Solas: I will remember this. When it is over.

Blackwall: This? This war? The Inquisition?

Solas: The people. How you fought against the tide. It is…courageous.

Fourteen

Rosa Stands Accused

Solas remained awake after lights out in the apprentice barracks, sitting upright in his cot in the darkness and waiting for Tal to bring him lyrium. His heart pounded in his chest and his palms were coated in sticky sweat. Repeatedly he touched his mana core, brushing over it like a man checking his blade for nicks and cracks. Unfortunately he felt virtually nothing within, as usual. That place inside him, which had been overflowing and thrumming all his life previously, now ached with hollow emptiness.

Lyrium was a crutch for weaker mages. Solas had only used it during the heaviest battles during the Evanuris civil war and his own rebellion. He'd aided Mythal when she attacked and killed a Titan to mine its blood and distribute to her people, but he and the other Evanuris had almost never touched the stuff. But now…what choice did he have?

His memories of imbibing in the substance were less than pleasant. It had an effect far worse than alcohol on his physical form, making him clumsy in the immediate aftermath of drinking it. In his first experience consuming it, Solas had been unprepared for its effects and could not physically aid his fellow Evanuris in subduing Falon'Din. Instead, he had acted as a reserve of mana to the others, letting them draw from him like a living foci. Mythal had intentionally allowed him to make such an error, as a way to humble and humiliate him into remaining subservient to her. It had acted as a reminder that he needed her guidance and training to reach his full potential. Solas had heeded that, though with more than a little teeth gnashing at his wounded pride.

Would it still affect him similarly? Would it strengthen his connection to the Fade and enhance his magic or just make him lose his grip on the physical plane? Could he take that risk or was it wiser to ask Tal to drink the lyrium and then draw from him?

But Tal cannot reshape the Fade, Solas thought and scowled through the dark. Mana wasn't what he needed now. It was the Fade.

His thoughts splintered and broke off as he heard the door to the apprentice barracks creak slightly and saw the faintest shadow moving against the darkness toward his bunk. Despite the direness of the situation, Solas smiled at how stealthy young Tal was. It was uncanny, almost as if he knew the forgotten stealth magic of—

"I've got them," Tal whispered, ducking into the tight space of Solas' cot. With a wave of his hand Solas heard a slight whump noise and felt the tingle of magic work over his skin. Tal had cast a sound deadening spell over them to ensure none could overhear. Only then did Tal pull the slender blue glowing vials from his pockets. "It's tiny doses," he explained. "From Varian's course."

Solas took one of the vials, feeling over it. The blue glow peeked between his fingers, pricking his eyes with its intensity. "Thank you," Solas said. He wondered where this had been stored and how far Tal had had to wander to get it, miraculously evading Templar patrols. "How many did you bring?"

"Four," Tal answered.

Slow with caution, Solas unstoppered the vial and the rich, heady scent of Titan blood made him dizzy already with memory. "Leave two with me and take two for yourself," Solas instructed, deciding he needed to cover all angles. He might need to draw magic from Tal in the Fade. "Drink them and sleep. I will draw you into my dream."

"Then what?" Tal asked, his face lit by the blue glow.

"Then I will do whatever I can to aid Rosa."

Tal nodded. "See you in the Fade," he said and left the cot. The sound-deadening spell ended with him, the caress of magic evaporating. With it, Solas heard the gentle breathing of the other apprentices and the quiet tap of Tal's bare feet as he returned to his cot. A second later he saw the blue glow as Tal produced his own lyrium bottles. The light disappeared quickly, indicating Tal had consumed it and bedded down to sleep.

Drawing in a deep breath and shutting his eyes tight, Solas raised the vial to his lips and downed it like a shot of potent alcohol in two swallows. The taste was sharp and biting, the liquid unnaturally warm and thick. It seemed to tickle as it flowed down his esophagus and curdle in his stomach. Heat spread through him and his head went light. His limbs seemed to go hollow, his muscles numb. Recalling ancient lessons from Mythal, Solas concentrated on the sensation of breathing, on the feeling of his clothing brushing over his skin to ground himself in the physical plane just a moment longer.

Blinking blearily, Solas struggled to pull out the cork from the next vial and lifted it to his mouth—only to feel the cold touch of the glass against his left cheek. Fenedhis. He was apparently still badly affected by the stuff despite the Veil and his own weakness. With his other hand, shaking and unsteady, he pushed the vial to his lips and tipped it up.

Now euphoria flooded him and he groaned, collapsing onto his cot as his body's strength seemed to give out. His head spun, his spirit seeming to rise from his body and hover somewhere a few inches above. The Fade opened wide like a hungry maw, ready to swallow him whole.

And in that last instant when he was still distantly aware of the apprentice barracks around him, Solas felt his mana core ignite like sparks meeting dry tinder.

Solas opened his eyes and laughed with elation and relief. The raw Fade waited around him: green mists swirling about slimy pools, black-gray rocks and statues of Andraste littered the swampy plain. Wisps darted about a few meters out, curious but cautious, drawn to the weakened Veil of the Hasmal Circle tower.

Inside himself, Solas felt the fullness of mana and closed his eyes with pleasure at its warmth and satisfaction. It was as if he had been starving, hungry for days on end but never dying. Now, miraculously, he'd been fed and had a full belly. The gnawing emptiness inside had at last abated.

Reaching out with one arm toward the nearest clump of weeds, Solas clenched his hand into a fist as he summoned winter's grasp and grinned as ice and frost instantly formed over it. His mana core rippled inside him, like a muscle stretching, sending pleasure flowing through him. He'd felt the impact of the spell, but it wasn't enough to drain him.

As wonderful as this was, Solas knew it wasn't the result he truly wanted. Relaxing his shoulders, he closed his eyes and dipped his chin to his chest as he reached outward with his inner senses. The Fade connected somewhere inside him, touching his core and awaiting his will. Solas concentrated on imagining Tal: the sound of his laughter from dinner, his playful nature and stealth as he'd moved through the dark.

