Part Four: Marked for Death
Chapter Ten
As it happened, the better part of three days passed by quickly, Cole and Lavellan choosing to pass the time admiring the scenery and dipping their aching feet in pools of water as they came across them. Throughout their journey, they had foraged for edible plants, herbs, and berries, eating little and storing as much as they could for the times when the land wouldn't yield nearly as much in the way of vegetation.
The weather was mostly in their favour this far inland, but it was late enough in the year that the nights brought on a chill that forced them to share the single blanket each night. This didn't bother either of them, but Lavellan had found it a tad annoying that Cole would every now and again shake her from her dreams, claiming unconvincingly that he thought he had heard someone approaching, though she was too tired to call him out on it. If it wasn't Cole interrupting her sleep, it was the ache in her arm giving her too much trouble; one thing or another conspired to keep her awake, it seemed. This was disappointing not only because it left her feeling unrested, but because it made entering the Fade next to impossible, and all she wanted at the end of the day was to hunt for the wolf again.
Still they were in good spirits, their morning with the royal caravan still lingering in their minds and improving their outlook on the situation; at least they had an idea of where they were headed, now, and Fen'dor had promised Lavellan that anything of note found in the Free Marches concerning her clan would be forwarded to her in the Dales.
Night was beginning to fall over the southern Hinterlands, and the two stopped to make camp high upon a ridge overlooking the plains below that offered a spectacular view of the countryside. After halving a Dalish recipe of elfroot and vegetable soup to restore them, or as close as she could come to it given their limited stocks, Cole huddled near their small campfire for warmth, looking into the flames with an expression that hinted of thoughts running behind his childlike eyes.
Lavellan used a damp cloth to give the wooden dishes a once-over before packing them away and joined him soon thereafter, directly across from him so that she could better study his features. "Copper for your thoughts?" She asked quietly, listening to the insects hum to life around them.
"I don't have need for coin, but I'd like to talk," he replied, looking up and holding a stare that those not acquainted with him would find unsettling. She found it a comfort, actually, the presence of another being something she hadn't expected she would miss when she left Skyhold. "Is there something you had in mind?" He inquired curiously.
"I was wondering if you had anything, to be honest. You seem lost in thought, over there… What are you thinking about?"
"Oh," Cole muttered, slowly taking his large hat off and placing it next to him on the grass. Lavellan did the same with hers and ran a hand through her hair to straighten it. "I was just… thinking of Solas."
She hadn't expected that; so far, the elven apostate had gone unmentioned, they being too distracted with other things to sit down and talk about it. Lavellan shifted apprehensively and let out a slow breath, calming herself and willing the knot in her gut to loosen its cold grip.
Cole took notice of her unease straight away. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, "I'll keep it to myself. I can hear how it makes you feel…"
"No," she reassured him, "it's all right, Cole. I don't presume I was the only one that was affected by his… Well, you know… Solas was your friend, too."
"He still is," Cole furrowed his brow, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his folded arms there. "I hope he's okay, wherever he's gone."
"Me, too." Lavellan was beginning to feel heartsick again after going so long without thinking about him. "Did he say anything to you before he left? About why he had to go?"
He shook his head sadly. "He… shut me out some time ago, and I couldn't talk to him the same way. I can only guess... It's h-hard to understand the plan when one half of the room doesn't echo back."
"I don't know if he planned to go, really," she speculated softly. "I think after the orb broke, he just… had to go away, perhaps to clear his mind – like he did when the Spirit of Wisdom died."
"Wisdom was his friend, too," Cole said, shivering despite the fire before him. "He'd find Wisdom walking in the Fade and they would explore forgotten fragments together. Wisdom was the one who awoke in him the need to uncover the lost memories, to learn about life through the lives of others. That's why its death hit him so hard… He has lost more than most, but his hurt was subtler, stiller – an old song sleeping... A sadness I couldn't heal, that he wouldn't let me heal." He sighed with frustration, adding, "I wish I could have helped him."
"What would you have done…? If he'd let you, I mean."
"He still remembers better times," he answered her readily, "but they're gone now, lost to an era when everything sang the same. Regret, remorse, he forces it down, hides himself inside, locks them all away… I wanted to help him forget, but he cannot move on until the curtain is destroyed... He almost did... for you…"
Lavellan's spirit sank as she looked away from the fire, focusing on the stars hanging above them instead. "But he didn't. I was a distraction, and he left me so he could do whatever he had to, without me…"
Cole shot her a pained glance. "That's not true, Lavellan," he emphasised. "He lovesyou still, but you're more different than he ever expected you to be, and it s-surprised him. You're real, and that means everything could be real, but it can't be. To admit she changes everything might mean that everything doesn't need to change."
"I don't know what you're saying, Cole," she shivered as she met his gaze, hugging her arms protectively. "Could you be more clear?"
"I can try," he hesitated, taking a breath and letting it out slowly as he centred himself. "It's hard to explain in a way you can understand… He didn't hide because you hindered him; he was goingto let you in. It's why he spirited you away, so he could speak softly, secretly, without others overhearing. He's never told anyone before, but when the time came, his words wouldn't work… Fearful, frightened, festering… So he told you about your markings, instead. Then when you believed and accepted, his hope glimmered, glistening like a candle in a cave, believing that you could accept him, too... But no one ever has."
Frustrated tears stung at her, and she clenched her eyes shut to push them back down. "So, my vallaslinis gone because he couldn't tell me the truth."
"Yes."
"But why? Why didn't he trust me?"
"Because he's been hurt before," his words poured out, not understanding why she didn't already know this herself.
Lavellan scoffed at this suddenly, angered. "That's hardly an excuse! I shouldn't have been lumped in with people from his past. I'm not them!"
