Third Dream: The Burial of the Dead

April is the cruelest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

- TS Eliot, The Wasteland

Solas awaited her on the edge of a darkened plain, where her waking mind met the landscape of her dreams. Veda recognized his silhouette immediately, even from afar, the contours of his profile silvered by moonlight. At her approach, he lit the brazier beside him with an elegant flick of his fingers.

The gesture reminded Veda of their conference in the camp outside of Haven so long ago. She'd admired the sinuous grace of Solas' movements then too, how the veilfire flickered over his hand, its green-blue light caressing his face as she would've liked to. They'd shared a secret then, a bond as elven outsiders made them huddle in the shadows and whisper like accomplices. Perhaps it'd been the first step to sharing that fateful kiss in the Fade, the one that had changed so much in her heart and in how she perceived the world.

"Well met," Solas said. "How fare you since last we spoke?"

Veda sensed anticipation, perhaps even a hint of eagerness, in the soft lilt of his voice. On the surface, he looked as assured as ever, but that veneer was too smooth, too self-conscious. It was the sort of false bravado that she'd become familiar with because it was Dorian's favourite refuge when he didn't know how to cope. Her intuition told her Solas was putting on a similar performance, albeit a subtler one.

"There's been some bad news," Veda said. "We've encountered reports that imply Mythal is gone – if not dead, then greatly diminished. Were you aware of that?"

Solas peered into the veilfire. His eyes reflected the wild dance of the flames.

"I took her power. She bequeathed it me. Without it, I would not have been able to continue with my duties."

"Did you kill her?"

"No. It didn't come to that. She surrendered it willingly. She was...generous."

"But you would have fought her," Veda persisted. "If you had to."

"I would have done it with great regret."

"But you would have done it."

He bowed his head. "Yes."

His confession should not have hurt. It shouldn't have come as any surprise, yet it struck Veda like a fist to the gut. She had to take a second to regain her breath.

"Abelas will be glad you didn't harm her. He's upset. As you can imagine."

"Abelas is with you?" Solas' eyes narrowed. "He sought you out?"

Veda found the sharpness in his tone peculiar. The few times she'd heard it, it had been during discussions about the Grey Wardens or the Well of Sorrows, contentious subjects, ones that roused his temper. Was it possible he was jealous? No, Solas was too self-possessed for that. Likely, he was surprised she'd connected with the Temple's Sentinels, when they'd been so distrusting.

Nonetheless, she wasn't going to reassure him. Let him think Abelas was plying her with sweet-talk and gifts, doing everything in his power to cozy up to her. Solas didn't need to know that they spent most of their time bickering or that Abelas seemed dead-set on reminding her that she was an inferior breed of elf compared to the brilliance of her ancestors.

"Yes, Abelas and his people came to Skyhold. He's proven very helpful."

This wasn't a lie, not entirely. Abelas had been helpful – when he wasn't complaining about how inefficient everything was.

Solas avoided her gaze, pacing around the fire."No doubt he has. Temple priests are possessed of many skills. Yet I would be wary. They tend to be dogmatic and inflexible in their views. A grievous fault."

It was subtle, as most things were with Solas, but Veda had the definite impression she'd just heard him take a dig at a perceived rival. Perhaps he wasn't above jealousy. She couldn't resist the urge to test him further.

"Not an admirer of Abelas then?"

"Have I often expressed admiration for those who surrender freedom of thought for false certainty? No, I'm not an admirer of Abelas. I pity him. I hope you have the good sense to do the same."

Oh, something had made him cranky, alright. It was as if she'd just suggested they elope to Par Vollen and join the Qun. Veda glanced down, doing her best to hide her amusement. Goading him was more fun that it had any right to be.

"You feel strongly about this."

"I feel strongly about many things. Surely you know that by now." He took a breath, seeming to reconsider his response. His tone softened. "If you would, please tell Abelas that...I'm sorry about Mythal. It was a measure I wished to avoid. If it gives him any comfort, I believe she endures, in some form. I did not consume all of her power."

"I will."

"Thank you." He turned his eyes to the path ahead. "Come, there is much to see and little time before morning."

They hiked up a mountain ridge. As Veda climbed, the night winds swelled behind her, speeding her way along the rocky slope. A full moon bathed the path in gentle light.

