help with this." Smiling tentatively, Solas reached for her hand on his bicep and clasped it in one of his, squeezing before deliberately retreating backward a step. "Dareth shiral, lethallan."

Her smile now was soft and genuine. "And you as well," she said before smirking as she added. "Flat-ear."


With the library dusted the previous day, the mage who assigned the apprentices chores decided to challenge Solas with a more physically taxing duty: sweeping. So it was that Solas returned to the library with instructions to sweep the upper level, classrooms, and then the first floor and stairs. He collected the wooden broom with its rough bristles and the accompanying dustpan from the alcove where he and Rosa had hidden the previous day and proceeded to the nearest classroom to do as bidden.

This early in the morning the classroom, typically used by enchanters and mages for more advanced study rather than by apprentices learning the basics of magic, was abandoned. A few wooden desks took up the middle of the room with bookshelves and workbenches along the walls. Solas walked to the small window on the far wall and stared out through the glass, which had an uneven patina of discoloration rendering it opaque. He saw green, distant and far below, warped and unclear by the glass. The day appeared to be cloudy, gloomy with the promise of rain.

Was it still summer? Or had the world transitioned to autumn while he was trapped in this tower? When he leaned to one side he thought he saw a speck of yellow coloration that could have been a tree or perhaps a stretch of dried grass or sand that'd caught the sun…?

Sighing, Solas scrubbed at his face with frustration, looking down at his apprentice's robes draped over his wizened body. As he did each morning, he also reached inward, poking at his mana core and finding it depressingly, achingly, empty. As usual.

Swallowing hard, Solas buried the press of emotion, refusing to pity himself. Clasping the broom, he set to work. The tediousness of the motion quickly made his arms throb and a few muscles in his sides, abdomen, and particularly his back burned with the use.

Halfway through the room he slumped into a desk and let his muscles relax for a time, breathing much faster than he cared to admit. Sweat gathered at his collar and ran down his back. He fantasized about the bath he was scheduled to receive tonight with a deep sigh. When he felt comfortable enough to continue, Solas set to work again.

By lunch he'd finished the upper level and was sweeping his way down the stairs when he heard authoritative footsteps stomp through the doorway behind him. Puffing, Solas turned carefully on the stair he stood on and saw Ser Bartholomew striding through the lower level, heading for the stairs. The Templar's eyes were locked on Solas, narrowed. Something in the human man's demeanor set Solas' already tired, aching muscles rigid with apprehension.

Smiling politely, Solas said, "Ser Bartholomew. What a pleasant surprise. How can I help you?"

Ser Bartholomew halted at the base of the staircase, standing at attention. "Revas," he greeted with a slight dip of his head and the barest hint of an upward tick of his lips. "I've been instructed to escort you to meet with Knight-Commander Kali."

Solas didn't bother to hide his surprise at this news. Had the Templars and the Seeker changed their minds about allowing him to study the orb? Or was this something else entirely? His chest tightened and his skin went cold with dread. He wanted to question Bartholomew but decided against it based on the Tenplar's stiff stance. This was not the time to make idle chitchat—it was a time for obedience.

"Certainly," Solas said and carried the broom and dustpan down the last few steps to the first floor where he could lean them safely against a bookshelf.

Ser Bartholomew moved in close to him as he stowed the cleaning tools, his armor clanking. "Do you require assistance in walking?"

"I can manage very well now," Solas said with a genuine smile now. Doubtless, Bartholomew needed to know about his health so he could collect on the innumerable bets he likely had going with others on the topic.

Sure enough, Bartholomew grinned. "Maker! You resilient bastard, Revas. You just won me fifty royals from three different people."

Smirking at the Templar, Solas said, "I believe you may have a bit of a gambling obsession, Ser Bartholomew."

The ginger cocked his head, still grinning as he laughed. "Care to put a wager on that?"

As Solas chuckled, Bartholomew led him out of the library. Following at the swift clip Bartholomew set made Solas sweat anew, but he pushed through the discomfort. His own exchange with the Templar ran through his mind as they walked and the more Solas contemplated it, the more he cringed at his own reaction. When had he started to find Bartholomew's betting amusing? When had he begun to see the Templar as friendly instead of a jailer? Bartholomew was the friendliest of the Templars that Solas had yet encountered, seemingly with no fear of interaction or attachment to his charges. The others all at least attempted to pretend they were aloof and stoic around their captives, but Bartholomew, while far from perfect, seemed overall to be a decent man.