Cole looked slightly confused, then realised what she had meant by this and shook his head. "Oh. No," he breathed, "not by others. By himself. He made decisions, mistakes, errors in judgement. Cocksure and crafty, witty – yet witless. He didn't know if he could trust his own belief in you because things go wrong. What if she runs? What if she tells?He was confident before, and his decisions caused all of this."
"All of what?" She asked, her eyes wide as her stomach knotted with tension.
He looked around them briefly before shrugging and repeating, "All of this."
Lavellan didn't know whether Cole was being purposefully vague with her or if he was incapable of expressing his meaning in a way she could comprehend. "Ah," she said finally, giving up with a small sigh. "Well then, I suppose… I suppose I can accept that. Though it doesn't make me miss him any less…"
"No. It doesn't," he agreed quietly, looking down at his clasped hands before adding, "Sometimes the hurt isn't as strong if people are given a reason why things are the way they are. It's the notknowing that eats at them. Moths trapped in a wardrobe, making holes in everything they touch. It makes them unable to forget. But I-I could help you to…" his voice trailed away as he hesitated, thinking of a way to approach the subject.
Without needing to hear the rest, she shook her head forlornly. "It's fine, Cole. Don't worry yourself. You've been helpful already, and if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to hold on to the memories I have of him, good and bad… I just wish there was a way…"
"To help him," he nodded, "I want to help, too, more than anything – Maybe," he narrowed his eyes and lowered his brows in contemplation, "we could contact him…"
She was surprised to hear herself chuckle at that, and by his expression, so was he. "It's not as if he left his forwarding address, Cole," she smirked.
"I know," he replied, not catching her sarcasm. "There are ways, though. He has contacted me before."
Lavellan froze, her mind racing with questions, but she struggled against her own shock to give them voice. Cole and Solas had always had a strange connection; perhaps this is what he was referring to. Whenever the two had spoken in the past it was as though a part of the conversation was missing, but they communicated easily nevertheless, even if the others in the party were left dumbfounded and unable to make sense of it. Solas had said that it made more sense for those who had spent more time in the Fade, and it was beginning to make more sense to her, but that didn't go a long way toward understanding their odd exchanges.
She cleared her throat and mentally prepared herself. "What sort of contact?" She asked, arching a brow warily. "Has he been speaking to you in the Fade?"
"No, I don't need to sleep," he answered with the obvious. "I may rest, but it's not the same thing for spirits."
"I know that," she waved a hand. "I meant… Well, howexactly has he been contacting you?"
"I don't know," Cole sounded slightly perplexed, but answered honestly enough. "I didn't know he could, until this week… I can... reach outto Solas, in my mind. I search for him, seeking, speaking inside, and he issummoned, sometimes, but… he has to be open."
"Wait," she blinked hard, trying to calm herself, "when did you find out he could do this?"
He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, and she had to will herself to not look as critical as she felt. It didn't matter whatshe looked like, she told herself, because he could feel the truth anyway, of course. "It first happened the night before you left Skyhold."
"What did he say to you?" She straightened, anxious to hear the words.
"I know, Cole. I am sorry." His voice had taken on that subtle, quaint cadence that was unmistakable. It sent a chill through her to hear it coming from Cole now.
She stammered out, "W-what does that mean? What did he know?"
"I told him that you were leaving, and that you needed him. That we both did." He sat motionless, waiting patiently for more from her.
Gulping hard against the lump in her throat, she put a hand to her face and closed her eyes, recalling the night in detail. "Did… Did he say anything more to you?"
He nodded, the peculiar change in intonation and rhythm entering his speech again. "Watch over her, Cole, for I no longer can…Ar lasa mala revas, vhenan… You are free…"
Vhenan. My heart.
She felt a tear trickle over the back of her palm as she clenched her eyes shut, hearing the words spoken from that evening in the grove yet again; words that, for her, had taken on new meaning. Instead of being free, she now associated the phrase with desolate release, as though she was being shaken loose against her will from something to which she'd grown attached, leaving her with a sense of falling from a great height, never hitting ground.
Remembering the night spent sleeping at his desk, she received a sudden jolt of memory and looked at Cole, her trembling hand hovering near her quivering chin. "I don't understand," she breathed, the wind stolen from her lungs, "I heardthat last part! How could he communicate to you something that I thought I had only dreamed?"
Cole wrestled with his thoughts again, likely attempting to simplify the explanation enough so that she could comprehend it. "You were the paper, Lavellan. Solas was the hand holding the quill. I was the ink that he dipped his quill in to write on the paper."
Lavellan couldn't believe what she was hearing, but then, she knew what it was to hear whispering voices in her mind; the Well of Sorrows had imparted to her ancient knowledge and, seemingly, the shadows of the Elvhenlong forgotten in ancient history. Even now they talked amongst themselves like ghosts in her head. For the most part it was a white noise that she had trained herself to ignore for sanity's sake, and anything that needed her immediate attention was done so more loudly, distinguishing itself from the others in order to be acknowledged.
"I told him what you said – No, it was youwho told him," Cole cut into her thoughts. "Just before you left that morning, you spoke softly to him. I opened myself to Solas, then. He had an answer for you, but I… couldn't tell you at the time."
The minutes slowed as she stared into the flames, not knowing whether she could handle Solas' reply, or if this would be the thing that ultimately broke her. Part of her wanted to leave it for another day, after she had properly steeled herself for the delivery, but she knew that no amount of waiting would lessen the ache of what was likely the last words she would ever hear him speak. Even if Solas was not here to say them himself.
With a nod of relenting approval, she signalled Cole to begin.