Solas trailed behind her, as he'd done on the trek to Skyhold. Back then, it'd suited him to create the illusion that she knew the way. Why he held back now, Veda did not know. His stride was longer than hers and it would have been a simple matter for him to outpace her. Instead, he seemed to keep his energy in reserve, biding his time.

Veda crested the ridge and gazed at the valley below, breathless with wonderment. Crystalline towers soared past ancient redwoods. Amid dark groves, silver minarets speared the night sky, contending with the stars in their brightness. A winding path of moonlit orbs led to a city floating like a waterlily above the silky ripples of a vast, black lake.

Solas drew up behind her. She sensed his watchful gaze taking in her reaction, and she realized he'd planned this, that he took the climb slowly so he might revel in her surprise.

"This was once my home," he murmured. "Capital of Elvhenan. Arlathan."

Veda had heard the word before, but never had it affected her so. It was every love she ever lost. It was every regret she ever whispered into the parched summer grass. It was every hope carried away by an autumn breeze.

She turned to him. "Ir abelas."

Solas shook his head. "No. Do not apologize. It is I who am sorry. Once, this might have been your home too. Now it is lost, except to memory and to dreams."

"Now I have dreamed it," she said. "I will remember also."

He smiled. "So you will. A comfort."

They went down into the valley. Coming closer to the pearly light of the orbs, Veda saw they were fueled by veilfire. Wisps flitted around them like moths.

"Would you care to attend a banquet in the city?" Solas asked.

"I'd like that."

He scrutinized his faded traveling clothes. "Of course, a change of costume will be in order."

In the blink of an eye, his humble cotton shirt and doe-skin trousers transformed into an elegant dove-gray ensemble, topped with a wolf pelt slung over his shoulder. It was a simple change, yet he looked magnificent, exuding a masterful quality that his ragged apostate's clothes had been calculated to obscure. Veda found it difficult to tear her gaze away.

She expected her beloved Keeper's robes wouldn't be the height of fashion in Arlathan either. "I don't know the styles here. What would you recommend?"

"I suppose I've observed Elvhen garments in passing, but I would hardly call myself an expert." Solas said. "You were hoping for a dress at the Winter Palace, were you not? What colour do you favour?"

"Blue," Veda said shyly, a little embarrassed at her eagerness for the gown. "With maybe a touch of silver?"

"What do you think of this?"

In place of her Keeper's robes, she now wore a sapphire blue gown as iridescent as butterfly's wings. The silk clung to every curve of her body, while the gown's silver neckline dipped low to offer up an enticing glimpse of cleavage.

A revealing choice, Veda thought, and not simply in how it displayed her figure. If this was how Solas imagined her, he was entertaining some sensual ideas.

"I think it's far better than what Josephine had me wear to the Winter Ball."

Solas smiled, inspecting her with appreciative eyes. "I'm glad it pleases you. Already it seems Arlathan suits you well." He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

It seemed that the return to Elvhenan put him in a courtly mood. It would do no harm to play along, she thought. Tonight, they could afford to entertain the fantasy that all the beauty and grandeur of this world were theirs, with none of the cruelty, none of the sorrow. Under this false moonlight, she might be his lady and he might be her lord, with no secrets to part them.

Veda laced her arm through his. "Of course. Lead the way."

Everywhere they looked, there were spirits. Some were gauzy, fleeting and insubstantial as the wind, while others were almost part of the landscape, embedded in the earth like rocks.

Through their presence, one could sense emotions, instincts and desires floating on the air, richly layered as notes in a fine perfume. Memories glistened like raindrops on fern leaves. Infinite possibilities fanned out under the surface of simple things. If one looked hard enough, the spirits might show you reflections of what had been, of what might be, of what never was. Nothing was static. An acorn dropped to the ground, grew into a towering oak and fell to the woodsman's ax in a single moment. Past, present and a thousand potential futures existed at once, waiting to be touched.

"It's wonderful," she murmured. "But...how do you make sense of it all? There's so much of...everything, all at once."

"Although you are a skilled mage, you are accustomed to the Veil," Solas said. "Until now, it has a clear boundary for you between the actual and possible. Under such circumstances, you've needed to push past that boundary to summon forth your magic into the waking world."

