Chapter 10. Dirthavaren

The air at Dirthavaren was heavy with the smell of death and smoke. Its fields were coloured red with the blood of fallen elves, their lifeless eyes staring blindly at Solas, slowly fogging over as death took its course. Some of them had died still holding on to their weapons in a steadfast grip, others were empty-handed, their weapons scattering across the fields, blood-stained and trampled into the ground. Nearly all of them lay next to the corpses of their canine companions, having spent their last moments shielding, or being protected, by them.

Their brothers and sisters barely looked down at their fallen kin as they ran past them, charging at the army fighting under the banner of the Chantry. Battle cries fell from their lips – prayers to their gods in the ancient tongue – and with unrelenting force they attacked. Soon the air was heavy with the roar of battle; metal striking metal, cries of pain and shouts of command.

Flame arrows lit the night, leaving trails of smoke behind them as they soared through the sky before they rained onto the human army. Most soldiers acted quickly, raising their shields to protect themselves from the barrage; others were too slow. The fire caught cloth and fur and panicked screams drowned out everything else as the fire expanded and grew before it completely engulfed its victims. It was not long before the smell of charred flesh and fur permeated the air, stinging Solas' throat and nostrils.

It was the last stand of the Dales; the final desperate battle which had taken place after the Chantry – led army had razed Halamshiral. Standing in the middle of the battlefield, Solas watched the memory come to life and unfold around him. He could sense the fear of the elves, their hopelessness and despair, but he could also sense their determination. They were what remained of the Emerald Knights, sworn to protect the borders of the Dales from their enemies. They would not surrender.

Where one elf fell, another took its place in the formation, their snarling, vallaslin-marked faces shining with sweat, grime and blood. Adrenaline and rage rushed through their veins, fuelling sore and aching muscles, and tired minds after nearly a full day of fighting. Alongside them were the Knight's Guardians, the wolf companions who fought loyally next to their chosen knights. They attacked when the elves attacked, fangs and claws bared as they fearlessly pounced on their enemies, mercilessly tearing into flesh and bone. They fought bravely, but Solas knew that the battle had been lost before it had even begun.

Light flashed in the corner of his eye, bright and sudden, and he turned his head in time to feel the ripples through the Fade as an elf fade-stepped past him. She appeared in front of a surprised Chantry soldier, and within the blink of an eye she sent him flying back into his comrades with a powerful shockwave of raw magic. Another soldier attacked, striking her with his axe before bashing her with his shield. Her barrier shimmered over armour and skin, and she staggered back, momentarily stunned. Regaining her bearings quickly, she blocked his next strikes with her staff before she managed to hook it under the head of his axe. With a turn the weapon was knocked out of his hand. A look of surprise graced the soldier's features, quickly replaced with confusion when the elven mage placed the flat of her palm to his chest. A heartbeat later Solas once again felt the Fade around them twist and ripple. The soldier's armour began to glow brightly orange and his agonized screams filled the air. They quickly turned into pained whimpers as the metal melted and seared into his flesh, and it was not long before he had grown completely silent. When the elven mage withdrew her hand from his chest he collapsed to the ground, a charred corpse of melted flesh, metal and fur.

She was lighting up the sky, lightning crackling in the night before it struck the Chantry forces on the ground, when the blow came. Around her the memory dwindled; time slowed as small cracks ripped through the air, revealing the dull, green light of the Fade. Reality was being enforced and in this case the Fade was that reality. Solas took a couple of steps towards the anomaly, eyes focused on it while he waited. He had witnessed the abilities used first-hand in the waking world, but never before in the realm of dreams, and he watched the event with no small amount of fascination.

The cracks grew larger while bright green light tore away at the edges, like fire burning parchment. For the fraction of a heartbeat he could feel an eerie presence pouring through. It skirted close enough to awaken the feelings of familiarity, but too far away to be able to place. A heartbeat later and it was gone. The cracks blurred, melting into the memory before vanishing completely, and time resumed its normal speed.

