Note: This chapter is NSFW!


Seventeen

In Your Heart Part 3: Renewal and Redemption


Solas' head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, but he didn't stop walking. An unconscious Dorian and Tal were both astride his back. He couldn't delay very long or they would freeze. His wolf form did not create an excessive amount of body heat. Snow stuck to his guard hairs, his whiskers. It also clung to his passengers.

He must reach the Inquisition quickly, but he wasn't certain how much longer he could maintain the wolf shape.

The wind didn't touch him through the wolf's thick pelt, which was fortunate as he didn't have any spare mana at all to burn for heat. The shape-shifting spell was so mana-costly it left him always at the edge of burnout.

His muscles ached. Every step hurt. His skin burned. His body suffered as his mana core ached.

He'd already lost control of the shape once before, when the three of them fell into the tunnel. They lay there, half buried in snow, for perhaps an hour before Solas woke. He found Dorian near death from cold and Tal with a goose egg sized lump on his head. It didn't seem to be all that serious, but almost an hour of walking and the young elf had not yet wakened.

Solas had used powerful healing spells on both men to restore them as much as he could for the journey ahead, but each powerful spell left him reeling. When the wolf shape eventually failed he would be strung out and pathetic. He'd consumed lyrium before the battle, but it could only do so much.

And it was wearing off.

Fenedhis! Damn himself for ever putting up the Veil! An Evanuris should never want for mana!

His sensitive canine nose picked out embers and wood smoke carried on the harsh wind. It offered just enough hope to keep him going. He trudged on, weary but determined. The Dread Wolf had not survived Elvhenan's civil war, the erection of the Veil, and millennia asleep just to die on this desolate mountainside of cold.

As he entered the low-point between two jagged peaks, the snow deepened. Soon Solas waded through drifts up to his haunches. He snuffled to clear snow out of his face every few meters. When his throat was dry he snapped irritably at the drifts, melting the snow and swallowing it down. His teeth soon hurt from the cold, but he kept doing it. The chill helped distract him from the burning pain of his core that pulsed through his blood.

That was about when he heard Tal groan and felt the youth stir on his back. "Fuck you, Sarhen," Tal mumbled in elven as he sat up, as though riding a horse. "Whoa…what the…?"

Solas wanted to use a little stray mana to project a thought at Tal to communicate, but he had nothing to spare. He turned his head slightly to try and make eye contact with his passenger only to feel him tense with fear. Tal gawked at him, brown eyes wide and skin paler than usual with the deep chill of the Frostbacks setting in.

"Uh," Tal said and lifted his hands, palms out, as if to show he was unarmed. "I swear on my mother's life that I never worshipped the shemlen god or their prophetess." He flashed a trembling grin, shivering violently. "Please don't kill me. You were seriously always my favorite Creator. Fen'Harel enaste."

Solas rolled his eyes and focused on walking again, heading uphill. Tal soon gripped his fur once more, apparently relaxing. "Um," he said, struggling to speak around his shivering. "Where are we going?"

Of course Solas gave no answer. Did Tal remember where they were at all? Had the bump on his head left him senseless? Did he recognize Dorian? Did he recall the attack on Haven? Unfortunately Solas had no way to discern the answers to any of these questions while in wolf shape.

"Oh," Tal said then, twisting about on Solas' back. "Who…wait…" He apparently just noticed Dorian and that seemed to jog his memory as an instant later he gasped. "Dorian! Dorian!"

While Tal was distracted with checking up on the Tevinter mage, Solas pressed on. At the crest of the hill he saw a pass and a steep path downhill. He stopped in place, sniffing for a moment as his eyes, more light-sensitive but color-muted when compared to his normal vision, made out a flicker of fire against a cliff face in the distance. He let out a long breath of relief as he heard human voices and shouts.

They'd been spotted.

At long last he could let go.

Solas let the wolf shape fade and immediately collapsed into the snow under the weight of his passengers. He groaned, shivering fiercely now as he felt the cold all in a rush for the first time. Tal yelped and rolled off to one side, sending snow fluttering away. Dorian impacted Solas, knocking the air from his lungs in a whoosh.