The Fade changed around him, the sensation washing over him with a wave of dizziness—but no pain. Opening his eyes, Solas saw the young elf standing a few paces away, stiff and wringing his hands together in front of himself. He showed no sign of shock when Solas appeared before him, merely nodded in greeting. "Revas," he said.

"Tal," Solas answered back with a dip of his chin as he took in the changed Fade, which had reacted to the young elf's presence. They stood in a small clearing at the edge of a steep, rocky slope leading upward. Pine trees grew tall and proud around them. "The Frostbacks?" Solas asked.

Tal nodded, still wringing his hands. "Where I met Rosa last year, before we both set out for the Free Marches." He sighed. "The last place I saw my clan."

Solas started to answer and then winced as he felt the Fade shiver around them. Tal seemed to have noticed it as well, pivoting about to look around, his brown eyes wide. "What was that?"

Solas didn't answer for a moment as he felt the heavy weight of another Dreamer and took in a sharp breath as his eyes found an unclear shadow a few meters away in the shade of an enormous pine. "Rosa?" he called out, certain it must be her.

The figure moved slightly, perhaps looking in his direction, but it was impossible to be certain. Tal, finally registering the shape and the presence as well, darted forward and shouted, "Asamalin!"

But the form lost coherency and vanished into mists before Tal could reach it. His shoulders slumped as he surveyed the dreamscape and saw no trace of her. "Creators damn it."

Solas had closed his eyes again, trying to draw Rosa to them if she was present in the Fade. He imagined her coy smile, the pride and defiance in her stance as she faced off with Ser Jeremy, and the musical quality of her voice. The Fade seemed to strain, wanting to acquiesce, but when Solas opened his eyes he saw no sign of her, though the Fade had changed. Now it became the stone walls of the Circle, where Tal and Solas stood in the dining room where wisps had formed into mages, all eating and chattering as they tried to recreate reality.

Solas let out a breath of frustration and started to turn to address Tal when he realized one of the spirits that'd adopted vague shapes to fill the chairs in the dining hall wasn't like the others. It was white and sat where Rosa usually sat in reality when they ate meals. Now, as Solas stared at it, the spirit rose to its feet and hopped over the table, lithe and graceful exactly as Rosa had been when she had done the same once.

"Pride," it greeted him in a disembodied, echoing voice that was clearly a mimic of Rosa's. It stood erect and stiff, crossing its arms over its chest. "We meet again."

Tal, standing several meters away and still spinning to take in the dining room, now stared between Solas and the spirit. "Is this…?"

"Rogathe," Solas said, smiling tightly in greeting. "A pleasure to see you again, although I wish it was under different circumstances."

"You are afraid for Rosa," Rogathe said, motioning toward him and then to Tal as well. "And you share the same fear."

"She was taken by Templars," Solas explained. "I believe they are investigating Ser Curtis' death and feel she is responsible. My hope is to touch the dreams of those who decide her fate and convince them she was not involved."

"Rosa was already doing that," Tal said, striding up to Solas' side. He shook his head, wearing a look of worry and consternation. "I don't understand why they would've taken her."

"There are times when no amount of subtle manipulation through dreams can prevent such actions," Solas told Tal. "It may also be possible they suspect her involvement through blood magic or—"

"These shemlen know nothing of what she can do," Tal snarled, cutting a sideways slash with his hand in dismissal of Solas' points.

"Perhaps," Solas hedged. "But we must assume the worst until proven otherwise." Pinching his lips together, he considered a moment, eyeing Rogathe's brilliant light as the spirit regarded them, arms still crossed over its chest. He hummed in his throat. "If we are Templars and we suspect an apprentice of murder using blood magic or something else rare and deadly, what course of action do we take to establish guilt?"

"They are cowards," Rogathe snarled. "But Rosa remains unbroken and unbowed. She has not called out to me, though I have felt her enter the Fade several times."

"We just saw her a moment ago," Tal added, pointing to the stone wall where the pine tree had stood before the dreamscape transformed. "Do you think they drugged her to keep her out of the Fade?"

"Possibly," Solas said. "But I doubt it. Such arts have been lost to all save the Dalish and some Tevinter scholars." And survivors from Elvhenan, such as myself.

"They are cowards," Rogathe repeated, sounding angrier this time. "They will use tactics befitting the bullies they are."

Solas nodded, smiling tightly at the spirit with approval. "I believe you are right. They may wish to keep her from the Fade, but more likely they simply hope to wear her down with sleep-deprivation. That is why we saw her shadow and sensed her so briefly. She has not been blocked from the Fade, merely prevented from sleeping."

"But why?" Tal asked, his lips curling with a snarl.

"Because they lack the courage to fight her!" Rogathe growled.

Ignoring Rogathe's simpleminded bluster, Solas added a different interpretation. "They will hope to extract a confession."

Tal's expression warped with concern and he began wringing his hands in front of himself again. "Is there any way we can help her if that's the case?"

"Not you, unfortunately," Solas murmured, frowning. "But Rogathe and I can, yes. As she tires her mind will partly cross the Veil while still awake. We may watch her directly then and communicate with her—bolster her resolve should she weaken."

"Shemlen bastards,"Tal said, hands clenching into fists at his side. "They're going to torture her."

"Rosa will defeat them," Rogathe said, sounding confident. "When she needs me, she will call and I will aid her. Together we will rend them asunder, scatter their essence to the Void. Then we will part the stone walls of the tower and find you both in the waking world and—"

Tal interrupted the spirit with a snort. "Part the walls? Scatter their essence?"

"You doubt me?" Rogathe asked, bristling. It took a threatening step forward. Ready to face off with Tal.

Stepping to intervene, Solas held up a palm to Rogathe. "He meant no offense, elgar. Tal does not understand the Fade as you and I do and does not comprehend your meaning."