The elven mage fell to the ground on her back, gasping for air while the magical barrier protecting her dissipated in a burst of white light. Solas watched her raise her hand to call forth a spell, but nothing came. Her connection to the Fade had been temporarily severed and the Templar responsible for smiting her was charging at her, the insignia of the Chantry barely legible on his blood-stained shield. The mage had managed to stand up on shaky legs, still dazed, when the Templar reached her. She managed to block his first few strikes with her staff, but it was ultimately futile. The Templar bashed his shield into her side and she was knocked back down to the ground. She did not get a chance to recover before he plunged his sword into her chest, twisting it as he sank the blade deeper. She stared up at her attacker, eyes wide in shock and lips parted, but no sound came from her. Solas thought her dead, and then she coughed. Blood bubbled up from her mouth, seeping down her jawline before it dripped onto the earth, and before death took her he saw her lips move, the name leaving them barely more than a whisper. He turned away.

The presence he had felt through the cracks returned, close enough to recognize as it was concentrated behind him.

"You should not blame yourself for their deaths."

The voice was both loud and whispering, echoing around him and murmuring in his ears at once. It dulled out the roar of the battle around him.

"I do not," he stated calmly.

"You lie poorly, Fen'Harel." He detected a note of amusement in the voice and turned to look at his old friend.

"It is good to see you, lethallin."

The corners of Wisdom's lips curled into a faint smile, her glowing green eyes observing him curiously.

"You have seen this memory before. Why return to it?"

He looked away, watched the muted chaos around them. More bodies lay on the ground, more dead elvhen, young and old, and their empty, milky eyes all stared at him.

"I needed to remember."

Wisdom entered his field of vision, hands clasped behind her back and brows knitted together while she looked at him.

"You do not forget, falon," she said. "What enlightenment could you gain from seeing this again?"

Solas sighed and looked into her eyes. He had come to this memory to regain his focus, to dissolve the rumble of confusion and doubt that had risen within him. With Wisdom there, he was now forced to face the facts that had remained difficult for him to swallow.

He had spent years keeping focused on his goal, refusing to let anything hinder him. Not even his mistake with Corypheus had taken him away from his path; in the aftermath of the Breach he had only seen it as a minor delay to his plans. All the lives lost, all the sacrifices his people had made, and his future self had made the choice to throw it all away. You called me 'vhenan', Alyn had said, and her words had affected him more than he wanted to admit.

At first he had wondered if his future self had meant it. After all, he would not have put it past himself to use it as a tool, a weakness to exploit. Then he had thought back to Redcliffe, to the growing dread he had felt when Alexius had cast his spell; to the cold panic that had steadily risen within him when he had looked to where Alyn had stood, only to see nothing but a pile of ash. She had only been gone for a few moments, but it had been enough. Enough for him to sink into himself, to feel his chest tighten with pain he had not thought himself able to feel anymore. Enough to feel an almost frantic level of fear and anger, to want vengeance.

When she had reappeared he had let out a sigh of relief, quickly burying what had transpired in him during the few heartbeats she had been gone. Everything had returned to whatever could be considered normality, or so he had told himself as he had tried to forget the effect her disappearance had had on him.

In another life she had not reappeared. In another life he would have thought that whatever remained of her was a small rubble of ash. In another life he would still have thought her dead, something he would have continued to believe for a year. In another life he had called her vhenan, and when he thought back to what he had felt when he had thought her dead, he knew that his future self had meant it.

It remained a difficult truth for him to swallow.

"When we last spoke, you told me she will change everything. Tell me, lethallin, what makes you believe that?"

Wisdom's brows raised upwards and her eyes narrowed as they searched his face.

"She has already changed everything. Were you not so focused on the past, you would already see it."

She held out her hand. Solas looked at it, watched the green smoke that danced and crawled around the skin she had created for herself before he felt his brow crease and he looked back at her.

"She may know enough to complicate matters," he said, "but she has changed nothing."

Wisdom's smile faltered and she lowered her gaze, looking at her outstretched hand.

"Is that what you believe or what you want to believe?" Her voice was a ghosting whisper in his ears, echoing in the space between them. "Tell me, how did she come to find out who you are?"

He swallowed and looked away, trying to distract himself by focusing on the battle. He saw an Emerald Knight sneak up behind an Orlesian soldier, jamming a dagger into a weak point into the side of the bulky armour before kicking the back of the soldier's knees, forcing him down to the ground. A moment later the elf had placed his hands on each side of the soldier's head and snapped it to the side. A crack was heard, dull and distorted as it reached Solas' ears, and the Orlesian fell to the ground, his neck broken. The elf barely gave himself time to rest before he removed his dagger from the Orlesian's side and disappeared back into the shadows.