"What just happened?" Tal asked, scrambling back toward him. "Wait…Solas?" he asked, aghast. "You were…a wolf? Was I dreaming? Just now?"

Solas couldn't find the focus or the strength to answer right now. He concentrated within, waiting to feel his mana core. Had he run himself ragged again? Would he be reduced once more to a weak shadow of himself, like the virtually Tranquil man he'd been in the Hasmal Circle?

But then, through the haze of burning pain in his blood, Solas felt the first little bubble of rejuvenating mana. If he'd had the breath and the strength, he would have laughed for joy. Tal spoke again, ragged with his shivering, but Solas didn't process it.

Time skipped then, though he didn't recall losing consciousness. Somehow Inquisition soldiers and scouts were around them, hauling them up. Laughter rang out over the howl of the wind through the Frostbacks. Cheers and praises to the Maker and Andraste echoed in his ears. He fought waves of vertigo as the humans dragged him toward their campfires and hastily pitched tents. The heat of the fire ironically made him hurt more as it brought feeling back to his hands, feet, and face.

"It's a miracle!" Cassandra shouted as she raced to meet with them from another fire. "Maker, thank you!"

It had nothing to do with her Maker or any divine power, he thought bitterly. He wiped those thoughts away when he spotted someone else approaching behind the Seeker. It was Rosa, looking sickly and pale, distraught—until her eyes landed on them. Then her mouth fell open and her eyes flooded with tears as she trotted toward them.

"Da'isamalin! Solas!"

"Rosa!" Tal said, springing easily to his feet and colliding with her in an embrace. Rosa started sobbing into his chest, her hands shaking where she wrapped them around her brother's shoulders. "Shhh," Tal cooed at her. "I'm all right. You're not dreaming. I swear."

Solas started trying to rise to join them, but his thighs betrayed him. Trembling with weakness from the burnout, he fell back onto his rump beside the fire. Huffing with irritation, he contented himself with gazing across the fire to where a healer was examining Dorian. It was somewhat concerning that the Tevinter mage hadn't woken yet, but he was already getting some color back from being near the fire. Solas expected he would recover quickly now with heat and care.

"Solas," came a breathy voice above him.

Glancing up and to his other side, he smiled as he saw Rosa. She didn't return it and tears streamed down her cheeks, glittering wet in the light from the fire—but there was no mistaking the overwhelming gratitude in her eyes. And something else, too. Something that stirred his heart into feeling something other than the constant burning ache of his overworked mana core. His stomach fluttered with excitement and the heat of the fire began to feel more like the first blush of desire. A pleasure-pain.

Then she dropped next to him and reached out, pulling him to her in an embrace. She was warmer than the fire to Solas, setting his heart hammering and his body sweating, despite the fact he was surely still trying to recover from hypothermia on top of the mana burnout. Her voice choked out a whisper in his ear. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

He brought his arms up to return her embrace, but was unable to keep them from shaking violently. Rosa pulled back from him, cupping his cheeks with her hands and staring at him with tears glistening in her violet eyes. "Solas?" she asked. "Are you hurt?"

"No," he told her, struggling to keep the warble out of his voice. "Merely chilled." He smirked humorlessly. "And I expended far too much mana."

She drew in a breath and gripped his hands, bringing them to her neck. "Draw from me, then." Pressing her face so close to his that their noses touched, Solas found himself shivering for more reasons than just cold and burnout. They'd done this before, in Hasmal. It was an intimate experience, a sign of ultimate trust—especially now that she knew what he truly was. If she was considering that at all, anyway.

"I will recover," he said, resisting. But the huskiness in his voice was obvious, even to him. The last time they had done this was after they'd just become lovers. Thinking of that now made his cheeks burn, affecting him even over the pain wracking him.

"Do you need some lyrium?" Tal asked, his voice scratchy from just a few feet away on Solas' right. Another reminder that they were far from alone.

"No," Solas said and gently started to push Rosa away. "I will—"

"Do you want to be weak as a kitten again?" Rosa snapped, grabbing his hand and getting to her feet. She grunted as she pulled on him, trying to force him to stand. Her grip was strong, as were her arms.