"It takes a concentrated effort," Veda said. "Here, it's almost effortless."

He nodded. "Here, there is no Veil and no clear distinction or limit. You must set your own limits. With practice, you would learn to focus on the visions that are useful to you and disregard what is inessential. It is a muscle that those used to the Veil might regain with time, just as a restored Tranquil might learn to organize and manage a wide spectrum of emotions."

"It's like reading a book by an overzealous scholar. There are six footnotes behind every word," she said. "Is this how Cole sees the world?"

"Not quite, but close. Being a spirit, what he perceives is naturally limited by his purpose, Compassion. Nonetheless, he still receives an overwhelming amount of information and it is sometimes difficult for him to focus."

"How does anyone keep a secret in a world without the Veil? Is everything completely transparent here?"

Solas laughed. "No, not at all. Secrets may still be hidden and indeed, the Court of Thorns in Arlathan would be nothing without its mysteries. As you've said, there's so much of everything. If one wants to detect a secret, one must know precisely where to look and what to look for. The expression that comes to mind is 'looking for a needle in a haystack'. Few have the focus or the wit to do it with any great frequency."

"You are one of the few?" she cast him a sidelong smile.

"On occasion, I've succeeded in the endeavour."

That sounded like false modesty, but Veda decided to let it pass. Humility would always ring a little false when one was worshiped as a god. No wonder Solas had taken such delight in disguising himself as a ragged apostate or an elven servingman, any role that might give him the pleasure of being unobtrusive.

As they approached the lake, Veda began to see greater numbers of Elvhen. Some of the ancient elves were lavishly dressed in satin and brocade, feathers and furs. Their faces were unmarked by vallaslin, although decorated with gems, paint and even fragments of bone. A few strolled along the path as Solas and Veda did, but others were borne aloft on palanquins or sedan chairs carried by other elves, evidently their slaves.

By contrast, the slaves wore hooded robes, their faces masked by vallaslin. Veda recognized all the traditional patterns of tattoos, but she was most stricken by the sight of slaves inked with the signs of Dirthamen, the markings she'd once worn with pride.

"You seem troubled," Solas said.

"I see the divisions you told me about. The nobles and their slaves. I'm dressed in the costume of a noble, but more likely, I'm a descendant of slaves. I once wore the markings of a slave. I feel...complicit."

He nodded, his hand enfolding hers.

"You have been here but a few moments in a dream. You have not contributed to any real suffering. Imagine, instead, that you were part of this system for millennia. You watched it grind people down until their immortal bodies became a curse to them. They were eternal, but eternally bound. You were clear-sighted enough to realize the evil in this, yet you spent centuries with your eyes shut tight, unwilling to look because it would prove inconvenient – you might feel the urge to act and that would endanger the comfortable life you'd made for yourself, the accomplishments and status you'd attained. If you can imagine that, you will know true complicity. You will know what I was once. You may even begin to guess at the contempt I had for myself and for the others who played along with what they knew was wrong, because it was easy."

"You led the slave rebellion," Veda said. "You may have been complicit once, but clearly that changed."

"Yes, I changed," Solas said. "Of course, change is never easy. It comes at a price. One day, I visited the estate of a dear friend. I expected to be greeted by his slave at the door, but instead, it was my friend who answered, an unusual breach of decorum. I saw he was upset so I inquired what was wrong. During the night, nearly all of his slaves had poisoned themselves. There were but a few left. I went with him to his slave quarters and saw the bodies in their bunks."

Veda saw the horror of this memory reflected in his eyes. "That must have been...unspeakably awful."

"It was...not something I'll soon forget and I have seen many atrocities since that day," Solas said.

Veda thought back to the thousands obliterated in the blast at the Conclave. Hundreds more had been slain in the battles waged against Corypheus and his followers. The Inquisition had encountered so much death and destruction in only a few short seasons. How many horrors could someone see in 8000 years? She wasn't sure it was a question that she wanted him to answer.

"My friend's slaves were not poorly treated by the standards of the time," Solas continued, "yet they were so bereft of hope that oblivion seemed a blessing to them. It was the only path they could imagine to their freedom. Among mortals, this is horrific, but among immortals, it was even more shocking: we so rarely looked upon death. It was anathema to us." He loosed a faint sigh, as if trying to let the memory go. "After witnessing that, I could no longer equivocate or live in denial. I chose to act and in so doing, I saved myself from poison too, albeit a slower one that would have corrupted my spirit."