Rogathe shot Solas a skeptical glance but then seemed to nod with agreement. "Yes, he is young and foolish. We must protect him, Rosa and I."

Tal scoffed, shaking his head but fortunately saying nothing to further rile the spirit.

"Ma serannas," Solas told it with a polite smile. Relaxing and drawing back a step, Solas said, "Tal and I must set to the task at hand. Rogathe, would you do us the favor of watching for Rosa and seeking us out should she come to the Fade more permanently?"

"Of course," Rogathe said.

As Solas bid the spirit goodbye and refocused on Tal, he felt a wave of dizziness set the dreamscape swirling about him. Grimacing, he said, "Tal, I may need to draw strength from you. Mana, specifically."

Tal stared at him, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed with a tense, somber concern. "Whatever you need, Revas, I will help you. I won't lose my sister. Not now."

Solas managed to draw up a reassuring smile. "At least we can take comfort in knowing Rosa is stubborn enough that she will not break any time soon."

In the darkness of her cell, Rosa had no way to tell when night transitioned to day. Her body told her with its hunger that it must be close to daybreak, but that could have been misleading because the Templars had kept her awake all night with a constant vigil.

They'd left her chained to the wall in the dark, her hands bound together with the cold iron shackles. When she even thought about magic she saw blue runes light up over the shackles and chains and realized they'd been set there to nullify magic and prevent her from using her powers to escape. Every few minutes a Templar would march down the hallway outside her cell and reach in to shake her awake. She frequently gasped and shot upright, drawing as far away as she could—never far enough that they couldn't reach her thanks to the short chain on her shackles. The light of their torches was the only thing for her to see by.

Endless dreary hours passed this way. Sleep called to her repeatedly and she would just begin to touch the Fade when the Templar would waken her again. She cursed under her breath and vowed to gut each guard who woke her.

Eventually sleep grew more distant to her mind as hunger gnawed on her instead. Her stomach seemed ready to wear a hole in itself, twisting and clenching inside her. The thought of asking the Templars for food swam through her mind repeatedly, but she dismissed it. She was Dalish—the last elvhen. She would not beg or plead and she would never break. She and Tal had endured five days with minimal food and water immediately after being brought to the tower, after all. But enduring with Tal had been far easier than managing on her own.

Still, Rosa knew she would do it.

And then, at long last, a change in the usual routine. A trio of Templar guards appeared at her cell with a torch that made her eyes stream with moisture at its blinding brightness. They entered her cell and one of them—the redhead who'd had the gambling problem and protected Revas—unlocked her chains and ordered her to use the chamber pot along the opposite wall. Rosa did as they'd ordered, eager to relieve her bladder and wholly uncaring that the Templars would see a bit of her leg when she hiked up her robe and squatted.

When she'd finished Ser Ginger offered her a water skin and a dry loaf of bread. But when she reached for it, he pulled back and clucked his tongue.

"A few questions first," he said and Rosa snarled at him, readying herself to go without the food or water. She'd dock her ears before she submitted.

"Did you kill Ser Curtis?" one of the Templars behind Ser Ginger asked in a gruff voice.

They certainly waste no time getting to the point, she thought and would have smirked if it wouldn't have damned her in their eyes. Instead of answer she closed her eyes and felt within herself for her core, as bright and shocking as the torch one of her captors had brought into the utter darkness of her cell. The Fade brushed against her as well, beckoning with the promise of sleep. Within it she could feel Rogathe, pressing against the Veil, sensing her. Waiting.

"Answer the question," Ser Ginger snapped.

"No," she growled, deciding she could at least tell them that much.

"Have you ever practiced blood magic?" the gruff-voiced Templar asked.

"No," she repeated, rolling her eyes.

"She's lying," the Templar with the torch muttered. "Filthy knife-ear."

Ser Ginger grunted and fumbled with something at his waist, pulling out a small trinket on a chain. As it swung to and fro, Rosa recognized it and suddenly felt nauseous. It was her pendant, meant to bind Rogathe within her and keep it controlled. "Care to tell us what this is, wretch?"

It was blood magic, albeit a harmless and simple spell. Her Keeper had aided her, showing her what to say and do. The raven feathers had been chosen for their ties to Dirthamen, the Creator Rosa had dedicated herself to with her vallaslin. Her Keeper had sliced her own fingers to supply the blood for the spell, wary and reluctant but resigned that she must make the pendant. She'd forbidden Rosa from actually casting the spell because they both knew it would weaken her connection to the Fade. Her Keeper hoped that if Rosa maintained a strong connection to the Fade as a Dreamer it would one day allow Rogathe to return to the Beyond. Her foresight had proven correct, but now it seemed the spell would damn Rosa anyway.

"There's a spell on this," Ginger said. "But the First Enchanter can't identify it. If he can't identify it…"

"Must be blood magic," the gruff-voiced Templar said. "That's the only shite the First Enchanter don't know."

Sweating and with her exhaustion and hunger forgotten with the cold grip of fear, Rosa snorted. "Idiots. I'm Dalish. We remember all kinds of spells you shemlen have forgotten."

"Rubbish," the torchbearer said. "She's not ready to talk, yet, Ser Bartholomew. Chain her back up."

"Agreed," Ginger said and twisted to pass the water skin and bread loaf back to the gruff-voiced Templar. A moment later he approached Rosa, stiff and ready for a fight.

Baring her teeth at him and with her hands clenching into fists, Rosa let herself be dragged back to the shackles and secured. As the Templars left, taking their light and the food and water with them, Rosa sighed and pressed her forehead to the cold stone in front of her. Shaking the shackles a bit to rattle the chain, she considered her options and found, of course, that none of them would truly work. Still, it was a pleasing distraction to plot out how she would summon Fade rock and smash her restraints, then call Rogathe into her and escape in a torrent of carnage and Templar blood.