Solas gave in without much of a fight, letting her heft him up and then partly support him. Even if he'd wanted to resist, everything ached. "Come on, flat-ear," she said, wrapping his arm over her shoulders for support and trudging away from the fire.

Through the cloud of pain still afflicting him, Solas realized she wasn't wearing Eliana's sling and there was no sign of the baby. Worry tightened his chest. "Where is Eliana?"

"Sleeping," Rosa said, hiking his arm over her shoulders a bit more. She used her other hand to point toward a covered wagon off in the darkness, away from the fires. "I left her bundled up with the ambassador in the wagon. Poor thing's exhausted."

He realized, dimly, that Rosa wasn't leading him toward the supply wagon. Instead she angled toward the tents the Inquisition refugees had pitched around several hastily constructed hearths. As she ducked inside it with him, Solas vaguely wondered whose tent this was supposed to be—but then he saw the halla fur over the sleeping roll, along with a familiar stave. This was Rosa's tent, apparently. She must have been preparing it while Eliana slept with her babysitter.

"Sit," she ordered as she deposited him on the bedroll. Solas grunted as his rump impacted the halla fur, his head still throbbing and his blood burning in his veins. His mind was slow with pain and cold, but he knew Rosa had brought him here for privacy and that started up a mix of dread and excitement twisting his guts. They had been in the middle of a very intense conversation when Haven came under attack. Now that they had all unexpectedly survived it, he expected she'd have a chance to react more fully.

And he might have to tell her more. In some ways, the revelation of his Evanuris alter ego was actually the least terrible of his secrets. Next he'd have to tell her that he created the Veil, destroyed the People, robbed them of immortality, and now wished to destroy this present world to correct those mistakes.

Oh, and there was the little matter of confessing he killed her father.

But before he could give any further consideration to those dark thoughts, Rosa was in his lap. Her palms were on his cheeks, scaldingly hot. One hand slid around to the back of his head, pulling his forehead to meet hers. She was breathing quickly, far faster than the situation warranted.

Oh…!

"Is this better?" she asked, barely above a whisper. Her words puffed air against his lips. When he didn't answer immediately, she said, "Draw from me."

She had guessed why he hesitated earlier and removed the problem. Sharing mana directly between mages was something he'd done very rarely. And with Rosa…well, he knew it was far too sensual an experience to put on display for the others. But here, in the relatively private tent…

He shut his eyes and reached with his inner senses, as if connecting to the Fade. He found Rosa easily, as bright as a beacon before him, and supped on her mana as gently as his empty, hungry core could. Now the heat that passed through him was pleasurable as her mana spilled into him. He shuddered, hugging her closer with greedy hands even as he tried to restrain himself from overdrawing. Her hands on his shoulders flexed, gripping tightly. Yet she lasted another few moments, yielding a surprisingly large pool of mana to replenish him.

When she let out a little gasp of something like pain, Solas immediately broke contact. Her face was blurry in his gaze, but he could see the black of her pupils, blown wide. Lips parted, she breathed too fast still and, as clearly as though they were in the Fade sharing a dream, Solas felt her desire. Her intent. Her joy and relief.

Her love.

Their lips crashed together. Solas didn't know who kissed who, nor did he care. His head spun with exhilaration, disbelief, and relief, as sharp as what he'd felt from Rosa through the mana she gifted him. He'd feared revealing even this fraction of the truth would send her running from him, unable to comprehend that her former lover, the man who'd fathered her child, was also the greatest villain who ever lived according to Dalish legend. To discover that he was wrong in a huge way left him reeling but overjoyed.

A niggling voice warned that he should turn her away now. His relief was premature. Rosa didn't know the full truth. In fact, she knew only a tiny bit of it. What would she think when she learned it all? What if she despised him then? What if she regretted this?

But then her tongue swept into his mouth, tasting him deeply, and her hands dug under his tunic at the waist. Her warm touch, and the taste of her sweet mouth, drove all rational thought and caution aside. Responding in kind, Solas slipped a hand up her side, between her shirt and her skin. He stroked his blunted fingernails along the curve of her waist and over each rounded rib as they flexed with her breathing. He felt her skin dimple with gooseflesh and her breath caught.