She gave his hand a soft squeeze. "I think the world is better for your spirit – or at least, I am. I'll admit to being prejudiced in the matter."

He squeezed her fingers back. "You are undoubtedly prejudiced in the matter. But in this instance, I'd be a fool to object."

They reached the edge of the lake. Dark waves lapped gently against the sand. Above them loomed the lost glories of Arlathan, so enticingly close and yet as distant as a mirage in the desert. There was no bridge to the city, not even a boat to ferry them over the water.

"How are we to get up there?" she asked. "It's not exactly...accessible."

"It's accessible to those with a talent for magic," Solas replied. "You're accustomed to a world that privileges the mundane. Here, we rely on spellcraft for practically everything." He pointed to a graceful archway at the edge of the city. "We will fade-step to that ledge. You'll need to keep that indomitable focus of yours."

The spot he gestured to was an absurd distance away. Veda had never attempted to fade-step so far, nevermind to do it through the air. "That's not a fade-step. It's a fade-leap!"

He bit back a smile. "You have the proficiency to do it. I trust in your skill; trust in it too and you will not fall."

Veda closed her eyes, envisioning the distant archway. She imagined how the streets of Arlathan would feel under her feet. Here in the Fade, her well of mana was unfathomably deep, almost bottomless. She would not falter. She would not fall.

"Alright. I'm ready."

They launched from the shore at the same moment, Solas still gripping her hand. As always, the speed was incredible, wind whistling past her ears, blood surging through her veins. The night air nipped at her cheeks, then her feet struck solid ground. She stumbled, her landing less than graceful.

Solas caught her in his arms, giving a laugh of such full-throated joy it startled her, then gladdened her heart. Had she ever seen him so unabashedly happy? Veda had caught glimpses of it from him, in their contented hours at Skyhold, when they danced at the Winter Palace or during their rapturous nights in the Fade, but nothing so free and spontaneous as this. Back then, Solas had been hunted, an apostate hiding his identity and past crimes. Here, he was in his element. Here, he was what he'd been born to be – if not a god, then something very close to it.

He gazed down at her, his smile fading, and for a moment, Veda was certain he was going to lean down and kiss her. She stiffened under his touch, torn between the pull of her body and the nagging awareness that he was still an unknown quantity. Abelas had brought up a good point – if Solas would sacrifice Mythal, he might sacrifice anyone. She didn't want to be another sacrifice he'd set on the altar of duty.

Veda laid a hand upon his cheek, a soft touch yet enough to keep him from closing the space between them. "I like to hear you laugh. I wish I were enough to make you happy."

Solas placed his hand over her own, his fingers entwining with hers. Drawing Veda's hand from his face, he set it over his heart. She felt its steady rhythm even through the heavy weave of his jacket.

"You are enough. More than enough. But happiness is not a gift one can give. You know that."

"I wish it were different," she said. "I'd like to visit that other world, where you were not the Dread Wolf nor I, the Inquisitor, where we might simply...exist together without fear of the consequences."

"Do you fear me?" he asked.

"You're brilliant, powerful and driven by motives I don't understand. Motives that you refuse to explain. I would be foolish not to fear you, however much I -" Veda was going to say 'love you' but those words made her feel too exposed, too much like the woman who'd once trusted him so blindly and whose eyes had stung with tears when he'd abandoned her. She needed something safer. " - I care about you."

"You're right to distrust me. I have deceived you. I have a history of flawed judgments. Yet I don't deceive you in this: I never want to see you come to harm. To have a part in that would be the end of me."

"Mythal was your oldest friend. You were willing to sacrifice her. Why should I be any different?"

"Because...you are. Different," he said. "Besides, it will not come to that."

"Are you certain of that?"

"I am certain of few things beyond my own convictions. It will not reach that point."

"Alright. If you assure me of that, I'm willing to...move forward."

"Thank you. I understand your trepidation. Your trust is a gift, one I have done little to earn. Perhaps we can change that tonight." Solas extended a hand towards the path ahead. "Come, Arlathan awaits."