But she knew she wouldn't actually manage to escape and even if she could make it, she'd never be able to leave without Tal and Revas. Even if she'd wanted to take the despicable and selfish route of abandoning them, Rogathe would not allow it. She would die; assaulting the whole tower until eventually mana burnout rendered her a shaking, pathetic mess that the Templars could easily slay.

Worst of all, if she actually did die in that spectacular fashion the Templars would investigate both Tal and Revas next.

I brought this on myself—on Tal and Revas, too. It was her fault, her foolishness that'd put her here, as much as she wanted to blame the Templars. To release Rogathe from herself she'd sought out Curtis in the Fade and set herself against him in the arena of dreams. She let him attack her with his fists, with his words. She let herself face his depravity and cruelty without flinching from it and then had conjured a sword for him from Fade ether and demanded that he fight her. it was just a dream, after all. They could not harm one another and she could always manipulate him afterward to instill a deep, primal fear of her into his sub-conscious…

But when she had struck him down with her magic something strange happened. His sleeper self had not vanished as she expected, but had scattered like a spirit. Glimmering white-green, it shot off into the Fade and disappeared as if a wisp had taken his form all along. Rosa had thought nothing of it at the time, especially when she had also felt Rogathe slip out of her body almost immediately afterward. But the next day when she and Tal were hauled to the Knight-Commander's office and she began to suspect she'd made a terrible mistake.

And then Revas had seemed so certain she had killed Curtis that she realized he knew what had happened, somehow. She wanted to ask him, to probe him for whatever secrets he knew, but he'd been cagey and evasive. Utterly useless and holding back something as always.

There was nothing she could do about it now. Drawing in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and steeled herself for whatever was to come.

"Where's Violet?" Varric asked at lunch when Solas and Tal sat down together on their side of the table opposite the dwarf. His brown eyes narrowed and his brows arched with concern as he must have taken in the sullen mood from both elves.

"Templars took her," Tal answered, shoulders sinking. He had a pallid skin tone after the long night he'd spent as Solas' Fade-walking companion and backup mana reserves. He'd been dogged in his resolve to help, though it was clearly taxing for him, as Solas dragged him from one sleeper's dream to the next.

Solas, meanwhile, felt rejuvenated. For the first time since waking from uthenera he'd felt magic swirl in his core and altered the Fade substantially without hesitation or pain. Even his body seemed recovered, with only a slight ache from his overuse of muscles the last few days. His mind, however, was foggy and his thoughts scattered. Drawing magic strength from Tal had let Solas taste the younger man's mana in a way he'd not been able to before just being near his spells and the experience had been…odd. Invigorating, of course, but also…familiar. He'd expected elves in this post-Veil world to be somehow different from their Elvhen ancestors, but Tal's magic felt the same.

"Why would they take her?" Varric asked, shaking his head in consternation, though there was also a glint of worry in his eyes.

Tal shot Solas a sidelong look, apparently seeking help or permission and deferring to him now that Rosa wasn't here. Solas took the initiative and explained, "The Templar who died under unusual circumstances a few days ago was not on friendly terms with her. I suspect they have run out of clues and hope to uncover more by broadening their search."

"The guy was a real asshole," Tal put in, snarling. At Varric's raised eyebrow in silent question, he elaborated. "He groped Rosa. Bullied her. Threatened her." Tal motioned at Solas and toward Rosa's empty seat. "The three of us were involved in a complaint against him just before he died."

Varric's jaw clenched. "Well…shit." Glancing toward Rosa's seat off to his right, he sighed. "I hope she's okay and can convince the Templars she had nothing to do with it." He rubbed one meaty hand over his face. "I can't help but feel like this is somehow my fault. They probably think it's blood magic and I knew a Dalish blood mage—though Daisy wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Is the Seeker responsible for my s—" Tal broke off, scowling. Solas kept his expression deadpan, hoping to disguise Tal's near admission of his familial relationship with Rosa. Eventually Tal started over again. "Is the Seeker the one who ordered Rosa be taken in, do you think?"

Varric was still stroking at his chin, his expression contemplative. "Could be," he admitted with a shrug. "I'll see what I can find out and let you know."

Tal let out a breath, nodding as he poked at his sandwich, his body language despondent. Solas nodded to the dwarf with appreciation. "My thanks, Master Tethras. The Templars of this Circle have proven mostly fair in my experience—short of a few, including the man who died. We can only hope that they will come to the obvious conclusion that Rosa could not possibly be responsible."

"Yeah," Tal grumbled. "Since we're locked in our barracks every night. I mean, seriously. How could anyone believe she could have killed him?" He glared down at his food and muttered, "Not that he didn't deserve it."

Under the table, Solas dug his heel into Tal's shin, making the younger elf squirm and huff at the hidden rebuke.

"Yeah," Varric agreed, his eyes glazing slightly and his lips quirking downward. He dug into his vest and pulled out his whiskey flask. "I can believe it. Hawke and I saw plenty of Templar abuse in Kirkwall and since the guy who died was a transfer from there…" He grimaced and took a long swig from his whiskey.

After lunch had concluded Solas walked with Tal, laying plans for a repeat of the previous night's exploits. Solas, still assigned to the library on clerical duty, planned to slip off into a quiet room and drift off into the Fade to search for Rosa during the day as often as he could manage without arousing suspicion. Then they would steal more lyrium for tonight and reenter the Fade together.

Tal looked exhausted at the prospect, but when Solas questioned him the young man insisted he would endure. "Whatever I can do to help her, I will," he said, his face fierce with devotion. "Ever since we met at the last Arlathvhen, she's been the one to protect me. I want to help her for a change."

Solas smiled at him. "Then that is what we will do, falon."

Tal beamed at him, his bright brown eyes and warm smile seeming to burn away his despondency. "Falon," he echoed.