He closed his eyes, his features going blank as he replayed the words verbatim. "I am so sorry for the pain I have caused you," he said in a familiar cadence that already threatened to tear her down, "and will cause you in times to come. Mala suledin nadas… Your kindness and enduring love are more than I deserve for what I have done. I will forever cherish your wisdom, your wit, your indomitable focus… You are a rarity in this world, and I count myself fortunate to have met you. I will retrace our memories in bittersweet fondness for an Age, and yet still it would never truly be enough to satisfy my longing for you,vhenan.
"I say this with grave sincerity: May the Dread Wolfneverhear your steps, Lavellan. Tel garas solasan. Goodbye."
Cole opened his pale eyes and stared at Lavellan, his face full of sadness as he waited for her to respond. She remained unmoving for a long moment, the pain in her chest nearly convincing her that her heart had literally torn in two. Grief clawed at her throat until it felt raw within her, and speech evaded her so completely that she wondered if she would ever be able to speak of Solas again without the agony she felt so thoroughly now returning at the mere mention of him.
Tel garas solasan. Come not to a prideful place.
Before she knew what she was doing, her body rose automatically and walked toward Cole. Looking down into his face as he watched her, she smiled her wordless thanks to him, blinking as a tear spilled freely down her face.
Without a word, she patted his hair gently in parting and went for a walk in the cold night air to be alone with her thoughts, the light of the fire fading in the distance as the darkness overwhelmed her, holding the secret of her silent despair.
:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:
Conjoined patches of large snowflakes fell delicately, swept up occasionally on nearly undetectable air currents as they made their way to the trees and rooftops of Haven. The little village, packed full to the brim with Inquisition forces and resources, was sleeping for the night after another tense day of eyeing the tear in the sky in the distance, which now pulsed slowly with smoke-like veil energy, swirling directly over the disaster site of the Conclave, the tear forced open like a gaping wound in the stormy clouds. Chunks loosened by the explosion hung in mid-air there in the same way they did in the Fade, as the two realms now overlapped in a suspended dream. Ellana Lavellan sat upon the slanted roof of the cabin closest to the breach that offered the most elevated, unobstructed view of the fallout from the blast, devoid of emotion.
She had acted under the assumption that sitting out in heavy snowfall on the frosted rooftop after sunset would knock her out of the shock and denial of what had happened earlier in the war room at the back of the Chantry, but thus far she was only feeling the biting cold. Frustrated and fatigued, she took a fist and slammed her knuckles against the roof, knocking a wooden shingle loose and sending it careening down the slope, flying out of sight off the edge soundlessly. It made no thump as it hit the ground, likely burying deep in the fresh powder below. She brought her knees close to her face and buried her head there, feeling the moisture of her breath condensate on her skin as she listened to her slow inhaling and exhaling for a while, a stark reminder that she was still alive.
She was alive, and they weren't.
It was an injustice.
"Lethallan?"
Ellana gasped at the soft voice cutting through the silence and nearly lost her grip on her precarious seat, but she stopped her descent by placing her hands down and forming ice crystals that attached like handles to her position.
Solas made his way up the incline as though it were a flat surface, his footwraps allowing for some stability, but not enough to explain how he managed to remain so steady on such a precarious surface. Reaching her, he sighed as he lowered himself down, sitting beside her at a companionable distance and remaining quiet for a moment as he took in the view of the breach, which loomed threateningly in the distance. "Have you come to admire the view? It is breathtaking, for all its obvious danger, isn't it...?" By his tone, she thought he was not only remarking on the sight of the breach.
"How did you know where to find me?" She asked him cautiously.
Solas smirked, his features in profile as he propped his elbow on a knee and relaxed his other leg. "It was simple, really; this is my cabin. I came to check that whomever had leapt onto my roof in the dead of night was not planning to dig their way in, as the door is in fine working order, if a bit rusty on its hinges. I can stand the chill, lethallan, but when I realised it was you, I became curious as to what possessed you to come here, of all places. I see now why you chose this spot, in particular."
"Oh," she replied sheepishly, embarrassed. "I forgot this was yours… Did I wake you, Solas?"
"No matter," he waved a hand in dismissal. "Sleep comes easily enough for me that I will not suffer for having lost any."
There was an awkward silence between them, and they exchanged a fleeting glance with one another before Ellana lowered her eyes, Solas choosing to take in the view once more as he waited for the moment to pass. The night around them was still, save for the falling snow, which rested on their shoulders and dusted her hair. He ran a hand over his head to clear the flakes from his scalp, not seeming the least bit bothered by the bitter cold.
"Something troubles you this evening, lethallan," he started in a hushed tone. "Why else would you be here? Has something happened?"
Ellana considered this for a minute. On one hand, she didn't know if he would be sympathetic given his feelings toward the Dalish, but on the other, he was an elf like her, and she felt the desire to speak with another of her kind tempting. The only other elf that she was close to was Sera, but she didn't appear to be the least bit concerned about their People. Perhaps Solas would understand better, if not at least more than anyone else in the Inquisition would, but she found the words to explain herself escaped her.
With a trace of reluctance, she reached into the pocket sewn into her leather vest and pulled out the missive from Lady Montilyet she'd received not hours ago. It was warm to the touch after remaining so close to her heart since she'd been allowed to keep it, Josephine having made a copy for her records in anticipation of Ellana wanting to hold onto it. She stared at it, still folded in her hands with the broken seal cracking away due to the sudden sharp drop in temperature. Picking it off and pocketing the red wax, she handed Solas the parchment with a steady hand.