"Show me, falon."

His gaze shifted back to Wisdom, resting on her face before moving down to her still outstretched hand. After a moment's hesitation he sighed and took it. The smoke on her skin stretched out over his hand, wanting, seeking, and he looked back into Wisdom's eyes.

Around them the Fade shifted and moved, transforming and changing until they were both stood against a wall in a cabin. Quietly they watched the confrontation which had taken between Alyn and him right before Corypheus had attacked Haven. The memory of hearing his name being spat out from her lips sent a shockwave of emotions through the cabin, blurring lines and edges until nothing but a smudge of colours remained. Their voices, however, remained as loud and clear as ever.

"How did you find out?"

"You told me at Redcliffe! Congratulations, Fen'Harel, your betrayals finally reached a full circle. You betrayed yourself."

A breath he was not aware he had been holding left his lungs and his grip around Wisdom's hand tightened. They remained still, listening to the rest of the confrontation until he'd had enough. He focused on Dirthavaren, trying to ignore Alyn's strangled sobs that echoed all around, and once again the Fade moved to engulf them.

When they were not returned to the blood-soaked battlefield and instead felt the chill of winter on their skin, he knew that something was wrong. He was losing control of his memories and dread settled in when their surroundings changed until they found themselves in a cold tent.

They watched him as he worked to bring colour back to Alyn's worryingly pale skin. Although she was unconscious, the pain that came with regaining feeling in her limbs was great enough to make her cry out and struggle against him. He pressed his palm to her chest, keeping her still while the magic surged through his other hand to warm her skin.

"Ma'eth, Alyn," his memory said. "Ma'eth."

He swallowed while he listened to himself repeating the words, trying to calm her even if she could not hear him. She screamed and the scene twisted.

Snow rose up from the ground, transforming into a storm that ripped the tent apart and clouded the image of himself and Alyn. For a moment the snow was all they could see, and then the storm abated as quickly as it had appeared. They ended up in the clearing outside the refugee camp in the Frostback Mountains, the playful song of Veilfire filling their ears. It was temporarily drowned out when she heard Alyn curse before she raced past them. Then she stopped, her fists clenching and unclenching, and Solas knew what would come. Of all the memories he could have shown Wisdom, this was not one he wanted to share, even if she was one of his oldest friends. His mind raced as he tried to regain control of the Fade while his stomach twisted into knots. Outwardly he schooled his features into a mask of calmness.

"You called me 'vhenan'," Alyn said and a sound of surprise came from Wisdom.

"Fen'Harel?"

He ignored her. Vhenan rung in his ears, engulfing him like a blanket, so warm it felt like it was burning his skin, and anger roiled within him, both at his present and future self. How foolish had his future self been to throw everything away for mere emotions. It had been reckless, irresponsible, and yet he sensed the hint of underlying jealousy. The realisation of that fact shocked him. The air flashed and suddenly they were immersed into new memories, new surroundings.

They were back in his cabin at Haven, watching Alyn and him sitting next to each other on the floor, the heat of a wood-fire warming them.

"The Breach should be their biggest concern, not whether or not I choose to play a part so that their fragile egos can have an easier time accepting that an elf holds the key to closing it. Besides, everyone has a choice."

"Choices are easy to make; living with the consequences of our decisions is the difficult part."

The cabin was ripped apart, shredded wood planks and furniture flying in the air while rounded, fresco-painted walls rose from the ground to form the rotunda at Skyhold. He tensed up, felt the beads of sweat on his brow as he worked frantically to take them back to Dirthavaren. The rapid pace at which the Fade had changed and moved around them was dangerous; there was no doubt in his mind that they had already attracted demons. They needed to leave, yet they remained stuck.

Ravens squawked above them as they watched him and Alyn stood in the middle of the rotunda, mere inches away from each other.

"You rebelled against the gods, didn't you?"

"We were never gods, Alyn."

Solas sighed. It had been a foolish thing to say, but the memories of the rebellion had weighed heavy on his mind and the words had escaped his lips without thought. Had he not learned his lesson after he had tried to share his knowledge with the Dalish in the past? He should have controlled himself
better, and yet he had found himself struggling with the part of himself that wanted her to know. She had approached him in an effort to seek understanding, after all.

