Soft.
Caught in fingers.
Wrapped.
Over—under all.
Warm.
Too warm.
The soft is heavy—but it moves.
Chill.
Cold gnaws the damp of… flesh?
A body—must be in one.
It has a face.
The nose is right, but on the head—not hair.
Cloth, clotted hard to skin.
Tongue rips away… stuck to the roof.
Breath.
Expands— it hurts.
Hand on the aching ribs.
There's a pulse.
Alive? Can't be—another terrible dream?
Solas forced his shaky legs off of the low, narrow bed, leaving the warmth of the thick, fully haired ram pelts that had covered him. He sat up in a deep hunch as his feet finally touched the cold floor. The room swam in unsettling circles as his bleary, sore eyes adjusted. The yellowy light of a lantern offended their sensitivity. Even through his tight-lidded squinting it was much too bright. He did not recognize his surroundings; the cracked, plastered walls seemed regular enough, but the windows were boarded shut and scant other furnishings filled the dingy space. A discolored, slanted table held the offensively burning lamp, smudged with soot and spent oil. An empty picture frame, the canvased image stripped, sat in the front corner, leaning against emptied crates. A wooden chair with a broken leg was left propped by the door. A small pile off castoff, bloody bandages, and ruined clothes lay near the cot he sat upon.
He tried to stand, woozily compelling his quaking limbs to move, haphazardly tripping as his toes tangled in an abandoned blanket left on the ground at his bedside. His ribs screamed under his supportive touch and he nearly buckled, catching himself on the nearby wall to remain willfully upright.
The ache that drummed inside his head was nauseating, but it compared little to the swollen, bruised mash that his flank had become. From under his arm to the top of his hip, the damaged bones protested each of his tottering movements and left him gasping. Step by leery step, he made it across the single room, seeking out his effects and a weapon, anything to protect himself in this state. But none were to be found in the bare abode.
The voices of men caught his ear, rallying the acid of a bitter stomach as the mage dared lean against the closed wooden door. Humans by the coarse sound of it, their common speech was rough but unalarmed. Someone laughed briefly, deep and booming, it was almost familiar to his rummaging remembrances. Perhaps they didn't know he'd come to. Though it was more likely a trap built to lull him into complacency, to weaken him to the point of easy possession. This wasn't real; he highly doubted anyone, even a former god, could have survived that fall. His actual body must have fallen into an unanimated state, hopefully, buried in elvish tradition where it might remain whole. The Andrastians would have burned the corpse and he would be trapped in the Fade permanently. He had to escape before they found him. Solas would not be taken prisoner by their kind, genuine or imagined, not again…
Holding himself together, Solas pulled at the loose door, its hinges did not forsake him with loud squeaks or groans. Met by the cold evening wind he shivered, struggling not to cough. The body that did not feel entirely his own burned from within, dampened with sweat, the wintery air was a shock to the sickened senses. Not far off was a blazing campfire, blocked with the lumpy forms of soldiers, the smell of a cooking meal turned his empty stomach in knots. Their shadows danced across the snowy ground as the flame wavered in the light breeze, bringing with it the temptation of warmth and stewed meat. Some among them were of a strange build. One hulking and the other short, the familiar figures that he saw could not have been sincere. He'd walked the graves again and again, all had perished, the Inner Circle being the first to fall.
'Another dream. Demons showing me what I want to see. They shall not fool me.'
Each footstep came with great effort and cost as Solas tried to stick to the building's perimeter, but his dwindling energy did not permit for proper silence and a stifled cough finally gave him away.
The largest male looked up from his conversation; abruptly turning the excessive horns that spanned his breadth the Qunari caught sight of the escapee elf.
"Hey, look who finally got out of bed." Solas found no aggression in the voice, but he would not trust the beings before him. That's exactly what they wanted, to lure the dreamer in with calm and safety, but demons were tricksters by nature and would prey upon the feelings that would entice him the most. He must call their bluff; force them to reveal their true nature if they denied to let him pass.
"Whoa there, Chuckles." The shortest, stoutest among them rose to his feet, the firelight glinting off the golden threads of his tunic, the rich red of his hair and the impressive armature on his back. "You feelin' alright there buddy?"