He unfolded it with trepidation and skimmed it over carefully, his mouth turning down as he processed the information within. As the words registered, she noticed his slight intake of breath, and he held it soundlessly as he shook his head in remorse. Finishing the report, he lowered the missive and placed a thoughtful hand on his smooth, angular chin, deep in contemplation. "I see," he said gravely as he carefully gave it back to her, closing his eyes beneath lowered brows while she tucked it safely back in its home in her breast pocket. "So, they were lost…"
Seconds ticked by uncomfortably between them as he shifted his weight to face her. Keeping her head down, she did not return the gesture, instead focusing on the feathery flakes landing softly on her boots and melting from her subtle body heat, dripping down the sides as the liquid accumulated slowly. Solas nodded once, his lips pressed to a line as he watched her absently fiddle with a loose thread on her leggings. "Ir abelas, da'len… I know it offers you little comfort, but I am truly sorry for your loss."
"I failed them," she whispered hoarsely, hitting her fist lightly against her knee as her face contorted in grief. "They're dead. They're all... dead. Keeper Istimaethoriel, Atisha, my uncle, my friends… All those children, just… gone." She wiped at her frozen tears as a light breeze swept over the roof and chilled her to the bone. "It doesn't seem real… How could everything be over with a single report?" Turning her face, her large green eyes met his blue, morose stare, full of unguarded sympathy for her. "What do I do now?" She asked, her voice suddenly small and childlike to her ears.
He placed a hand on her shoulder firmly, lending support. "Mala suledin nadas, da'len," he murmured as comfortingly as he could. "Now you must endure. Do not let their sacrifice be in vain."
"Sacrifice?" She cried with more of an edge than she'd intended, her voice echoing through the night. "They offered no sacrifice! This was a slaughter, a wholesale massacre! We were friendly with the humans, and those bastards murderedus, anyway! Yet again, like clockwork, my People are betrayed by the bloody shems, but now it's all because of meand this fucking mark!" She gasped hard and let out a broken sob as she glared with rage at her left hand before hiding her marked face in her right, shock finally subsiding as she mourned her loss fully at last.
After a slight pause, she felt his arms come around her as he embraced her, offering his presence as something solid and warm that she could cling to. Turning her body, she buried her face in his chest and cried pathetically, grasping desperately at his knitted cream tunic. His hand rested behind her head as he pulled her closer with an arm, speaking gentle nothings in Elvish to soothe her until no tears remained.
"No one can take from you that which has already been torn away," his voice cut through her grief after a time. "Those whom have nothing to lose are not so easily trifled with, Ellana. Your enemies do not realise that they have made you powerful this day. Remember your People well, and draw strength from their courage in the face of certain death. It will aid you in your fight against that which must be destroyed at all costs."
"...You say that like I should be grateful for this opportunity to harden my broken heart," she retorted bitterly, struggling for composure once more.
The hand on the back of her head moved down to rest between her shoulder blades. "No, not grateful," he corrected, "but as you are unable to change the fate of Clan Lavellan now, you need not allow it to cripple your will to move forward. Use it to your advantage; never forget the pain this brought you, and let it become your motivation to succeed in your cause, to put things right again."
Ellana sniffed and pushed herself upright, Solas' arms falling away and folding in his now empty lap. "Well," she muttered ruefully, "that's... one way to look at it…"
"I am sorry." His shoulders slumped as he winced at her words, the snowfall increasing quietly around them, "I did not intend to distress you further... If I have, I can only offer my apologies. It has been… a long time since I have had need to give consolation. Perhaps I am unfamiliar in the position."
She sighed and wiped at her nose, glancing anywhere but into his strange blue eyes, studying her with curiosity as though she were an interesting specimen he'd collected and preserved. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to try again.
"Correct me if I am mistaken," he ventured delicately, "but it's likely you feel as though a part of you died this day along with your clan… Is that true?"
Ellana stared into the distance at the column of energy rising into the sky, evidence of the terrifying moment that shattered everything she once was and had begun the horrible chain of events that led to the death of everything she ever knew. "Yes," she whispered, her brows coming together as she fought another bought of emotions that nearly overwhelmed her.
Solas nodded his understanding, letting a few aching heartbeats pass by as she began to shiver. "I am not Dalish," he began pensively, "and I make no claim as to what you ought to do in that respect, but I believe you would be best served if you allowed that part of you to die with them, and let a new you to rise up in its place."
Reaching out a hand, he signalled for Ellana to give him the missive again, and after a moment of consideration she reached into her vest and pulled it back out, laying it open as she handed it over with a trembling sigh.
Taking it gently, he moved to sit closer to her as he held the report between them so that they could both read it with ease. "'Ambassador Montilyet," he read just above a whisper in a deep, sombre tone, "I regret that my help for your Dalish allies came too late to be of use. By the time my forces arrived in the area, the Dalish had been scattered or killed, and there seems little left of their clan.'"
Ellana felt the tears roll freely now, fighting fiercely to remain steady. "'I understand your Inquisitor must be feeling the loss of her clan," she read on, her voice quivering, squeaking through with effort. "Please accept these gifts and my promise of future help whenever it is necessary.'"
"'Yours," he finished softly, "Duke Antoine of Wycome'…" Solas remained leaning near her as they looked over the parchment once more in a moment of reverence for the dead and lost. "It is a tragedy that the elves can no longer undergo Uthenera… Every death is a great loss that need never have been. In its place, there is only the funeral pyre and the Elvish Eulogy." He turned his head to watch her as she kept her eyes glued to the missive. "Would you like to offer this to your honoured dead?" He asked quietly.