Breaking the increasingly sloppy kiss, Solas nibbled at her jaw and then brushed his lips along her neck. Rosa made a strangled noise of appreciation and then leaned into him. Solas fell back onto the halla fur covering her bedroll, gazing up at her dizzily with disbelief.

How many nights after he left her in the Free Marches had he found himself tormented by desire demons? Any idle moment left him vulnerable to fantasy, grief, guilt, and shame. He'd felt her call to him in the Fade countless times and had to waken himself rather than risk giving into temptation.

Now he knew how wrong he was to resist. If he had only reconnected with her sooner he might have avoided the initial tension and difficulty of establishing himself as Eliana's father, and Rosa's proper partner. He would have been at her side when Eliana was born, helping care for her from the very start. He could have prevented Tal going to the Conclave, saving the youth from the trauma and daunting responsibility of being the so-called Herald of Andraste…

Then his thoughts flitted away again, narrowing down to raw sensation as one of Rosa's hands went to the laces on his breeches. Simultaneously, she leaned down and kissed him again. Hungry.

He surged forward to meet her, his own arms and hands roving over her. He'd longed to touch her again like this for weeks—for more than a year, really. His palm found her breast, caressing, brushing teasingly over the erect nipple. Rosa's free hand, the one not currently tangled in his breech lacings, caught his wrist under her shirt and pushed it down to her ribcage.

Breaking the kiss, she let out a breathy laugh. "Careful," she said, husky with arousal. "Unless you want a milk bath."

He blushed immediately, baffled and embarrassed at this uneducated blunder. He had never considered how that would affect intimacy…and had never bedded a nursing mother at all. Mouth ajar, he struggled to find something to say, but Rosa only grinned at him and closed the gap again. At the caress of her lips again and the grip of her hand over his hardened length, he swiftly forgot the exchange.

Moments later he managed to wriggle out of his breeches. Rosa did the same as the two of them twisted and struggled to maintain the ever-hungry kiss. Hands sweaty, breaths fast and heavy, they rolled and repositioned until Rosa was lying on her back, beneath him.

Solas broke their kiss to sit up partly and pull off his tunic. The chill of hypothermia from the long walk in the snow was a distant memory now. Rosa's mana had burned it away until all he could feel was his pounding heart and the thrill of the desire burning between them.

Rosa shifted when he sat up, moving with him to position herself in his lap. As he tossed his tunic away, Rosa pressed close, kissing his jaw. Humming with pleasure, Solas wrapped his arms around her, supporting her as she continued kissing and nibbling along his jaw toward his ear. When she reached it her teeth nipped at the lobe and then she spoke into his ear. "Fenedhis, I missed this. Missed you."

He couldn't hold back the little noise of appreciation that slipped from his throat, or the shudder of pleasure at hearing that. He nuzzled closer to her, lips finding her ear to whisper in turn. "Ar lath ma." He caressed up her back. "Vhenan."

He'd let slip the endearment earlier in the night, but during the midst of the attack on Haven it hadn't carried the weight he intended. Now she withdrew enough to stare at him, a tender smile curling her lips, plump from aggressive kissing. Her hands went to his face, cupping his cheeks and jaw. She tipped his chin up and kissed him again.

With his arousal trapped between them, hot as a brand, Solas shut his eyes and tried to quash the fierce, selfish drive to chase his own pleasure. But, as he'd discovered in the Hasmal Circle as their romance first budded, his mortal body lacked for patience and self-control at times. He wanted to lower her to the bedroll and pleasure her with his mouth and his magic, but he'd been celibate too long to resist it when Rosa lifted her hips and took him inside her.

He cried out, gasping at the intense heat of her over his length. Rosa answered him with a soft moan, grasping his shoulders as she rocked her hips in a slow rhythm. Shuddering, Solas pulled her closer, resting his lips at the soft skin of her neck and closing his eyes to try and hold himself back. It had been far, far too long. He wanted to savor the moment, hold onto it and make it last.

But his body was selfish and desperate. The heat of pleasure grew as Rosa moved over him, picking up speed. Muscles played over his length as she drew up and down over him, seemingly heedless of how close he was to losing control. His breathing rushed faster and faster, but it was a match for hers.