Perhaps it was just a trick of the light in the hall, poorly lit as it was, but in that moment Solas felt a wave of dizziness and déjà vu disorient him. Tal reminded Solas forcefully of some of Mythal's children and grandchildren—young, eager to please, keenly intelligent, charismatic, and guileless. Solas had spent a century or so training a handful of them while he served Mythal as a general. Many of those children had grown up to join his cause and oppose the nobility.

Solas gripped Tal's arm harder, breathing deeply and blinking to try and shake off the strange sensation. For a heartbeat he'd sworn he was back in the brilliant white stones of Mythal's noble estate, walking through the narrow corridor leading to her crystal gardens with one of his students. The temporal distortion—losing his sense of the present—had him suddenly bathed in sweat and breathing hard enough that Tal immediately noticed his distress.

"What's wrong, Revas?"

"The lyrium," Solas ground out through gnashed teeth as he slowly refocused on the present. That was what was wrong. He hadn't yet recovered from the effects.

"Drink lots of water," Tal advised. "It helps." He patted Solas' hand as they reached the dogleg in the corridor where they'd part ways for the afternoon. "I'll see you tonight."

"Likewise," Solas answered with a nod, swallowing as the world around him seemed to re-solidify. He shambled his way down the hall, following the other apprentices who had to travel this way for their classes or chores, hugging the wall so he could reach out and support himself should he need it.

Fenedhis, he cursed and hoped tonight wouldn't be so bad. But, as a positive, at least he could still feel a slim bubbling of mana in his core, warm and secure. With luck that would remain inside him long after he'd recovered from the effects of the lyrium.

In the library, Solas quickly catalogued and replaced several books that'd been returned while he was away at lunch and then slipped into one of the empty classrooms on the second level. Closing the door, he settled into a desk near the back of the room where it was darkest and lay his head down on the wooden surface. It smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals and musty wood, a pleasant scent.

In only a few moments his eyes grew heavy and the Fade drew him in like a welcoming lover. As with the previous night, Solas opened his eyes to the raw Fade, a clear sign that his connection to it was stronger than it had been since he'd arrived at the Circle. Closing his eyes, he imagined Rosa—her scent of lilac and vanilla, her melodic voice, her keen violet eyes. He felt the Fade twist around him, trying to draw her to him, but it seemed to bounce back, finding nothing.

Sighing, Solas opened his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest as he surveyed the raw Fade around him. Slimy Fade rocks jutted out of the tawny sand a few meters out of reach. Water trickled, condensing from the air itself into oily puddles. A statue of Andraste stood off to his far right, the cold gray stone in pristine condition despite the water dripping over its surface. The ancient rebel woman had her arms held up in supplication to the Maker, but in the Fade it appeared as though she was beseeching the Black City.

Solas wrinkled his nose with disgust at the thought. There'd been plenty of elves in Elvhenan who'd done exactly that. He could still remember the chants of the elves, singing in obeisance and praise to the Evanuris in their Golden City high overhead among the clouds.

Now that city was their prison and the Evanuris' own power fueled the Veil.

With his thoughts turning back to his cause as Dread Wolf, Solas again closed his eyes and reached out for the Fade with his mind. This time the woman he conjured in his mind wasn't Rosa. He envisioned her brown eyes, brown hair, and smooth cinnamon skin as well as the taste of her mouth and the sound of her voice as she called his Evanuris name: "Fen'Harel enansal."

This time when the Fade twisted and reworked itself around him Solas felt the heavy presence of another Dreamer and smiled with triumph as he opened his eyes to see the woman he'd been thinking of: Zevanni.

Zevanni was lean and supple, small-bodied but muscular. Her hair was tied up in a tight topknot, but her features were shadowy, as was her overall form. Even so, Solas could tell she wore leather armor and a bandanna, plain and unremarkable, as she circled around a man slumped on the tawny grass and sand at their feet. The man wore the blue and gray armor of a Grey Warden and, unlike Zevanni, his form in the Fade was crystal clear. The Fade had changed to reflect Zevanni's dream or her current whereabouts—which would be Tevinter as of a few months ago. Solas saw tall grasses swaying and felt a hot breeze caress his skin. Off in the hazy distance he saw the gray-green of olive trees.

Sensing his presence, Zevanni looked up. "Hahren," she greeted him, her voice muffled and warped. She raised a hand toward him in a stop gesture and then spoke in hushed elven. "Please, come no closer without reshaping your form." Indicating the Grey Warden with a jerk of her chin, she said, "We must hide our appearances from this one."

Solas nodded, his heart flushing warm with pride at Zevanni's dedication. He'd sent her to Tevinter after she'd woken from uthenera a few months prior with orders to seek knowledge and ancient relics, anything that might help their cause while he tried to plot their next move. She'd been as weak as he physically, but she'd been obedient and determined, reaching Tevinter less than a month after waking and setting to work. The last he'd spoken with her, Zevanni had said she'd heard rumors of a Tevinter cult with interesting, ancient knowledge. Now it seemed she had a new clue—the Grey Wardens. Curiosity bubbled inside Solas' chest.

Willing himself to change shape, Solas envisioned Ser Bartholomew and let the Templar's appearance settle over him like a blanket before he strode closer to Zevanni. "What have you learned?" he asked her in elven, eyeing the slumped Grey Warden.

The bandanna over Zevanni's mouth moved and Solas could tell by the shape of her eyes that she grinned. "This little bird has been seduced by the song of a Darkspawn magister. You know, one of the original seven who slaughtered hundreds of elven slaves to open a portal to the Anor Din'Venuralas." Zevanni used the mocking term all of Fen'Harel's agents used when referring to Anor'Venuralas, the "Golden City."

Solas' brows shot up into his forehead and his eyes sprang wide with surprise. Few things could shock him after such a long life, but he had not expected to discover one of the magisters who'd begun the Blights. "Interesting," he said.