Sighing, she nodded and took the parchment from him, damp from the falling snow. Holding it in front of herself at arm's length, Solas extended a hand, two inner fingers curled toward his palm, and cast a small fire spell. As he lit the lower left-hand corner of the report, the flames spreading over the ink and blackening until they were unreadable through the cinders, she sang, her Elvish song ringing through the night sky with sorrow:
hahren na melana sahlin(elder your time is come)
emma ir abelas(now I am filled with sorrow)
souver'inan isala hamin (weary eyes need resting)
vhenan him dor'felas(heart has become grey and slow)
in uthenera na revas(in waking sleep is freedom)
vir sulahn'nehn(we sing, rejoice)
vir dirthera(we tell the tale)
vir samahl la numin(we laugh and cry)
vir lath sa'vunin(we love one more day)
As the embers of the burned missive floated harmlessly away, Ellana felt her heart cry out with the loss of all she had ever known, of her home and kin. With an arm draped around her in comfort and support, Solas gripped her shoulder lightly. "Ir abelas, Ellana, for you have died this day, as well. That which was your life before has passed on from this world forever. Go forward now with a new name… What will you choose to be called, da'len?"
She thought carefully for a moment, but it had already been decided in her mind for her, and her jaw set with determination. "From this moment on," she said, her voice sharp as steel, "I am only Lavellan. I hold for myself only the name of my clan as a constant reminder of what was lost, and that I am the last of them in this world."
"A wise decision, Lavellan," he said, strong and sincere. "May their souls find peace at last."
"And may the Dread Wolf take the bloodthirsty cowards who murdered them," she hissed icily.
Solas paused for a nearly undetectable moment in the darkness before responding with a murmured, "Indeed…"
They sat in reverential silence, huddling close for warmth against the chilly mountain breeze. The mark on her palm glimmered to life, offering an enchanting glow that lit against the shadows of their faces. Solas took her hand in his gently, the shimmering power passing through his hand harmlessly as he wrapped his fingers around hers to keep her warm. Her heart beating fast at the unexpected familiarity in his gesture, she trembled and smiled softly as a thought brushed to the forefront of her mind:
"You know, you're just like a Keeper to me, now, in a way."
Solas noticeably stiffened at her observation, his fingers tightening around her hand in response. "How do you figure?" He asked calmly, though she detected a hint of wariness in his voice.
"You're the only one I know who can impart to me the ways of the People," she replied, enjoying his hand on hers as he thawed her frozen fingers. "And… I want to learn, if you would teach them to me."
He paused for a time, considering her request carefully. "Pardon my curiosity, lethallan, but... why?" He wondered softly. "My ways hardly resemble those of the Dalish… The only knowledge of the ancient customs I possess was learned on my journeys in the Fade. I could not tell you more than I have learned on my own…"
"Then take me to the Fade with you, and show me. I'm on my own now, too," she reminded him, her voice catching on the words in her throat, "and it's all I have left… You are all I have left."
He studied her for seriousness, his eyes soft and sympathetic as they met her own, and he looked down at their joined hands, brow furrowed with concern. "I do not know…" Solas paused in consideration of his words for a moment, shooting a glance at her hesitantly.
Her eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Oh, I see… If you're not comfortable with sharing your knowledge, it's okay," Lavellan said, beginning to pull her hand from his warm grasp. "I didn't mean to put undue pressure on you, I just – "
"No, no," Solas tried to reassure Lavellan as he laid his other hand over hers to stop her retreat, clearing his throat quietly. "Well, we have to clarify a few things first, but we could – "
"It's not a problem," she uttered sombrely, feeling foolish for putting him on the spot out of seemingly nowhere. "It was a silly idea. I'm sorry I – I shouldn't have presumed –"
"Mana, da'len," he whispered almost inaudibly, though his voice carried an authoritative tone.
Closing her eyes mid-apology, she waited patiently for him to continue as the silence lingered between them, though she more than half expected him to stand up and leave her there on the roof. Lavellan wished she hadn't said anything at all, and was beginning to feel more alone in the world than ever before. There was nothing for her now except her duty to the Inquisition, and she felt swept up in a strange new land, no one close enough to her to guide her through it…
Solas sighed, running his thumb along the anchor pulsing through her palm. "I am sorry… I'm not exactly accustomed to a Dalish accepting what I have to say, let alone asking me to formally instruct her, but… if you promise not to run me out of Haven with arrows and war dogs if you don't like what you hear, then I would be more than willing to teach you." He met her eyes steadily, then. "I have a few stipulations, though. Firstly, there will be no referring to me as 'Keeper'. Ever. I am not your Keeper, nor you my First."
Thoroughly dumbfounded that he would take issue with something so trivial, she stared at their hands for a time, her brows furrowed. "It only means 'Keeper of the Lore', Solas… What's so bad about that?"
He grimaced slightly, brushing delicate snowflakes from her hair gently. "It was not always so innocuous, as with many Dalish practices," he explained. "The term hearkens back to slave times, and I am not comfortable being called such… You are now free of that life. I sincerely mean this, in all aspects… Do not be so quick to shackle yourself to anyone again, including me, however tempting it might be to seek refuge in such troubled times. You must be strong… Do you understand?"
"Yes," she nodded, respecting his wishes. "All right, Solas, I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable," Lavellan relented, squeezing his hand once to signal she was with him, thus far.
"You couldn't have known," he replied sadly with a small shrug, squeezing back in acknowledgement momentarily. "Second," he continued, "and along the same vein, I won't tutor you in the ways of the People unless it is pertinent to your studies."
She shook her head in confusion, her breath misting before her as she huffed. "I don't understand… What areyou agreeing to teach me, Solas?"
He took one of his hands away and rested it on his knee, looking up at the Breach as he thought carefully about how best to explain himself so she could see. Head lowered, Solas closed his eyes and said with soft determination, "I will not train a child of freedom how to act as a slave. I would have you unlearn all of that… If you care to know the ways of trueelves, however... I would be willing to teach you, along with anything you wish to know about the Fade."
They stared at one another for a long moment, both of them harbouring hidden strength and stubborn determination. Curiosity got the better of Lavellan, though, and she found herself nodding almost imperceptibly at the prospect of gaining knowledge that deviated so strongly from what she was raised to believe. The snow began to fall with renewed vigour as the corner of Solas' mouth turned up, nodding back slowly.