Soon the both of them were moaning, grunting with effort. Rosa worked her hips, alternatively grinding and then pumping. He arched to meet her, thrusting and thoughtless as everything thrummed with the building pleasure until—

He climaxed with a strangled cry, bliss pulsing through him as he emptied himself into her. Over the sound and ecstasy of his own orgasm he heard and felt Rosa finishing as well. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, her body trembling in time with muscle contractions he could feel over his length.

As his own pleasure slowly subsided, Solas nuzzled in to her neck where it met with her shoulders, breath puffing hard. His heart hammered in his chest, full to bursting. He did not deserve this wonderful woman. He did not deserve this reconciliation.

But he would embrace it and fight to keep it. He could only hope that when she knew everything she would still feel the same.


Panting and sticky with sweat, Rosa tucked herself in tight along Solas' body. Tears still pricked her eyes when she recalled how this night began, how close she was to losing both Solas and Tal. Seemingly by a miracle, she had them both back.

And she was certain she had Solas to thank for it. Though no one told her what had happened, she knew in her bones that without Solas' aid tonight the Inquisition would no longer have its Herald. But, far more importantly for Rosa, she would no longer have a little brother. Even considering that for a moment made her heart ache with sharp pain and her throat threaten to close.

Feeling Solas stir, Rosa sat up partway and maneuvered to stare down at him. She could feel her smile trembling as his blue eyes, warm and soft with tenderness, locked with her. "Thank you," she blurted again, her voice rasping and throaty. "For saving Tal."

His smile was as soft and tender as his eyes. He lifted one hand and cupped her cheek, brushing away a tear she hadn't realized she shed. "You do not owe me any thanks," he said and then murmured, "Vhenan."

As she leaned into his touch, eyes drifting shut to relish this intimate moment, she heard Solas let out a small sigh. "There…is much yet I should tell you," he revealed, the words strained. "I fear, after you hear it, you may…"

Opening her eyes, Rosa grasped his hand on her cheek. "Whatever terrible things you haven't revealed yet, I don't care." Pulling his hand back from her cheek, Rosa nuzzled his palm and kissed it. "Who you were before doesn't matter." She felt the truth of that harden inside her chest. She hadn't yet come to grips with what he told her just before the attack on Haven. It was almost impossible to see anyone but Solas when she looked at him, but it did explain a few things.

The orb, for example.

She put that out of her mind.

A look of torment crossed Solas' face. "I have wronged you…and all the People. If you knew—"

"It's in the past," Rosa interrupted him softly. She didn't want to hear anything awful right now. She didn't want to face whatever dark secrets and crimes lay in his deep past. Right now she just wanted to revel in the simple, wondrous fact that her brother and her lover yet lived.

"I wish that were true," Solas said, still wearing the look of anguish.

"Right now it is," Rosa insisted and ducked down to kiss him. When she broke it, breathing fast again, she said, "Right now, I only care that you are Solas. You saved my brother. You're here to help me raise Elia, keep her safe. And…" She swallowed and forced herself to go on, to open fully to him. "I love you. I never stopped loving you…"

He swallowed, throat bobbing as he grappled with his emotions. His blue eyes were so dark they looked black, glinting in the lowlight of the tent. "I should never have left you in the Free Marches," he whispered. "I am undeserving of your devotion."

She pressed close, brushing her nose to his, speaking against his lips. "You can make it up to me," she murmured. "By staying at my side and being Elia's babae."

He shuddered, clearly struggling to maintain composure. "There is nothing I would rather do." His voice cracked as he said, "Vhenan."

Rosa grinned and, sucking in a heavy breath, surged close to capture his lips in another deep, passionate kiss. After a moment she drew back and spoke the same endearment against his skin. "Vhenan."

And then there were no more words as the ardor between them swelled once more.


"I didn't believe in you before," came the breathy voice from the red mist surrounding Tal on all sides. "I'm so sorry I stood against you, Herald."