After his revelation, Alyn paled. He watched as she crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her hands over her arms as if suddenly cold. After a long moment of silence she eventually cleared her throat.

"I need to think," she whispered, and then her image was gone.

"It seems like a reasonable reaction," Wisdom murmured.

Solas shot her a look before he once again felt the Fade shift, already unravelling the scene of his next memory.

"Enough!" he snapped while he raised his hand to tear it down. The walls crashed into the ground, dissipating into tiny wisps, and finally they reappeared on the war-torn grounds of Dirthavaren.

He let go of Wisdom's hand, rubbing the bridge of his nose while he tried to regain a sense of calm.

Wisdom's gaze bore into him while lines of concern creased her forehead.

"You worry too much, Fen'Harel. Always remembering, always wandering, always searching for the past only to mourn it. You carry the sorrows of the ages, too blinded by dreams long forgotten to see the present. You need to accept that the world has changed."

He grit his teeth together, took a deep breath through his nose while he ignored the smell of death and charred flesh.

"I cannot do that," he replied wearily.

"There is no one stopping you but yourself. Why are you unable to let go?"

"Because I am the protector of the People!" he snapped, throwing his arm out towards the battle. "Look at what happened to them. Shall I turn a blind eye while the elvhen remain shadows of what we once were, living in squalor while they distort our history and culture?" He sighed. "It was my mistakes that placed them there. I cannot sit by and accept that nothing can be done."

Wisdom remained calm in the wake of his outburst.

"They once saw you as their guardian, Fen'Harel, but perhaps your protection is not what they need in order to be able to break free from what they are."

He shook his head. He could not accept that. His actions, actions made by a man who had thought he knew everything, were what had set everything in motion, breaking the People down until nothing of their former glory remained. Drastic and desperate measures had been taken back then, and the world would not be restored to what it had once been unless he fixed his mistakes.

"It seems, "Wisdom added, "as if the Fen'Harel the Inquisitor met at Redcliffe agreed with me."

Solas remained quiet, his eyes moving over the battlefield. The night sky had turned to dark shades of blue, slowly brightening as dawn approached. Where the elven army had taken advantage of their superior night vision to deal effective losses to their enemies, the tide of the battle would soon turn. Somewhere in the massive crowd was Lindirane, the Emerald Knight who had led the fight at Dirthavaren and rallied the remnants of the elven army to fight back. She would be killed before sunrise.

"We are not alone."

Wisdom's words had not fully sunken in before a loud roar filled the air. The landscape was bathed in bright green light and Solas shielded his eyes from it before he scanned the field, trying to locate the source. It did not take him long to find it. Deep into the bulk of the human army, floating in the sky, was a Fade Rift. Dread and confusion rose within him as his mind leaped to the worst possible conclusions. Had Corypheus managed to find another way to enter the Fade? Were the rifts spreading into the Fade itself? He glanced back at Wisdom.

"You should not remain here, lethallin."

He began to walk, then ran in the direction of the still pulsating and roaring rift. He did not bother skirting through the chaos of the battlefield. Soldiers flickered and shimmered as he ran through them unaware of his intrusion, and of the rift.

Beyond the frontline of the human army he saw more dead elves; the first losses of the battle, trampled on and ignored as the human army had advanced and pushed further. He took care to avoid their bodies as he ran, even when he knew they were mere visions.

The rift grew brighter and louder as he closed in on it, tendrils of green light crackling in the air around it. When he finally reached it he searched frantically for its creator, and then he froze in his tracks.

Standing on the other side of the rift, right hand wrapped so tightly around the wrist of her left that her knuckles were white, was Alyn. She was staring down at her anchor with wide eyes and furrowed brows, lips pulled back slightly to reveal teeth gritted together. He looked up at the rift. Countless questions emerged, none of them relevant if the woman in front of him was nothing more than a demon that had taken her form. He took a small step forward, his eyes narrowed while he observed her, trying to find anything that would indicate if it was her. His mind told him it was not possible; she was not a somniari and was not able to travel through memories like he could.