"Tel'ma eosala dinehn ar'ame…" Solas growled through his rough, desiccated throat, in no condition to fight but he couldn't stop the weighty draw of magic he called forth with the verbal intimidation. The frazzled apostate wrapped the essence of the Fade about himself as armor and weapon alike. "Lasa'em etuna!"
"Maybe we should get the Inquisitor…" Varric recommended under his breath to the Iron Bull as their unstable companion spoke again in a language neither had the vaguest understanding of beyond a few random phrases they'd picked up over their travels. 'Hello' and 'don't shoot' were as far as either had gotten. Harsh, biting words were snarled incoherently at them, but the threat being made was apparent. They would not fight their raving acquaintance without good reason, but nor would they allow themselves to be overtaken in his hostile disorientation. Mages were dangerous even under the best circumstances. They would need utmost caution to handle this apostate.
Bull immediately cocked his bulky head, sending the two soldiers they'd been keeping company skittering off through the trifling cluster of repeatedly abandoned and wasted buildings. Both the dwarf and the Qunari began to regret sending Chiyo away, persuading her into having a few moments to herself. She hadn't gone far off, but it was the first break she'd been convinced to take in days. Sleeping only in short shifts, she'd worn herself ragged and exhausted her energy.
The defensive spell Solas had summoned began to burn, melting the fresh and sparsely falling snow at his feet in a wide ring that steamed back up into the cold air. He could barely maintain the energy required for forging a barrier. Even simple standing was taking a heavy toll on the ill mage, but he pushed himself on, taking risks with his magic that he normally would never consider without extreme duress. "Tel'garas mith…"
"Easy now." Iron Bull kept his deep voice low and his hefty hands utterly still, but he was still armed with a blade strapped to his hip. Varric made no move for the crossbow on his back and stayed a step behind the creeping Qunari. Together they trailed the stumbling mage as he managed a few more steps, melting a wide path and turning the thicker patches of snow into slush. "No need to get hasty. Why don't you drop the babbling elf shit and actually talk to us, Solas?"
Tense minutes passed and the irate shouting continued, the cautious pair were nearly struck when they dared get too near in their slow pursuit, but the elf they followed was quickly becoming exhausted—and more unpredictable. The Fade weighed heavily about him, becoming more unbalanced with each manipulation.
"What's going on here?" Their advancing Herald huffed, having returned from her short stroll in haste on a splinted limb. She limped doggedly, the damaged leg just barely supporting her weight.
"Careful, Inquisitor. This one's cracked…" warned Varric under his breath, hearing the uneven approach of their typically light-footed Herald. He kept his sharp, flinty eyes on the ailing mage whose threat had not diminished with the new arrival.
"I thought you guys were going to watch him." Chiyo hissed angrily, handing over a freshly filled rations bag to her wary companions.
"It's not like he was going anywhere when you left. I've seen dead people more up and about than he was." Muttered Bull before the Inquisitor marched ahead, her sole concentration on the progressively agitated fade-walker.
"S-sal'him banal! Harel'asha." Solas faltered, refusing to look at the newest apparition. Not this one, not the face of the last person he'd failed so miserably. He could not bear the torment of the deceitful presence. This abomination was not worthy of her beloved image, death would have been preferable to seeing it so heartlessly abused. His barely controlled power flared, driving her away as he made a hectic scramble towards the icy woods and unusable dwellings.
Chiyo kept her balance through the shocking blast and bid the others to stay with a halting gesture. She followed the fraught apostate through the less habitable remains of what had once been a prosperous township, dodging the poorly-aimed attacks with quick turns that left her leg ever more painful. Utterly bewildered by his behavior, she tried with all the knowledge she'd gleaned to translate his harried speech. He pressed his thinly clothed back to the frozen, residual wall of another devastated home. Solas could go no further and was now cornered, hardly staying on his feet.
Solas' words came forth in arduous gasps. You cannot trick me… not real… you are a monster… masked in flesh… I will destroy you!
"Solas, wait." The soft-spoken Inquisitor cringed as he lashed out once more, confronted and failing to keep her away. Struck by a hefty blast that loosened an alarmed cry, Chiyo fell to the snowy ground but determination kept her from toppling far. She had never seen such panic and fear, nor lack of recognition on the habitually disciplined apostate.