And somewhere, deep inside, he had to wonder if Bartholomew's gambling addiction hadn't been what saved Solas' life. Would Ser Jeremy or that cretin Ser Curtis have remembered to feed Solas so regularly? Would either of those men have convinced the Knight-Commander to let him out of the cells? The answer was obvious and resounding: No. He would have died alone, cold, and starving in his dank cell.

So, although Bartholomew was just another Templar jailer…was there truly harm in feeling something...pleasant for him?

He isn't real, the mantra repeated in Solas' mind. None of them are real.

Except Rosa—and Tal, perhaps.

But if they are real, if their struggles and emotions and lives matter…why not Bartholomew's? The annoying voice in his mind needled him, gnawing at the subject like a wolf on a bone, seeking the last bits of marrow.

Every answer he could provide to that question rang hollow and untrue. Because Bartholomew is not elven? Because he possesses no magic? Because he is a Templar? Because he is Andrastian? Those distinctions became meaningless the moment he admitted that Rosa and Tal were real and as deserving of life as any of the Elvhen slumbering in uthenera.

Fenedhis, he cursed to himself. Stop. Thinking. Now.

His legs were shaking by the time he reached the Knight-Commander's office, still following behind Bartholomew. In the waiting area outside Solas blinked with astonishment as he saw both Rosa and Tal already seated in the wooden chairs along the stone wall. The Dalish siblings looked up at him as well. Tal appeared bewildered, eyes springing wide as he recognized Solas and then his brow furrowed as if with confusion. Rosa, meanwhile, cast only a quick glance in his direction before dropping her gaze to her lap and picking at a loose thread in the embroidery around her belt.

"Have a seat, Revas," Bartholomew told him with a grunt. "The Knight-Commander will summon you inside when she's ready."

"Of course," Solas replied with a curt nod. He walked over, shuffling with his aching thighs, and plopped down in the seat beside Tal. "Good afternoon," he greeted them both.

"Do you have any idea why we've been summoned?" Tal asked him, twisting in his chair. The young elf's brown eyes drilled into him, intense in their need for an answer. He fidgeted with his hands in his lap, glancing briefly toward his sister. Rosa, for her part, continued to ignore them both.

"I'm afraid I do not," Solas said with a tight smile. Trying to ease Tal's tension, Solas aimed for levity by quipping, "Have you been making trouble again, lethallin? Imbibing too much drink with Master Tethras, perhaps?"

Tal scoffed, then chuckled. "I wish." Then, licking his lips, Tal switched to elven, "My sister knows why we are here."

Rosa's head popped up, her eyes narrowing in silent warning aimed at her brother. "Stop that," she growled under her breath, shooting a look toward the hallway a few meters away where Bartholomew stood watch. "Speak common. Our old life is over."

Ignoring her reprimand, Tal went on, "There are secrets between you and my sister, lethallin." He leaned closer, deliberately ignoring Rosa's silent glares. "Tell me what you know."

A quick look at Rosa revealed she'd clenched her jaw and now stared into her lap, absorbed with picking at her robes again. Considering Rosa could have shared their plans with Tal via dreams, her decision not to do so seemed deliberate to Solas. He would honor it to be safe, though the mounting strain between the siblings made his palms sweat with nervousness. Did Rosa not even trust her own brother, or was she trying to protect him with ignorance? Tal seemed guileless and easygoing, traits that were admirable, but also foolhardy. Already Solas had seen Tal seemed to have trouble keeping secrets and was far quicker to trust. Yet, surely, Rosa didn't think her brother would betray them to the Templars?

Not purposefully, anyway.

Keeping his voice low, Solas said, "This is a subject you should discuss with your sister."

"Okay, enough of that jabbering," Bartholomew snapped from his position in the hall, only half-visible. Solas and Tal could see Bartholomew's shoulder, his armor shiny enough to gleam despite the relatively low light of the windowless waiting area.

"Warned you," Rosa said in a singsong voice as she snatched a loose thread from her robes, breaking it with a slick snapping noise.

The thump of armored boots came from just beyond the closed doorway of the Knight-Commander's then and a moment later the door opened with a creak of rusty hinges. Ser Jade strode out, her jaw clenched and her expression pinched. She nodded toward Bartholomew and then headed for the stairwell with a stiff set to her shoulders. Behind her, framed in the entranceway, was the thickset, armored form of Knight-Commander Kali, looking equally unhappy as she surveyed the three awaiting mages.

"You three," she ordered gruffly, motioning at them. "In here, now."