Frowning, Tal struggled to place the voice. It was male, weak as though sick or dying, and carried a faint accent that might be Ferelden or Free Marches. And so familiar…

He saw a flash of memory in his mind's eye. A red templar's sword upraised against defenseless Haven residents who cowered and screamed. He felt his booted feet crunch over dirt and snow as he rushed in to shield them, arms outstretched to stop the blade. He saw it slice down and tried to dodge even as he used his own body to shelter the noncombatants. He felt the blow strike him, but there was no pain.

Andraste be praised!

The Templar snarled at him, ugly and inhuman through the red lyrium poisoning. He jerked up, and this time Tal did feel the sword. It was cold and robbed him of breath. He saw red blood—his blood—splatter onto the trampled snow below. He gritted his teeth, trying to see behind him. Had the two he'd tried to protect fled?

Please, Maker, let them be safe!

He saw the pair rushing toward the Chantry. They would make it, even though he would not. That was fine. It was enough.

His legs were heavy and weak. He felt his muscles giving out. The red Templar snarled and ripped his blade back, sending more blood dribbling to the snow. He would make the death strike now, and that would end the pain. Tal was ready for it.

But then, suddenly, a green streak appeared behind the red Templar. It lashed out with a dagger, slicing across the poisoned warrior's throat. The red Templar gurgled, gasping as he dropped his sword and gripped his throat. He staggered and fell, choking.

A pale boy with blond hair was at Tal's side then, taking his weight. "Let me help you," he said in a soft voice. "That was very brave. They won't forget what you did for them."

"Yes," the weak voice said. It wasn't Tal's voice.

Tal blinked as the memory vanished.

Touching his midsection with shaking hands, Tal found he was whole. Yet he'd felt the templar's blade cut deep into his guts. His stomach roiled as he swallowed his gorge and tried to think. He recalled the blond boy from outside Haven, but he also had shadowy memories of seeing him in a different time and place. A dark future that he couldn't really remember but desperately wished he did.

"What is this?" Tal asked, scowling at the red mist.

This…this place….it felt like a dream, but there was something off about it. Tal wasn't a Dreamer mage like his sister, but he'd had enough experience and training that he could be a lucid dreamer to a certain extent. He knew better than to fall for most demons' tricks, for one thing. And he had learned what the Fade felt like. He'd never be able to shape it the way Rosa and Solas and lenalin could, but he generally knew when he was dreaming.

This was…kind of a dream? But like nothing he'd experienced before. Was this the work of a strange kind of demon, perhaps?

An older human man stepped out of the red mist. He was translucent, but well-defined. He wore Chantry robes that had been cut and stained with blood. Tal recognized him with a start. "Chancellor Roderick?"

"Yes," the man said, his hooded head bowed. "I'm sorry I didn't believe in you before. Maker forgive me." He wrung his hands in front of him. "I…I can't remember, Herald. Did I show them the path? Did our people escape Haven?" He lifted his head and tears gleamed in his dark eyes.

A wave of grief and regret and shame smacked into Tal. He cringed back, breathing hard to get through the confusing onslaught. Roderick watched him with the same aggrieved expression, failing to notice Tal's distress.

He remembered Chancellor Roderick explaining the pilgrim's path that might offer a chance for the Inquisition to flee Haven, right under the Elder One's nose. He also remembered Cole under the Chantry man's arm, supporting him, saying he was going to die. The phantom memory of the cold Templar blade stabbing into him made Tal shudder anew even as his eyes widened with realization. The memory he'd relived was Roderick's.

"Herald?" Roderick asked, sounding tired. "Please…forgive me."

The same wave of emotions crushed Tal all over again. His eyes stung and his heart hammered. He didn't remember much after arriving with Solas and Dorian to the ramshackle Inquisition camp in the freezing Frostbacks. He was just exhausted and cold, mainly. But he did recall moving with Dorian to a makeshift infirmary and seeing the dead and dying laid out in cots around him.

Roderick was one of them. He was dying at least, if he wasn't already dead.

This was…a spirit channeling him? Or was it Roderick's soul?

Lethanavir. Kin of the inevitable way. Falon'Din. Friend of the dead.