You did this… the guilt is on your hands… wounded me… thief of hope…leave now!
"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm sorry… you're right. This was my fault." Her voice persisted as forgiving behind the sudden wash of remorse while she pushed back to her feet. Chiyo's choices had hurt yet another who'd depended on her for safety and she would never forgive herself for the pain and danger she'd put him through for her rash decision in taking down a dragon.
"Ane'ma eth sahlin, ane'ma eth sahlin…" She whispered with gentle assurance, forcing her way through the punitive barrier that shocked each slow advancement made and stung at her unarmored flesh. Solas was visibly shaking. The meager garb he wore was soggy with sweat—skin red and slick with fever. She knew he could hear the kind words she spoke, but his nervous, detached gaze wouldn't rise high enough to meet her eye. Instead he vehemently cursed the Inquisitor with every harsh phrase and dispel he could remember. However, his wavering threats fell on unlearned ears.
"Banalfelas ma vhenan!" He yelled fiercely as she came near, proclaiming the ruinous state she'd left upon his heart. Hearing that hurt more than the mending fracture in her leg, it left her head hanging low.
"It's freezing out here, Solas…" Regret splintered her voice as Chiyo slowly stripped off the long, heavy robe she'd been wrapped in, exposing herself to the biting cold. Full, fat flakes of snow sprinkled her unprotected arms and speckled the short garment she wore underneath the draped, furry garb. She offered the warm layer, holding it within easy reach. "Na inan ven'ar, falon."
Solas shook his throbbing head in useless disobedience, but his eyes betrayed him and in looking to see the image of the one that had meant the most he noted the scarcely washed, splotchy stain that spread across the front of her light, thin tunic. Old and browning, a mark of blood that had not been washed clean, but the fabric was untorn. It had not come from any gash of hers. Whose blood had been spilled on her small breast? Solas' hand strayed towards the bandaged wound on his temple, but he pulled it back down in uncertain swiftness. "Ar'tel… nuvena dala. Elvarel ma telir'nehn…" There was more to his mournful, deteriorating discourse, but they were not terms he had ever used with her before.
I don't want to kill you… you were… my only joy.
"Ir abelas, but you have not taught me all those words yet. I can barely understand you." Chiyo dropped the presented robe, letting fall into the crunching snow and offered up her empty hands. She didn't object or struggle as he forcefully grabbed at her lean wrists, one still bearing the dark bruises of his last touch. His own arm still had the marks of her fingers, five deep gouges from where she'd adamantly held on. Solas' strength finally dissolved, knees hitting the frozen ground, his grasp on the Inquisitor the only thing keeping him upright still and his flushed face out of the icy slush.
"Isalama hamin." She murmured sadly, her heart breaking with each of his timorous tremors as he buried his burning face in her captured hands, soothing the feverish skin on his cheek and brow against her cold fingers. This was her fault entirely, she should have never let him come with her nor taken this terrible path. "We have to get that fever down. Will you allow me to aid you?"
I cannot rest … already dreaming… demons shall not tempt me…
"Somnial? Dreaming? Solas, vhenan… where do you think you are?" She carefully lifted his head, finally able to look him in the eye. Chiyo searched through the overcast, evading windows of his soul to find the source of his rage and madness. He truly believed that the world about him was made of falseness, lies and twisted memory. The shuddering Dalish wordlessly joined him on the snowy ground, resting her damaged leg on the abandoned clothes. Din'somniar, I am here, her chilly lips promised against his febrile, chapped mouth, sealing on that guarantee before he had the chance to turn away.
Real.
So very real. Solas could smell the faint traces of herbs that clung to her skin beneath the salt of long dried, worry spilled tears. Wisps of her soft, unruly hair tickled his face. He could taste the wretched, detestable spice of the tea she drank to ease the multitudes of her stress, a flavor lasting behind the feel of the lips whose shape he'd learned through careful study. What demon could ever copy such tiny fragments of her being? His constricted grasp loosened, but he clung to her in delirious despondency.