Solas waited as Rosa and Tal took the lead, knowing his pace would be slowest. He followed the siblings into the Knight-Commander's office, noting that Ser Bartholomew stepped inside after him and shut the heavy wooden door with a creaking thump. Blinking with surprise, Solas also saw that Seeker Pentaghast was seated beside the Knight-Commander's desk, her gauntleted forearm resting on the wood in what he suspected was a deceptively relaxed posture. The Seeker's brown eyes swept over all three of them, skipping over Rosa and Tal to linger on him. Solas nodded at her, smiling politely but saying nothing as the Knight-Commander stomped her away around the desk and began official introductions.

With a sweeping gesture at the Dalish siblings, Kali said, "Seeker Pentaghast, I'd like to introduce you to apprentices Rosa and Tal. I believe you've already met apprentice Revas."

The Seeker turned her attention to the Dalish elves and dipped her chin. "Greetings." Her voice was cold and hard, her eyes steely.

"Hello there," Tal answered, smiling in his usual friendly way. Authority didn't seem to phase the youth, though Rosa at his side appeared tense and suspicious.

The Seeker stared at him a moment, something like curiosity glinting in her eyes. She tapped her fingers on the wood of the Knight-Commander's desk and then turned her head to regard Kali. "Knight-Commander, I wonder if you might explain to them why they're here."

Kali scowled but nodded, looking to the three of them. Solas tried to keep his heart from pounding with dread and struggled to ignore the cold sweat collecting on his chest and back. Was his head shiny with it? Fenedhis, he thought. And forced the worry from his mind. He didn't need that kind of stress. His magic and his body had already betrayed him enough.

"We are conducting an investigation," Kali said in her deep, authoritative voice. "There was…an unusual death last night."

"A death?" Tal asked, lips parting and eyes springing open wide. "One of the mages? Or an apprentice?"

"A Templar," the Seeker said, almost barking the two words. Her eyes drilled into all three of them, scrutinizing their reactions.

Solas held his breath as realization dawned. His chest tightened and his pulse throbbed in his head. He stared at the Seeker and let his surprise show itself, though he said nothing. With an iron will, he refused to let himself glance over at Rosa.

"A Templar?" Tal parroted, gawking with disbelief as he looked between the Seeker and the Knight-Commander. "Seriously?"

"Sadly, yes," Kali replied with a grunt, her features twisting in a scowl. "I'm sure about now you three are wondering why this involves you." Leaning back in her chair slightly, her brown eyes darted to Rosa and remained there. "I called you three here because I know you lot were recently acquainted with the Templar who died: Ser Curtis Bardon."


Next Chapter:

Rosa crossed her arms over her chest and cocked one hip out. "I understand you're supposed to be a seeker of truth. I don't know what you shemlen think that means, but to me it means understanding the full context. You want to know why I'm not broken up about hearing Curtis is dead? Why I haven't said anything? It's not about the damned pendant or him being harsh as you put it."

"Then what is it about?" the Seeker asked, her lip curling slightly with exasperation.

Emboldened, Rosa went on in a fiery voice. "The truth is in everything you didn't hear about—what I'm sure no one told the Knight-Commander about either. Tell me, Seeker, did you hear about the way Curtis beat me in the cells when I was first brought in? Or about the way he groped my ass and pinched my breasts? And after talking with some of the other apprentices I know that wasn't uncommon behavior for that asshole."


A/N: Updating a bit early again, this time in celebration of the cortisone shot I got today. Unfortunately I won't know if this is the magical cure-all (all my medically educated friends and those who've had the shots before say it is) for a few weeks as the swelling will be slow to go down. Most people know if it's working because tendonitis/tendinopathy presents with pain and the shot stops it, but mine only has swelling..because I'm just weird. So now it's a waiting game...

I'm also currently writing chapter 20 well ahead of you guys, so you may see double posts if (read: when) I have cliffhanger chappies as I feel more comfortable with my lead on posting. And, I don't know if anyone's interested in beta-ing for me, but my beta is too busy to keep up with me, so I thought I'd put that out there...

And a big THANK YOU! To Sutet for their review! Yes, my medical mystery being solved is SUCH a relief! And I'm glad you enjoyed seeing the "military-grade" flirting. LOL. That will continue, I'm pleased to say. Just as an FYI for all, this is a slow-burn, but it will happen! Oh, the ups and downs that are coming! *evil laughter*

Did anyone guess what Rosa would do to "face her fear"? I hinted at it with this chapter's quote and everything! I do delight in trying to surprise everyone! Let me know if I got you! ;-)