Solas had taught him a simple cantrip that provided a few hours of relief from "the voices of the dead" whenever he was having an episode. He had yet to understand exactly what those episodes were and what triggered them, but after returning to Haven Tal hadn't needed it. Sometimes, in the Chantry, he did hear unsettling whispers. But it wasn't enough to make him sure he needed to use the cantrip. It might just be the whisper of spirits where the Veil was thinnest around Haven. Or…something. He knew he was very sick in the dark future, but other than his sore ribs and abs—recuperated now—he had little proof beyond Dorian and Solas' explanations of what caused it. And nothing since then left him with evidence that it was "the voices of the dead" that had so sickened him.

Solas had frustratingly little concrete information he could provide regarding this strange talent. Furthermore, he seemed to despise it, though why that was the case remained unclear to Tal. But now….

Tal's skin prickled with a mixture of dread and awe.

"Chancellor Roderick?" he asked, though he'd long since recognized the man. "I'm…uh, a little confused…"

Roderick's head tilted slightly, as if Tal's bemusement had in turn confused him. "Did I show them the path? Did our people escape Haven?"

The memories were hazy to Tal, but he knew the Inquisition was safe. He nodded vigorously. "Yeah. You did it. The Inquisition escaped Haven because of you."

Roderick's shoulders fell and his eyes closed. He let out a shuddering breath and relief hit Tal in a wave, carried by this strange dream straight from Roderick to Tal. "Thank you, Herald." After a moment he looked up and said, "I know I'm…dead. I…never thought I'd have the chance to truly make a noble end. Something that would make Andraste proud." He let out a weak laugh. "I suppose I'm very lucky after all?"

Tal was silent, dumbfounded for a moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. The gravity and solemnity of the emotion in the Dreaming between them sank into Tal like water into a sponge, washing away his confusion and apprehension of whatever this was. If this truly was Roderick's soul, Tal would give him whatever peace he could.

"You saved hundreds of people," Tal told him. "Including me. I followed the path, too."

Roderick's smile was sad but genuine. "Good. I'm glad, Herald." He seemed to draw in and then let out a deep breath. "I'm ready now to go to the Maker's side."

Something in his gaze on Tal was expectant.

And that was when Tal realized he could feel Roderick. He'd learned to feel Dreamers and other sleepers with help from his father and Rosa, to better protect himself from demon manipulation and other dangers of the Fade. But this wasn't like a Dreamer or a sleeper. It was something else, something new. Dreamers felt heavy in his awareness, while sleepers were just faint presences. Roderick was almost physical to him, as though Tal had an invisible third hand clasping the man in an unshakeable grip.

Rosa had sometimes described holding onto the Fade in a similar way, or reaching through it with her will to grab a person and summon them to her.

I am the one who called Roderick here, he realized. It wasn't conscious, of course. Just as most sleepers shaped the Fade unknowingly, Tal had apparently done the same now—but with a soul.

Solas had said the study of necromancy might help Tal understand the strange inheritance from Falon'Din. Now Tal saw how disturbingly true that suggestion was. He had drawn Roderick here, to him, like the proverbial moth to flame. And, just like the flame, he hadn't done it purposefully. It happened just because of who and what he was.

Lethanavir.

What could he do with a soul? What great and terrible power might he unleash—unknowingly or not?

Horror made Tal's stomach twist again. He gulped and frowned, focusing on tamping down the emotion. Roderick watched him, silent and at peace. Patient and trusting.

Suddenly Tal thought he understood why Solas had reacted with disdain to this talent. It was undoubtedly awful if misused.

Concentrating, Tal imagined that third hand releasing Roderick. "Go," he said, struggling to sound gentle and compassionate instead of scared shitless. "Go and be with the Maker and know peace."

Tal felt that invisible hold loosen and then snap taut once more. His mana core burbled, reacting to his anxiety. Blessedly, Roderick seemed unaffected—though he was definitely still here. Tal's mind raced as he tried to find this new power and take control of it. This must be very much like magic and he was brand new to it all. Sometimes it was easier to summon fire than it was to snuff it out. Holding souls must be similar. He had only to concentrate and let go.

Now Roderick did seem to sense his difficulty. But instead of reacting with doubt or fear, the old man merely smiled warmly. "It's all right, Herald. I am ready to join Andraste at the Maker's side." He shut his eyes and then began to repeat the Chant.