"The Fade… I cannot wake up." Solas groaned exhaustedly, the staunchness of her presence steadying his distress and giving him strength where he had none to spare. "I've always been able to wake up…"
"But you are awake. This is real." The Inquisitor encouraged him once more, placing a forgiving kiss beside each drooping eye. She was troubled by the absolute emptiness in his tone and the poorness of his color. "I tried to find you. I called each night when I could sleep."
"You died, you were dead, and I saw it. What happened, Chiyo, we fell and then…?" He trailed weakly, nauseous at the recall of their peril, hiding his face in her hands once more. "I think I'm going to be ill."
"A nightmare. Ma sa'lath. A terrible nightmare. You've been unconscious for four days; I don't think there is anything left in you for that." She carefully helped him to his unsteady feet once he was ready to stand. Shaking with the cold, she placed the discarded robe around his shoulders and let Solas lean against her for as much support as she could give. "Come back with me, I will tell you everything you want to know."
"You're serious? You didn't see her open a rift in the dragon's face? But you were right there, practically in its jaws!" Varric balanced on the rickety chair that would have served more efficiently as kindling than furniture. His jaw was still agape with the retelling and he'd been hoping for Solas' added perspective on the wild affair. For research purposes, of course, not that the author was concerned with getting all the savory details to write down, he could fill in the blanks later anyways.
Solas pondered, feeling much more himself again as he settled back into reality. It certainly explained the bright light he'd witnessed before all had been lost to him. The Inquisitor had been shining with hard-pressed strength, not just brilliant confidence. A fantastical turn of events that most would believe mad had they not been there or had the carcass as evidence. However, thus far the retold events failed to explain why he'd been thrust so deep into the Fade.
"Boom! Tore its head clean off." Bull added in excitement, making a twisting, explosive gesture with his massive hands and lolling his head to the side, letting his tongue hang limply out of the corner of his scarred mouth. He too appeared just as well off as the Inquisitor and their rumpled apostate. A set of new claw marks shone red and on the mend against his bulky arm, smeared with salve as were the other gashes his body had endured. From his pocket, he pulled out a fine looking tooth, stroking the serrated edge with his shortened digits with great personal pleasure. "We should show him what's left! Just a headless corpse hanging off the side of that cliff! Boss, that was a great fight, I owe you a drink or three."
"That takes care of the dragon though I worry that it is humanity's own expanding encroachment driving these creatures to seek less hospitable breeding grounds… but what about the fall itself? Killing your enemy does not always guarantee victory, and in our incidence we sacrificed all safety to accomplish the feat." Solas continued to sip the thick, warm drink that he'd been handed. Milk still heavy with fatty cream laced with sugary dollops of last autumn's honey; it was far more palatable than the restorative the Inquisitor had prepared. A potion doubled with concentrated, crushed chunks of herbs to give him much needed energy and to cool the fever that left his skin hot and red.
"I finally did it." Self-satisfaction snuck its way over the face of the elf at his side, a joy almost worth the consequences of her ill-considered attempt. "A real fade step—I guess it was more accurately a fade fall. I mean, it wasn't perfect… you paid the price of my miscalculations… But it worked, my timing was just wrong. I used to it make us fall closer to the ground, I should have held out one more tiny second."
"With what energy did you have to do such a feat?" The mage inquired, clearly remembering both their states of exhaustion. Opening the rift through sheer willpower alone had been impressive, but there would have been nothing left in her to spare for another large spell.
"I pulled it," Chiyo tried to explain, grasping at the empty air with her marked hand. The Anchor glowed dully as she recalled the strange energies that had answered her risky command. "It felt like I snatched it right out of the rift, straight from the Fade."
"I-Impossible!" Solas choked, nearly spraying the sweet drink in his alarm, but he managed to cough the rest down without making a mess of himself. The thinly packed mattress he'd returned to felt as if it had fallen away. Magic didn't work that way; it must be drawn from within first, not completely circumvented and stolen out of thin air. Certainly, the ambient energy could be tweaked, toyed with and bent for effect, but flat out and freely used? And on top of that she'd stolen what little energy he had left in him, the last dregs at the bottom of the barrel. Therein lay the answer, she'd pulled and twisted physical energies from the raw source, opening channels that he shouldn't have been able to follow back in a state of unconsciousness. But she'd tangled those magics together and sent his mind along for the harrowing ride.