"What brings you, hahren?" Zevanni pivoted to face him more directly as the Grey Warden groaned and raised his head behind her, features twisted with misery. A reddish glow emanated from his form and Solas recognized it as the influence of Blight magic. His skin prickled with revulsion.

Unexpectedly, Zevanni spoke again, asking, "And what happened to your hair?"

Ignoring that question in favor of returning his focus to his current predicament in the Circle tower of Hasmal, he said, "I have woken from uthenera recently, but with some…complications."

"Such as?"

Solas eyed Zevanni a moment, weighing his next words. He trusted her implicitly as she'd been an instrumental part of his rebellion in Elvhenan. They'd been lovers periodically, slaking lust and easing frustration with the sex, but had never been emotionally entangled. Even so, Solas remained wary of letting any one agent draw too close to him personally. Revealing weakness was always a dangerous thing, but all of his agents understood that without Solas there could be no restoration of Elvhenan, no destruction of the Veil.

Still…to have been an Evanuris and now to barely have any magic at all…

Deciding to be vague and cagey, Solas said, "I was too weak upon waking to fight the Templars who found my uthenera chamber. I have been trapped in the Hasmal Circle tower in the Free Marches for the better part of a month."

Zevanni's eyes shot open wide and she let out a dry, unbelieving laugh. "Truly?"

"Yes," Solas replied, letting irritation creep into his voice. "There is some hope of escape, but it will take time. I am also…struggling to adjust to the limited magic of this world." That was one way to put it.

Now Zevanni's brow furrowed. "Ir abelas, hahren. Are you in danger? I can reach you in perhaps a week. We are not far from the Free Marches and there's enough time before winter that we can reach you…"

"Who is with you?" Solas asked. He knew several of his agents had been coming awake in the last year, triggered by runes around his tomb that would have only activated as his foci neared full charge. It could be enough by now that they'd be able to form a sort of mercenary group of their own, a little band of Elvhen survivors that could feasibly attack the Hasmal tower on his behalf…but at great risk.

"Var," Zevanni replied. "But he cannot touch the Fade and has been distraught with the loss of his magic."

Solas winced. He could empathize with Var a great deal. "Has he tried lyrium?" he asked.

Zevanni nodded. "Yes. It barely brings him any mana. The Veil is just too much for him. I've begun trying to train him as a rogue, but he's still adjusting."

"Anyone else?" Solas asked.

"I've touched Lyris and Mathrel's dreams. They are well, attached at the hip as always. Felassan was there to care for them when they woke. He is in Orlais, currently—I think. He has been difficult to reach in the dreaming. Too busy sweet-talking those insufferable shem-elf Keepers, I suppose." She squared her shoulders as she switched topics. "I've also recruited a half dozen shem-elves—Dalish specifically. We form a band of about fifty. What are the defenses of the tower?"

Solas shook his head. "Far greater than you could hope to defeat with that number, falon."

The Grey Warden groaned behind Zevanni and she pivoted, thrusting out a hand and murmuring something under her breath. A green glow of energy flowed out from her hand to encircle the Grey Warden, making him sag again.

Facing Solas once more, Zevanni crossed her arms over her chest. "You have some hope of escaping without our aid, hahren?"

"I do," Solas said and smiled slightly and began to tell her of the Dalish siblings. When he'd related everything of note to her, Zevanni cocked her head and he saw her cheeks bunch up over the bandanna, her eyes crinkling. "What is it?" he asked and frowned at the wariness he heard in his own voice.

"You fancy the shem-elf Dreamer, hahren," she said. It was not a question.

"I see her as a valuable ally," Solas told her, stiffly. "Nothing more."

Zevanni shrugged casually, nodding. "Ir abelas, hahren, if I have incurred offense." Turning away from him, she strode through the grass, setting it crunching underfoot as she circled round the Grey Warden like a shark. "If I can aid this shem-elf Dreamer, I will, but I'd encourage you to consider recruiting her to our cause if you think she's trustworthy."

"I have yet to determine that," Solas hedged, shifting his weight from one foot to another with mounting discomfort at this topic.

Zevanni went on, "The shem-elves I've taken in don't know who they serve, but they've proven ideal for my mission in Tevinter. Best of all, should things get fucked and they die—no loss, really." She shrugged. "It's not as if there aren't thousands more shem-elves. It's not like we can save them when we destroy the Veil so they're going to die anyway. Might as well spare the Elvhen survivors." Her brown eyes narrowed and her voice was slightly breathy with excitement. "And this one in the tower with you is a Dreamer. Better still. She can be sacrificed rather than one of our own."

Solas fought down the angry tension that had snapped his muscles taut at this discussion. Breathing deeply at the warm, dry air of the Tevinter dreamscape, Solas forced himself to remain impassive though he wanted to disagree with Zevanni and react with the disgust that was currently curdling his stomach acids. Zevanni was right. He should be thinking of Rosa this way—as a tool to be recruited and used to achieve his greater goals.

No, another part of him, deeper and passionate, railed against those cruel, callous thoughts. She is real. She is sentient. When he thought of her as a tool, as a thing, he was no better than the Evanuris he'd locked away in the Black City. He would be the monster the Dalish remembered him as if he fell to that line of thinking. And yet, simultaneously, Zevanni was right and he knew better than to chastise her. It was cold, but also practical that the shem-elves of this doomed world should be used like pawns as they moved forward in order to preserve Elvhen agents.

We cannot save all of them, Zevanni had said. That was true…but some would survive. They had to, for there were too few Elvhen survivors to repopulate on their own. They would need Dalish and city elves to infuse new blood into their midst.

"You make a very interesting point," Solas admitted. "I shall bear it in mind." Yet inwardly he cringed back from the prospect. Recruit Rosa and Tal? For the sole purpose of sacrificing them? It seemed unfathomable. To Zevanni he finished by saying, "For now my concern is with formulating contingency plans. The Templars have locked away my foci. I must reclaim it." He smiled, hard and fierce. "I wonder if you might travel south to Hasmal and lie in wait until opportunity presents itself…?"