And so, they had struck a bargain.
"Very well," he said, patting her hands, "if we must call each other anything, I will call you 'da'len', and you may call me 'hahren'. Still, though," he added in closing, "I have one last request."
"Yes?" She asked, pulling their clasped hands into her lap, her eyes meeting his intensely as her heart began to race.
For a moment he returned the stare, catching the shift in atmosphere, and he bit his smiling lip gently. Breaking the connection, though, Solas shook his head free of snow as he stood up, holding her hand to steady her as she followed suit.
"We have to hold our lessons somewhere warmer, da'len."
:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:
The road south was mostly vacant the next day, save for the occasional wagon they passed along the way packed to maximum capacity with poor farmers and their families who had finally left their barren fields in search of a better life to the north. They gave the dirty masses a wide berth as the womenfolk cowered in fear at sight of the lone apostate, hugging their small children tightly to their bosoms in needless protection of their most prized possessions. The men of all ages held tightly to their worn and rusted weapons threateningly in an effort to intimidate Lavellan into steering clear of their company.
Not once did any of these poor souls take notice of Cole, who for the most part remained as close to the elven mage as her own shadow in the full light of day. Though he doubted that any of these travellers would dare challenge her for wariness of her abilities, Cole kept his guard up in case some of the more desperate among them decided to take advantage of her seemingly solitary journey and attempt to challenge her. No incidents had occurred so far, which was a great relief; he would feel horribly guilty if he was forced to do battle with any of these ragged men, as they were certainly no match for either of them alone, let alone that there were two of them, even if they couldn't see him.
Lavellan's mind was lost in her own dark memories to compensate for the lack of conversation while Cole remained silent as they passed those along the way. With the loudness of her thoughts, he found it hard to concentrate on anything else, and distracting himself wasn't an alternative he could manage, either. Her hurt called to him, screaming for release, and he felt the pull of Compassion in his very being straining to resist the urge to give voice to her hurt long enough to clear the last of the unwashed older boys walking together and kicking at gravel as they passed far on the opposite shoulder of the road.
Once they were alone again on the Imperial Highway, Cole could hold back no longer, the impulse so strong that he felt the words tumble from his mouth in a volley of jumbled thoughts and imagery, the act enough to make him lightheaded as his voice floated out of him like ghosts emerging from their graves. "Snow falls on my boots. Body melts, water wells and flows onto the shingles like the icy tears falling from my face. I failed them. They're dead. They're all dead. Ink on parchment delivered like blood into my shaking hands. Cold wind pierces my clothes in the dark. He looks at me with eyes, sad and knowing too much. What do I do now?"
Lavellan's spine straightened intensely as she stiffened, her body rigid and frozen despite the warm sun beating down on the empty plains around them. She came to a stop in the middle of the wide road, her hand gripping her staff until knuckles shone white against the dark wood, almost as though electricity passed through her, closing a circuit he could feel vibrating all around him.
Unable to prevent himself, he continued, "He calls it sacrifice, but sacrifices are made willingly. Ancient eyes pierce my soul, heat my blood to the boil. Rage cracks in my throat as the illusion of strength shatters. I am a pathetic child. A child without a home. He's saying things but I can't understand – the language is Elvish, but I've never heard his words before. A voice like an old song – familiar and soothing, but the lyrics never known."
"Cole," Lavellan stammered her interruption, "I'm sorry I bothered you… Please, don't do that – Don't… touchthat."
Cole stood behind her, unmoving as his brows furrowed sadly. "He wanted you to remember your hurt so you would fight harder for what was right. But the fight is over, and you still hurtyourself! It wasn't your fault, Ellana," he stressed to her, using her former name so unexpectedly that she jerked, turning around with eyes wide at having heard it uttered again so plainly. "You tried to do the right thing!"
Lavellan shook her head hard from side to side, angry tears spilling out without warning as she grimaced and turned away, continuing forward at a swifter pace, her head hunched to her shoulders like she braced for an assault. "No, Cole," she argued forcefully, her voice deep and hoarse to his ears, "it was my fault. I could have sent forces to defend them. I could have sent spies and infiltrators. Instead, I chose to trust some shemlenDuke I didn't know with the lives of my own People. I was weak in the face of real danger, and they paid the ultimate price for my foolishness."
"Why do you torture yourself with their faces before you fall asleep?" He asked, stricken.
"So that they are never, ever forgotten," she turned to face him, eyes sharp and glinting in the sun. "You should understand that better than anyone. They deserve more than to pass from this life with no one to recall their names, their laughter, their smiles! They were good people!"
Cole nodded slowly, feeling less nervous than he ought to at being confronted in this way. "Yes, but you can remember them without blaming yourself for what happened to them," he said simply.
Lavellan was struck dumb, staring up at him with rounded eyes of shocked revelation. Apparently, the thought had never occurred to her before, the crippling guilt so closely tied to her bittersweet memories, and now that it had, she didn't know what to do with it. "I…" Her gaze faltered, eyes lowering to stare blankly at the middle of his chest.
Sensing that she was beginning to understand his meaning, he calmly took a step toward her and held his hand up before her. "They died, and Ellana died with them. But only a partof you was meant to die, not all of you. They wouldn't want you to hurt forever… Let me help you."
"How?" She breathed the word, her emotion breaking in her throat. "You would make me forget them, and I can't…" The rest of her sentence trailed off as she struggled to explain, though she didn't need to; he could hear her thoughts clearly enough for himself: I can't let them die again. I couldn't stand their loss the first time around.
"He taught you to harness your pain," Cole spoke evenly, "because that's what he did to survive, to keep them alive inside, to help him to fight. But he was wrong, for himself andfor you. You needed to forgive."