"I really don't have a better explanation." The Inquisitor ran her fingers over her unkempt hair, smoothing the loose tendrils back towards the messy knot. "The rift was starting to close and I just… took what I needed. But I think some of your magic got caught up with it too, I could feel it pooling with mine. It was... weird. Sorry, there really wasn't time to ask. Does any of that make sense to you?"
"Your theory needs further examination and I am in no place to dissect it now…" Solas placed a shaking hand over his dry brow. His dizziness had returned, but not because he hadn't eaten or drank in nearly a weeks' time. What she spoke of was perplexing, disturbing even and she seemed entirely unbothered by the implications. She'd often manipulated the Fade, using the magic where the Veil was thin, as a free catalyst for the storms she charged. Taking advantage of those static energies, but this was on an entirely different level. He would have to study her further, but not until he found a way to do it without risking himself. Solas could not afford to be tossed into the Fade like that again; the results had been disastrous enough as it was. The fact that his magic had answered her call in the first place was enough to make any studied mage weak of constitution considering the hows alone. "…I should lie down."
"You're not going to get all weird on us again, are you?" Asked Iron Bull warily, standing nearest to the only door. His wide shoulders pressed to the cracked plaster walls, giving his braced leg a short break from his bulk. "Really thought you were possessed or something…"
"I cannot ask you to forgive me for my behaviors." Solas was ashamed of his reckless display, of how far he had slipped from the prudent presence he'd been so careful to build and maintain. They could not know him for the man he was or had been, and he would be hard pressed to repair the damage that had already been done. The state of his health might let some of the behavior slide, but their guard had already been raised against him. "It was completely inexcusable. Mere dreams should never have affected me so."
"Chuckles, you were stuck in the Fade from what we understand. As strange as it sounds to people like us and please, don't explain it any more or I might ever sleep again. I've never dreamt before, but I've had the chance of physically going there twice now in my lifetime." Varric shrugged his cumbersome shoulders. "I can't imagine what it could have been like to be trapped there for days on end. How you haven't already gone mad from it is beyond me."
Days. They said it so simply, a momentary passage of time. A brief collection of hours, a mere blink compared to his extended years. But why had it felt so much longer…
Bidding him goodnight, the rest of the apprehensive company did not wish to test the limits of his recovery, nor did they trust him enough yet to stay within any close proximity. To Solas, that was clear by their tense posture alone. Tight shouldered, backs to the wall, hands kept close to their centers. Bull and Varric were still on edge, and rightfully so. He did not blame them for the trepidation or prompt dismissal. They'd spoken with friendliness well enough, but he had unsettled their once steadfast confidence.
But one remained even after the others had tried to beckon away. A small woman who knelt on his bed stayed near, tending to the wound above his ear with fresh poultice and bandages. No more afraid of him than the wind that rattled the shutters or the snow that pushed through the cracks beneath the door.
A silence had stretched between them, one that he was glad to leave unbroken. There was so much to tell her, but what fate would come to be if the knowledge was shared. How might the Inquisitor alter her choices if she knew the potential outcome? She'd handled disbanding one horrendous future already, it might press their luck to try for a second alteration. But could she reforge the path they now walked and turn it once more from the impending doom? What if it came to choosing between sealing Chiyo's powers permanently to keep her from using them as he'd seen done or risking a likely death by having them unleashed before they broke her? The mounting questions only served to worsen the ache in his head, leaving him tired and ever more miserable for the lonely lot he'd sanctioned himself to.
The soundless Inquisitor did not protest the arm slipping behind her hip or the long ear that pressed to her breast, listening to the constant, strong strumming of the resilient life below as she tied off the clean cotton wrapping. She gently stroked the hairless crown of his head, tracing a light touch from his knotted brow to the bowed back of his neck. Everything hurt, fresh was the old pain of his failures that plagued him just as much as the new injuries done to his flesh. Yet she was real, so very real, and that was enough. Even if it made all the other wretched truths just as tangible, it was worth enduring. She changed everything, even when she shouldn't. For now his world had not yet crumbled in around him and he would do what he could. There was still time though he didn't know how much. There was still a chance to fix this, even if he knew not where to begin.