Zevanni's cheeks bunched and her eyes crinkled, telling him she grinned again. "For you, hahren? I would do anything." Gesturing to the Grey Warden still slumped over on the ground, breathing raggedly and giving off that disturbing reddish glow, Zevanni said, "Care to join me?"

"Of course, falon."

Rosa's mind drifted, scattered and unfocused. The Fade seemed to press against her, always at the edge of her awareness as extreme exhaustion, hunger, and dehydration took their toll. Her stomach had seemed to gnaw a hole in itself for hours and hours at first, but now thirst had risen with exhaustion to be her greatest misery. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth and she had a throbbing headache.

The Templars had continued their campaign of sleep-deprivation, coming by to shake her awake every few minutes. It no longer fully stirred her however and she had begun to lose her sense of what was real and what was the Fade and had tried several times now to will away the cell and her shackles only to realize she wasn't fully in the Fade and could not do it. Still, those brief, confused snatches of sleep reenergized her enough that she managed to focus whenever the Templars came by to offer food and water only to take it away when she proclaimed her innocence.

To keep her spirits up, Rosa began to hum and then to sing into the blackness. It was a meandering tune, beautiful and trilling, wordless. Rosa had heard this song from wisps in the Fade as a child and had spent years trying to reproduce it in the waking world with her own voice and to set it to words.

"Can you feel the fire in these eyes?" she sang, her voice rising and falling rhythmically. "Keep me in your sight. Fear the fire taking flight, roaming through the night." She broke off, chuckling as she heard the groan of the rusty hinges on the door somewhere down the hallway. Swallowing to wet her throat, she continued as if she couldn't hear their booted feet clomping on the stone. "Fear the fire, deep inside. Fire; let's ignite. Under my even skies."

When the Templars reached her cell they slammed their armored gauntlets on the bars, creating an ear-splitting racket. One of them shouted, "Shut your mouth, mage filth."

Rosa flinched despite herself at the loud noise of their gauntlets on the metal, then rolled her eyes with irritation aimed more at herself than the Templars. This would be the third time now they'd come by with food and water to tempt her and then denied it to her when she told them she was innocent. Her hands opened and closed, tugging against the shackles as she pressed her forehead to the cold stone in front of her again, shielding her eyes from the harsh light of their torch.

"Look how she fears the light," one of them, a woman this time, snarled. "This knife-ear savage has never known the Maker or Andraste."

Sadly, that wasn't true. Rosa had endured lessons every day where she pretended to study the Chant of Light with a dozen other apprentices, all mere children. But when the instructor had demanded she recite portions of it, Rosa had refused. The old woman teaching the course had slapped her across the face with every refusal, but Rosa remained resolute. She would not bow to the shemlen religion or their holy woman. Unlike Tal, who had chosen his vallaslin more on a whim and didn't mind reciting the Chant to please his teachers, Rosa had devoted herself wholly and passionately to Dirthamen.

"No food and no sleep for almost thirty-six hours?" one of the men asked.

"Yes," the female Templar replied. "As per the Knight-Commander's standard when dealing with dangerous mages."

The man grunted. "Prudent, I suppose." Stepping closer, he reached out and jangled the chain connecting Rosa's shackles to the wall. "Apprentice Rosa, I'm Knight-Captain Brycen. I've been sent to fetch you for interrogation. Are you able to walk?"

Rosa lifted her head from the wall and blinked at him, her eyes streaming with moisture from the torchbearer behind the Knight-Captain. Brycen stared at her, stolid and cold, little better than a statue. He was around middle-aged, she guessed as his hair appeared to have gone silver but his face held a youthful look still.

"Not with these chains," she wisecracked, baring her teeth in a hard, humorless smile that she knew would look more like a snarl.

Brycen grunted and then turned, snapping his fingers at the female Templar behind him, who promptly handed him her keys. In a few moments Brycen had unlocked her shackles and freed her. He stood back as she rose shakily to her feet, his hand on his sword hilt. Even through her exhausted, thirst and hunger-dulled senses Rosa knew he and the other two Templars were anxious about her and expecting trouble. They really did believe she'd killed Curtis.

Fenedhis. That was just what she needed.

The Knight-Captain and his lackeys escorted her out and Rosa's heart pounded frantically in her chest even as her cramped leg muscles seemed to sing with joy at being stretched. She rolled her neck muscles as they walked and flexed her hands, enjoying the way the Knight-Captain and the other two Templars tensed with her every move. It didn't matter that she'd been starved and deprived of both sleep and water, the Templars feared her natural power more than any physical weapon. It didn't even matter to them that she lacked a staff.

It was that thought that wiped away her satisfaction as she realized the implications. They thought her a blood mage, that much was obvious after they'd paraded her pendant in and questioned her about it. But, on top of that, their intense fear of her despite the lack of a staff to channel her magic suggested they thought her dangerous in some additional way because even a blood mage would need a weapon of some kind to draw blood. Did they think her possessed then? An abomination? Had they puzzled out the type of spell on the pendant after all?

Trying to keep her heart from racing overmuch, Rosa steeled herself as the Knight-Captain led her through the tower and up countless flights of stairs to a large, circular room. An enormous Chantry sunburst symbol had been painted onto the stone of the floor and stained-glass windows encircled the room on two-thirds of it. The stone walls were somber and thick and, through her exhaustion and resulting nearness to the Fade, Rosa could feel the cold, wild fear and abject terror permeating this room. Spirits pushed at the Veil, clamoring. Over the scuff and clank of the Templars' feet and armor Rosa could hear the simple wisps singing. But the happy song she'd heard from them as a child in the Brecilian forest had been warped into a minor key, shrill and discordant.