She glared suddenly, believing him insane for suggesting such a thing. "I cannotforgive their killers. I willnot, Cole."
"No, they are bad people, liars and traitors, and they deserve to die. But I didn't mean them."
Lavellan's mouth was slightly agape, her expression blank as tears trickled down her cheek. He felt her mind relent as she gave it over to him once she finally understood that the person she truly needed to forgive for their loss was herself.
Her hurt splayed open, he reached a raised hand toward her and concentrated on the guilt, a black, festering ball that swirled in the back of her mind, corrupting the innocent, sweet memories there. Grabbing hold of it, he tugged it gently free from her without removing the faces that dwelt peacefully inside, and pulled it within himself, where it cracked and fizzled, dying in the light of purest Compassion.
"Forget," he whispered, lowering his hand slowly as he watched her for a time in silence. A flock of geese passed by overhead in formation, their faint honking to one another the only sound in the barren, choking land around them. Cole felt lighter inside, and knew it was because she felt whole again. He had closed the wound, and the elation at being able to help washed over him like a bright light casting out the darkness that always pulled at him behind the scenes.
Lavellan stared at him in confusion for a moment before checking inwardly to see that the memories were still intact. Then he felt her realise that if Cole had made her truly forget, she wouldn't think to have reached for the memories in the first place. Thoroughly relieved, she found them preserved in her mind, their names and faces saved there, uncorrupted and without the foul sense of blame and self-pity that once overshadowed them.
She could finally let them, and herself, rest in peace.
"Thank you, Cole," Lavellan smiled softly. "It's… good to see them again."
"And to not see them," he agreed, returning the smile shyly. "I-I'm glad I could help you! Thank you for letting me. People don't normally let me."
Lavellan nodded and breathed a chuckle, shaking her head and turning south once again. "It's not as bad as I thought it would be," she admitted, waiting for Cole to fall in beside her. "Let's talk about something nice for once, shall we?"
"I can do that," he grinned happily. "Have you ever heard a kitten laugh, Lavellan?"
:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:
He found her facing the eluvian at the heart of the crossroads, her armoured, shimmering hand hovering just above the rippling portal, a peculiar blue mist flowing from her and passing into the event horizon. She had the appearance and the intimidating grace of a high dragon, the deep reds and purples of her studded leathers contrasting against the brilliant white of her ancient hair, horned headdress displaying proudly the fashions of ages past, ages that no one in all of Thedas could recall for having been there.
No one, that is, except they two.
Fen'Harel swallowed his wounded pride and silently crossed the ancient cobblestone walkway, the proverbial tail tucked between his legs. His traditional dark footwraps solidified his connection to the land and reminded him that this was, in fact, reality, and not just some conjured nightmare within the Fade. Tall grass grew sporadically up between the cracks in the stones, and species of trees the likes of which had not been seen in all of Thedas since the Fall of Arlathan grew here in the stillness, keeping silent vigil over the only true place the Elvhencould claim as their own, anymore.
He could have approached her with more stealth if he'd wanted to, and she may not have discovered his presence, making this encounter somewhat easier on his conscience. Perhaps that would have been a more merciful option as well, but he could not bring himself to go through with it in that manner; he may have been many things to many people over time, but a coward was not one of them. Choosing purposefully to meet her face to face, he recognised soberly that this old woman, his long-time friend, of all people, deserved to meet her fate with dignity. He owed her that much for how he had so quickly fouled up all their years of careful planning from the very start.
"I knew you would come," her hoarse tone greeted him softly as she lowered her armoured hand, the spell coming to a close. He needn't have worried himself that she might be alarmed by his sudden appearance, it seemed. Of course she had known he was coming; they had already agreed to meet in this spot once the orb had been unlocked to begin their fateful task. Unfortunately, he was delayed indefinitely by his own self-confidence and recklessness, and moreso, his orb was gone forever, lost after it had crashed to the stone floor on that ironic day. The citizens may have rejoiced over the healing of the breach in the sky, the closing of the rifts, and an end to the war, but much more than they could ever know had been lost… More than he would ever be able to recover. Every step he had taken to ensure victory for the Inquisition, everything he had fought to preserve, had been lost… Again.
And yet here she was, waiting as promised, and he knew that she knew all there was to know. Somehow that made everything all the worse.
She turned to face him slowly, plate gauntlets falling to her sides, palms outward in an expression of openness to show him wordlessly that she was understanding and forgiving of his actions, both past and present. "You should not have given your orb to Corypheus, Dread Wolf," Flemeth said, shaking her head sadly, her grandmotherly voice forlorn and knowing.
What little pride he had reserved inside him broke at her gesture. It was as though she had anticipated him muddling everything up from the start, that none of the events that had transpired since they'd last seen one another had come as any surprise to her, considering he was chiefly involved. How she seemed to know everything about him at a glance spoke of the great and long-lasting bond between them both that had formed first out of necessity, and then out of deep mutual respect. He could read her just as easily as she could him, and it pained him to see the resignation in her eyes, now. Though she had accepted the inevitable and prepared herself for this long before he had arrived, Fen'Harel was internally in a state of bitter denial over the step he must now take to restore the People.
"I was too weak to unlock it after my slumber," he admitted solemnly, though he knew he offered no worthy excuse. He had mistakenly thought himself cunning enough to deceive Corypheus into unlocking the orb for him. So certain had he been at the time that the ancient darkspawn magister, not familiar with the orb, would be killed in the process of unlocking it. Whether he had not been thinking clearly due to his recent awakening from his long sleep, or had critically underestimated Corypheus' true power, didn't much matter in the grand scheme of things; the abomination had lived through it, impossibly enough, and had in turn reneged on his end of the bargain, refusing to return the orb. The con had been conned.