It was difficult to loosen the memory of cracked, blackened hands and stilled hearts under caved-in chests, even as their unmarred versions soothed his bleak burdens and guided him from the dark corners of his own mind.
Solas did not have to ask for her help in finally laying back down, still unbearably sore but on the mend with all of the restorative tonics that coursed through his destabilized system. Nor did he need to tell her to stay, though he would have begged if Chiyo had tried to leave. She settled beside him between the heavy furs that held off the frigid evening and the chill of his breaking fever instead of taking to the floor as she had done nightly since the nearly fatal fall. The despairing mage wasn't required to admit that he needed to simply hold her then more than he needed answers to their dilemmas or rest to let his body heal or freedom from the pain that addled his bones.
With his face pressed against her neck, he hid his eyes from the world around him. As far as he was concerned nothing existed outside of that door, outside of the bed he shared.
One night. Just one silent and selfish night to make it through to dawn.
It would have to be enough. Let it be enough.
Solas entered the second level of the library, but he had not traveled up the curved stair in search of any book. Instead of perusing the multitude of available text he approached the pensive man who'd usurped the only window. There were solutions the apostate had tried in vain to solve for alone over the preceding months, but everything he had once considered had been turned upside-down several weeks prior in the Emprise du Lion. The Inquisitor had quite the way of balking his plans, making them worthless with little more than a flashy wave of her hand. Yet after all his pondering and scouring for answers he was no closer to an answer that could help her in their common goal. Perhaps another outlook would shed fresh light onto the quandary that pride alone could not solve.
"Is there a moment you could spare?"
Dorian slowly lowered the book he'd been lost in, entertaining his quick mind with advanced theory and deliberated applications. He peered over the heavy text and eyed the apostate that infrequently sought him out for conversation of any kind. But by the sound of it, Solas seemed to be asking for aid instead of the usual reproving of previously discussed philosophies. "That depends on if we are just going to talk or if you are going to square off with me about my comments on Tevinter casting techniques again. I conceded already that I should not have claimed such originality on our last venture. It seems there was much we borrowed from the ancient elves, you have obdurately brought that to my attention."
"And there is much you take from them still." Solas' eyes narrowed, but he'd already mentally prepared himself for the northerner's usual witticism. There was no end to the man's defensive rebuttals, ceaselessly grasping for the last witty word. It would take skill to wade through the droll nonsense to reach the cultivated intelligence hidden beneath the highly polished, pompous veneer.
The seated mage closed the leather-bound volume with a snap and added it to the tall pile nearest his over-stuffed chair. "Forgive me if I cannot single-handedly correct every misgiving the Imperium has ever set to its name. I wasn't exactly the most popular and powerful man in Tevinter before I left. Did you come here for worthless politics that arguing changes little of, Solas, or something more within my capabilities of changing at present?"
"Entirely otherwise." The tall elf answered categorically, remaining unmoved by the disregarding speech. He stepped to the side, hands tucked firmly behind his hips, opening a pathway out of the narrow niche. "But not here. Outside, if you're of the mind."
"If we must, the day is nice enough for the South. I could use a walk anyways." Rising to his feet, Dorian straightened his rounded shoulders, eliciting a sound pop from his spine while he rolled his neck. "This chair is not conducive to the health of my posture. I fear it shall soon have me slouching like you over your desk all day." He followed Solas out onto the empty battlements for both privacy and fresh air, shutting the sturdy door behind them to steal a few moments away from other company. The stationed guards across the way could not hear them from where they were.
"How may I humbly be of service?" Dorian asked as they stopped, overlooking the hustle and bustle of the thriving regiments and livelihoods below. It was a busy time for the Inquisition, their homebound size nearing capacity. There was work plenty to be done with new stone and timbers to correct the old fortifications for those with skillful hands. Deliveries from all corners of Thedas crossed the gated threshold and slowly dispersed through the hold. Food, firewood, clothing, all had to be managed by someone who had not chosen to wield a sword or learn a bow. More unhurried men stopped by the Herald's Rest, in need of a mid-day pint or two. The busied troops made their last preparations for the fast approaching mission to the Arbor Wilds, a month long excursion before they would reach their target and send word back to the Keep. It would be their biggest operation yet in thwarting Corypheus, and all were glad to finally have a chance at dealing a blow after what he had done to Haven.