Yet when the rift above them disappeared, its loud roar shaking the earth, she looked up, meeting his eyes, and he knew it was truly her. Impossible. His gaze flickered between her and the place where the rift had been, mind racing as he thought of the implications of what had happened, of what was still happening. Impossible. The anchor flashed in her hand, causing her to wince, and he looked at it, wondering, dreading. The anchor was a part of her, but it was his magic, his essence, his power. She was not a somniari but, for better or worse, the anchor had made her one.

She changes everything. Wisdom had been right.

Alyn was trembling. Confusion marred her features; wide blue eyes filled with shock and fear moving frantically as she watched him. Then she looked away, taking in their surroundings as if it was the first time she had noticed it. The corners of her lips sank down, and even through the muted roar of the fighting around them he could hear her rapid, shaky breathing.

"I thought it was real," she said, her voice hoarse and wavering. "I thought it was real and I panicked. The anchor—"

Her voice died and her jaw tensed up, eyes darkening slightly as they lingered on something in the distance. Following her gaze he soon discovered a dead halla. Once it had been the noble steed of an Emerald Knight. Now it lay lifeless on the ground, several arrows lodged into its long neck and white coat tinted red with blood. Its antlers, once beautifully curved into intricate patterns, were nothing more than stumps. It seemed that not even the heat of battle could stop the Orlesians from collecting trophies.

"This is a memory." It was a statement, but she still looked back at him as if waiting for an answer.

"Yes."

She turned away, rubbing her marked hand absentmindedly while she walked into the fray of the battle. He followed her quietly. On this side of the battlefield, the humans had the upper hand. There seemed to be nowhere they could turn without seeing Emerald Knights bested in one-to-one combat, or merely getting overwhelmed from the sheer numbers of enemies.

A Templar suddenly fell to the ground in front of her, blood seeping down from his neck where an arrow had struck him. She jerked back with a surprised gasp, taking several hurried steps backwards to get as far away from him as possible. The Templar rose to his knees, using his shield as support, before he plunged his sword into the back of an unsuspecting Emerald Knight. The elf cried out in shock, his body twisting in pain before he collapsed, and a moment later another arrow whizzed through the air before it pierced the Templar's head. He toppled over on the ground, arm still resting on his shield. Alyn stared at it, incomprehension and disbelief creased around her eyes.

"What is this?" Solas heard her whisper.

"The Exalted March. The last stand of the Emerald Knights after the fall of Halamshiral."

She looked back at him startled, as if she had forgotten his presence.

"What?"

"The Exalted March of the Dales," he clarified.

"Yes, I figured that out!" she snapped before she placed a hand over her eyes and took a deep breath. "Ir abelas. I didn't mean to… It's never felt this real before. I can't think… They're afraid, they're so afraid. Why is this happening?"

Solas approached her slowly, carefully, until he stood in front of her. He moved to place his hands on her shoulders but paused, his hands lingering above them just out of reach. She had not noticed him. Her hand was still on her eyes but her voice had reduced to a barely audible whisper, words coming out in a ramble that were interrupted only by her increasingly shaky breathing. She would be in danger unless she regained control quickly.

"Inquisitor."

She did not hear him and he tried again.

"Alyn."

Still there was no response. Slowly he rested his hands on her shoulders, making sure to keep the touch feather light. It was enough to make her startle and she gasped. Her hand dropped from her face, revealing wide, tear-filled eyes that snapped up to look at him.

"You are in control. Focus your will and look beyond their thoughts and emotions."

Her hands grasped his arms tightly and she stared at him with an almost pained expression on her face. Her breathing was becoming more frantic and panicked and he pressed her shoulders gently in an attempt to comfort her.

"You are in control," he repeated. "Focus."

He saw her try. She closed her mouth and tried to take deep breaths through her nose as she attempted to calm down, but it was not enough. Tears streamed down her eyes and quiet sobs wracked her body while more and more soldiers died around them. It was when he felt another familiar, hostile presence in the memory, heard a scream he had heard countless times in the waking world, that he knew she was in danger. In the distance he saw the grey, raggedly cloaked form of a despair demon, its bare feet forming pools of ice on the ground as it walked in search of Alyn. He acted fast. He cupped her face and looked into her eyes, and as the first rays of sun reached them from the east, he gave her a comforting smile and whispered:

"Wake up."