She had seen this room before when she stalked the dreams of mages who'd recently undergone their Harrowing.

A chill ran down her spine as Brycen shoved her toward the center of the room. "Don't give us any trouble now," he warned her.

Rosa moved into position there, well out of sword range of the three Templars who'd escorted her here as she scanned around the room, taking everything in. There were probably a dozen Templars in this room, standing along the curved walls, evenly spaced from one another. Each one wore full armor, including their feathered, face-obscuring helmets, and they had drawn their swords and held them blade down, resting against the stone floor. In addition to the Templars Rosa saw three senior enchanters and the First Enchanter standing closer to her, the four mages forming a square. They stood with their eyes downcast and their hands clasped in front of them as if in prayer.

Rosa crossed her arms over her chest and swallowed to try and wet her dry throat. She quashed the cold, strangling grip of fear at her neck, but it seemed to sit in her throat as if she'd swallowed a lump of ice. I will make it through this or I will die quickly and nobly, she vowed to herself.

"Apprentice Rosa," Brycen called to her from his spot near the closed door to this room. "You have been taken into custody as a suspected maleficar for practice of blood magic. We are convened here to determine your guilt or innocence. How do you plead?"

"How do you think?" she demanded, hands falling to her sides to clench into fists. "Innocent! I have never practiced blood magic."

Brycen dipped his chin slightly. "You are also a suspect in the suspicious death of Ser Curtis. How do you plead?"

Rosa scoffed, raising her voice to shout, "Innocent, of course! Perhaps you could explain to me how you think I killed a Templar that night when I was locked in the apprentice barracks and never left my bed!"

"A blood mage could easily manipulate the minds of any witnesses," Brycen said, dismissing her argument in his gruff, stolid voice. "Or perhaps poison. You are a Dalish savage and familiar with poisons, are you not?"

"I was First to the Keeper," she snarled. "I was taught to use healing herbs." That wasn't true, exactly. Rosa had learned herb-lore in both healing arts and poisons as every member of clan Naseral did. Yet, compared with the hunters who would actually use poison on their arrows and blades, Rosa had little experience in it.

"Unimportant," Brycen snapped. "You—" He was cut off by the rusty, screeching groan of the door opening as a new figure in armor stormed into the room. Brycen glared at her a moment before sobering and greeting the newcomer. "Seeker Pentaghast. The Knight-Commander did not expect you to—"

"I know she did not expect me to attend," the Seeker cut him off with an impatient wave of one armored hand. "But I expect justice to be carried out. Fairly." Unlike the Templars, her armor held the sword symbol in a deep blue. Rosa narrowed her eyes at the Seeker, remembering her from both her dreams in the Fade and the brief interrogation the day after Curtis' death.

Rosa let herself show her surprise as the Seeker settled into position beside the Knight-Captain and squared her shoulders. The other Templars in the room and even the enchanters all seemed to stiffen—a sure sign of the Seeker's absolute authority. This woman served the Divine and she outranked everyone in the tower. Rosa felt the strangling hold of fear at her throat ease slightly. Maybe she would live through this after all…

"Apprentice Rosa," Brycen went on then, glaring coldly at her. "To establish your guilt or innocence in the charges levied against you, the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter have agreed you must undergo a trial by combat. Should you pass this trial you will be given the choice to become Tranquil or undergo your Harrowing."

Rosa gawked at him, then gnashed her teeth. They had starved her, dehydrated her, and kept her awake for the better part of two days. After all that they expected her to fight in some kind of trial and to pass her Harrowing? They want you to perish.

Too bad she wasn't about to give them the satisfaction.

"Is this agreeable to you?" Brycen asked.

Rosa spread her hands in a gesture of indifference. "Not exactly like I have a choice, so…" She motioned at herself. "Bring it."

Elven Used (All props as always to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral)

Elgar: "spirit"

Anor'Venuralas: the Elvhenan name for the Golden City. Literally means "place of the gods."

Anor Din'Venuralas: Fen'Harel's rebel name for the Golden City. Means "place of the false gods."

Next Chapter

The voice came again, speaking in elven, "A pleasure to meet you, child of Dirthamen. Fear not, I have no intention of trying to possess you."

Spinning about, searching for the demon, Rosa gnashed her teeth and let fire ignite in her palms. "This is a trick," she snarled, more to herself than to Revas. "It's always a trick with demons."

"This is a very ancient being," Revas told her, his voice soft and dry, almost reverent. "I had expected a simple demon. This creature is not one who can be easily defeated."

She shot him a frown. "Are you trying to tell me I'm about to wind up dead?"

Revas hesitated, his blue eyes strained. "I am…uncertain." She sensed hidden knowledge, something he was holding back—as usual. No time to press him, though.

A/N: Kind of a cliffhanger here! *evil cackling* Buahahahaha! But, good news everyone! Solas has a bit of mana back! He's started his gradual recovery from magic and Fade impotence! Also, as you can see from the snippet from next chapter, things are about to take an unexpected twist. And, of course, those who read my other story, Pride Didn't Go will recognize the infamous Zevanni. Zevanni was my MC Ellana's foil (her literary opposite) in that tale. She's very loyal to the Dread Wolf's cause, but she's an agent of chaos and...rather rough around the edges. She will play a pivotal role in this story later on and you saw already I've teased the Venatori, the corrupted Grey Wardens, and Cory through her.

In case anyone's curious, the lyrics I had Rosa sing are selections from an actual song I was listening to a lot as I wrote this: "Feel The Fire" by Pluto x ye, specifically the Breath Vocal Mix. It screamed Rosa to me for some reason, because I think she's fiery.

Many thanks to KiraChan for reviewing! And to all those who read and follow/fav. I have a solid lead on this story now as I'm writing chapter 28 (about to complete it, actually, and w/ a NSFW scene!) and I just couldn't wait to get to that unexpected twist!