Solas held his bothersome question momentarily, weighing his words with great care. He required aid but he had no wish of exposing the full truth before it was necessary. There would be consequences certainly if it was misinterpreted or received by the wrong ears. "You are an educated man Ser Pavus, a rare thing in these dark and troubled times. Your standing has given you access to that which most would envy, even if they could read it, let alone comprehend. I'd hopes that you could enlighten my understanding on some of the finer details of using a particularly misjudged branch of magic. I have no experience, but the general application has caught my interest. The practices of which are… as you know, frowned upon by most even if it is no worse than any magic drawn from the Fade or produced by lyrium."
"I believe to have caught your meaning, though you are either brave or foolish to trust me with that pursuit." Dorian snorted with amusement, but he kept his velvety voice low. He already had enough strikes against him for nationality alone and had no wish to see the inside of a Ferelden prison. Only one man was allowed to put him in restraints, the knots the mighty lady Seeker would fashion if allowed were more likely to snap his neck in haste than what the Iron Bull could do with a simple rope. "And what makes you think I would know anything about such a foul thing? I mean yes, I do know a good deal about most subjects, but that in particular?"
Solas crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for the tedious joke to pass. "You come of the correct background."
"So because I'm from Tevinter I must know something about blood rituals, right? How assumptive, you give me too much credibility." queried Dorian, brushing at the tips of his well-groomed moustache, smoothing the tidy hairs away from his postulating lips. "I will tell you all of my dirty little secrets, but only if you spare me no detail of what it's like to dance naked under the full moon, growing flowers with a song."
"…Point taken." Solas admitted to the equally trite conjecture, it was incorrect of him. Not all those of Tevinter descent were ravenous blood mages seeking to conquer the entire world. Only the majority it seemed at times. "But you do know something?"
"Of course I do! I'm a Tevinter Altus after all!" He chirped, enjoying the annoyance clearly inflicted on the other mage. "But it is not something I observe. I don't care much for some of its uses. It gives others too much power to change the people that don't suit their whims. I would prefer to have more wits about me than a living doll to fulfill another's requirements… or a potato were things to go wrong. I have seen those affected where death would have been kinder than survival. With a clear conscious, I can tell you that I never used my slaves as sacrifices, not that many still keep the old practice."
Solas pushed past his broadening irritation, but the knowledge he pursued was now vital and worth obtaining even through disagreeable consultation. He would need every shred of information available were he to make an attempt at circumventing the future he'd been privy to witness. Even if it had all been a carefully crafted illusion meant as a warning and not an actuality, the message of blatantly clear. "And what do you know about undoing this kind of magic were it wrought onto another? Perhaps not for puppetry or even anything intentionally malignant, but harmful nevertheless. To put it plainly, can the work be removed?"
"That depends…" Dorian paused to consider, intrigued by the mage's unusual bluntness that pressed his tempered words more forward than was accustomed. "How much blood are you willing to use to wash away the old? How much time, magic, and possibly lyrium do you have access to? How strong of a spell are you trying to break? I cannot even begin to guess as to what you'd want this information for…"
"It is unlike me, but I'm uncertain of the finer details. Only recently has it been brought to my attention. I've never seen anything quite like it before, that is all I know for sure." The apostate leaned heavily on the short, patterned stone wall that faced the courtyard, watching the steady milling of the people below. There was now so much that he was doubtful of, for a man who'd once believed himself to have all the answers it was a sharp dose of reality to be so irresolute.
"Aren't you helpful." Dorian clucked his tongue behind his fine teeth before joining his fellow mage in the surveillance. It wasn't long before they spotted their equally gifted companions, talented mages in their own right. The Inquisitor and the Enchanter rambled along the tall edge of the level divide, tracing the built-up wall above the healer's camp. But by the looks of their interaction they seemed at odds, on the verge of an argument with their frequent pauses and dogged steps.