There was a long, hesitant pause as Fen'Harel closed the distance between them, his brows knit in grief. "The failure was mine," he apologised to her mournfully. "I should pay the price… But the People..."
His voice broke slightly as he stood before her, looking into her face for a moment before closing his distraught blue eyes and lowering his head in shame. "They need me," he uttered gravely as Flemeth reached out a hand and touched his face. He rested his trembling hand on her wrist as she stroked his cheek bittersweetly. "I am so sorry," his voice broke, feeling the sting of tears and resisting them quietly. Tears would fix nothing, would save no one, now; it was time to be strong – if not for himself, then for the Elvhen.
Still, part of him hoped Flemeth would refuse to go through with it, and if she yet made any indication of reluctance, he was determined to hold off, to pull back so they could rethink this. Maybe a better solution could be found…
With her next whispered words, Fen'Harel had his answer, and a pit of sorrow in his belly opened upon hearing it: "I am sorry as well, old friend…"
He knew what she was sorry for: sorry it had come to this, sorry that fate was now forcing his hand, sorry he would have to carry on the mission in solitude… His head still lowered, he felt her eyes resting on him, waiting and willing. The time had finally come, and she was ready to embrace her fate. Within the body of the woman named Flemeth, the mysterious Witch of the Wilds, was housed the proud spirit of his closest and dearest friend, Mythal, Mother Goddess of the Elven Pantheon. Despite being two separate souls sharing one human body, they were bound so intrinsically that to separate them at this point was unimaginable. Flemeth and Mythal were one, as far as he and they were concerned…
But no longer.
The tragic trade of unspoken goodbyes passed between them, their hearts saying everything their mouths could not express. Summoning every reason he could think of to fight on, to continue in his noble struggle, he met her eyes, mustering the courage to act with decision. At last, he unbound the ancient magic within him, and it came forth and called out silently to the soul of Mythal, beckoning her out of Flemeth and into Fen'Harel, where she transferred herself inside his body.
No matter how committed Flemeth was to her decision, even the voluntary release of Mythal's soul from her form was an abrupt shock, and it incurred a devastatingly swift result. As she gasped, eyes rolling in her head, Fen'Harel threw his arms around the wizened old woman to catch her before she fell, Mythal's ice blue essence slowly making her way fully to him. The life ebbed out of the friend in his arms, her last breath wheezing out of her like a broken squeezebox. Lowering her to the ground, he held her close, feeling her dry up, crack, and stiffen with the cold hand of death. She had escaped that hand for centuries, and now that it had finally taken hold of her, she was left a mummified husk, even the clothes she conjured for herself blackening with the loss of the life force holding everything together.
Hugging her shell-like remains, Fen'Harel quested within himself for Mythal, his forehead pressed against Flemeth's chest in grief. Had they succeeded? Was she present? He felt no different. His arms tightened around the corpse as, for the briefest of moments, he feared he had lost them both. There was no telling what a sudden separation from a long-term bond to a mortal would do to her.
In an instant, he found her at the very forefront of his mind. He lifted his eyes to look upward, brow furrowed in concentration as he made direct contact with her. The power of her soul within him darkened his vision momentarily, blue flashes behind his eyes a strong indication of the health and resilience she still possessed after many an era. Her spirit poured out from his eyes and flowed smoke-like back down again, exploring the confines of her new environment. For a moment, his spirit rejoiced with hers at being reunited so intimately. Mythal had had no idea just how lonely it had been for him in his continued existence, but she felt it fully now, and her soul embraced his warmly in reassurance. Then she settled, determined to remain at the back of his mind and be as unobtrusive as possible.
Surprisingly, he felt incredibly isolated again, and the feeling was more vast and empty than he would have anticipated. It may have been comforting to remember her soul was safely stored within him, but the knowledge had more in common than he was comfortable admitting with platitudes mortals exchanged after deaths in a family, pertaining to always having the deceased person in one's heart, or memory. Though there was the tug of acknowledgement that she was alive and well, to have her standing separate and within Flemeth was more preferable to this. Still, there was work to do, and it wouldn't have sufficed to carry it out individually.
Although they were no longer physically separate, the plan was never to bond Mythal's spirit to Fen'Harel's body; he already had his own, of course. Instead, she would remain a separate entity, as she had in Flemeth, funnelling her power to Fen'Harel as he required it. The true problem they both faced without an orb to draw from was that they were too weak in and of themselves to be able to propagate and affect demonstrable change to the world, so they had no other choice left to them now other than to pool their collective strength, united in one form. He would not have the limitless mana and magic an orb could provide at his fingertips, but being twice as powerful as before would have to suffice.
Of the two of them, Fen'Harel's body held the obvious advantages: youth, at least when compared with Flemeth's mortal curse of the quickening; better condition, considering his relatively recent awakening from Uthenera, leaving him well-rested for the task ahead; and the simple fact that his body was not only the one he had been originally born to, but he was also elven, of the People, and Flemeth was merely human. It might prove difficult to assemble the elves of Thedas behind Asha'belannar, as they called her, despite the fear and respect they showed her. Coming to this clinical conclusion each on their own, Flemeth had acquiesced, marking the end of an era: the death of the Witch of the Wilds.
As the environment around him settled back down to something resembling reality, Fen'Harel gently set Flemeth's mummy down and stood up cautiously. He had thought having another soul within him would cause him to feel unbalanced, heavy-laden, or disturbed somehow, but not much if anything had truly changed about him. The air still passed through his lungs, and the world continued on around him as normal.
Sadly, Fen'Harel shook his head, looking down on her body one final time and sighing heavily before he closed his eyes and walked away from the dreadful scene, alone once more with only his memories of failure and regret.