The Tevinter drew his eye from the developing scene and observed Solas, noting a forlorn gaze buried behind the unyielding face. The elf was obviously vexed, but it seemed for the first time that there was more than just magic on his pondering, pensive mind. He'd seen that same stare before, unbridled and unabashed when the Inquisitor had fallen to an arrow on their last extended stay in the Hinterlands. Solas was as terrible of a liar as he'd ever met; he was only better about keeping it to himself. "Maker, how you look at her. Like the last brilliant dawn before the fated noose."
"I know not of what you are talking about." But Solas couldn't force himself to twist his longing eyes away. Head held high, hands on her hips, it was clear she had no intention of backing down from the much taller, more experienced woman daring it point a finger into her thrust-out chest. Puffed up and as tall as her frame would allow, smallness did not dilute the intimidation Chiyo could exude when pressed. He was not afraid of her, yet he was terrified of the effect she had on his being.
"It seems you don't know a lot of things. Varric told me what she claimed to have done… Please tell me you took notes or I will never consider you a scholar ever again." Dorian began, sighing heavily, considering the unmanageable implications of the near ridiculous magical feat the Herald had managed to perform. "I tried to ask the Inquisitor myself about the matter, but she wrestled with how to put what she'd actually done into words. Magic isn't made of fabric. You can't just yank on its skirts until it gives you a treat and a pat on the head."
Solas could almost hear the other mages, their voices rising to terseness. "And let me guess, you mentioned the new skill to Madame de Fer?"
"No actually, she pulled it from old Bull like a silk ribbon, Ben Hassrath training my ass. That hat of hers does strange things to a Qunari male." Dorian shook his head in dismay. "But I did give her a few sovereigns and told her that she was out of her league as a trainer. She threw them back in my face and referred to me as 'sweetheart' in such a manner I considered hiring a guard for my bedroom door."
"So we should presume that the Lady Enchanter might seek someone better suited?" asked Solas. They were all out of their depths in the matter; the Inquisitor had left all their areas of expertise far behind, leaving them to sort through the dust and wreckage of her advancements.
"Yes," Dorian pointed a long finger towards an unmoving figure standing near the medical tents. "I believe it's that uncanny woman waiting by the gate. Showed up this morning and hasn't budged an inch. I've kept an eye on her all day, strange creature if I ever felt one."
"Hey! Are you my new trainer?" The Inquisitor's voice rang out through the spacious courtyard. It seemed that Vivienne had also informed Chiyo of the stranger's intended purpose.
"I am your trainer!" Replied the eccentric woman, her voice matching in loudness. "I have studied the rifts!"
"Good! Well study this!" Solas tilted over the battlement, hands clenched against the hewn stone as he watched the reckless Herald leap from her perch. She dropped in a blur of luminous green down to the lower level of the yard, much to the equaled exasperation of the accomplished confidante at her side and the many onlookers.
A spying Red Jenny, hanging from her window, cackled loudly. She whistled at the vocal snark and the flashy departure, rallying for an encore. But Sera quickly ducked away when the richly dressed mage turned in her boisterous direction before marching away in utter disdain.
"I think I've read poetry about that emotion— I so wish you could see your own face my friend. Let me guess; boulder on the chest, lungs made of lead, nerves full of spiders, is a nug simply kicking at your heart? —dare I say it Solas, you tied in quite the lover's knot." Dorian chortled and nudged at the overwrought elf with his elbow, beaming at the sight of such a stoic man lost for words. "That mark has certainly made a very special mage of her."
"What if it's not the mark though?" Solas questioned, finally looking away as the Inquisitor continued her introductions to the newest resident of Skyhold. "What if this has been her destiny all along, with or without the Anchor?"
Dorian had just begun to walk away, leaving the other man to stew unaccompanied. But he halted, having one final thought for their original conversation. "About the blood magic…"
"About that indeed."
"Let me write a few letters. Take it easy till we speak again. You still look like that dragon just spat you out yesterday."
Previously Unclarified Available Translations:
Tel'ma eosala dinehn ar'ame, Lasa'em etuna- You don't know who I am, let me pass
Tel'garas mith- don't come near
Sal'him banal, Harel'asha- become nothing again (dissolve a false image), trickster woman
Ane'ma eth sahlin- you are safe now
Na inan venar, falon- look at me, very close friend
Isalama hamin- you need to rest
Ma sa'lath- my one love
Banalfelas ma vhenan- you are not my heart