"Though all before me is shadow,
Yet shall the Maker be my guide.
I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.
For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."

Tal breathed in several times, focusing on Roderick's voice and the Chant itself. Slowly, softly, he felt something ease inside him, letting go. Roderick's form faded right as the chant ceased, leaving Tal alone in the red mist.

"And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost," Tal repeated. And then, with shaking hands, he covered his face and let the fear of what he'd just felt and seen—with all its terrifying implications—absorb him.

What was he? What was this power?

Whatever it was, Tal didn't want it.


The Inquisition didn't know where to go or what to do. For a day they stayed in the mountain pass, huddled against the cold as various leaders bickered over their next course of action. Tal wasn't part of their deliberations. He stayed in the makeshift infirmary, sleeping fitfully through the day and into the evening.

Dorian was nearby, snoring as he recovered from a nasty concussion. Tal had made sure that everyone knew Dorian received that concussion by shielding him from attack. He wanted Dorian to wake up more hero than pariah for once. Let no one call him "that Tevinter Magister" anymore. Let him be "the brave mage who saved the Herald."

Of course, everyone also knew there was a second mage who had earned that title—arguably more so than Dorian. While Dorian had clearly suffered an injury in the attack and earned Tal's praise as a hero, everyone in the camp had seen Solas arrive with both the Herald and the Tevinter just in time to collapse from cold and exhaustion. But unlike Dorian and Tal, Solas had disappeared to reunite with Rosa and Eliana. Everyone seemed content to let the little family unit rest and recuperate in solitude.

Rosa had acted rather strangely during the battle and Tal had some rather confusing cold-muddled memories of Solas shape-shifting. He knew he'd need to discuss it with them and figure out what he'd missed, but right now all he felt was weary and troubled. Mother Giselle tried to offer him comfort, reciting the Chant or trying to get him to open up about his feelings. Tal rebuffed her attempts, his mind too full of fears the Chantry Mother would never understand.

But of course, Tal had to talk when, that evening, Cassandra and Leliana came to debrief him. They wanted to know about the Elder One—who he was, what he wanted, and how all that should affect their next move. And so Tal reluctantly told them everything he could, thoroughly shocking them and throwing their plans for retreat even more into dismay. They didn't know how to possibly elude a Darkspawn Magister, who seemed like an evil god to them as a defiler of the Golden City and original spreader of Blight.

Tal didn't know how to comfort them—or even if there was any comfort to give. Eventually the right and left hands of the long dead Divine departed to go plan with the other surviving leaders. Tal saw their glances at him, silently inviting him to join. He ignored it, unwilling to leap back into their midst so soon when he felt like such a fraud.

And then, as if he didn't have enough to fear right now with a Darkspawn Magister out to kill him, there was the annoying reality that Tal was afraid of himself. Afraid of sleeping, of dreaming. Afraid of the terrible power that had awoken in his blood. Afraid of what that power might do to him over time.

Lethanavir.

"It's all right to be afraid," a soft voice said from his bedside. Tal turned his head and saw the strange blond young man from Haven who'd helped Roderick and warned them of the advancing red Templars.

Tal grunted. "You again." He dug around his mind and at last landed on this weird youth's name. Cole.

Cole's blue eyes were guileless and sad. "Yes. You…know me from somewhere…somewhen else."

"Yep," Tal agreed, frowning as he quickly searched around them to see if anyone would overhear their conversation. Fortunately they were alone, except for a sleeping Dorian. "But you don't know me?"

"No," Cole said, still sounding sad. "I'm sorry. I want to help, but—"

"It's okay," Tal said, waving absently at him. "I'm not a genius like Solas, but even I know it's not fair of me to expect you to be able to remember shit that hasn't happened to you." He sat up on his cot with a groan, rubbing his face for a moment before looking to his left to where Dorian slept.

"He's going to wake up soon," Cole said, brightly.

"Good," Tal said. Other than missing Dorian's company and his sharp wit, Tal planned to quickly ask him about necromancy. He needed to compare what Dorian could do with what little he knew of Lethanavir's inheritance. His gut told him they'd be very different things, but there might be enough overlap to calm his nerves. It was entirely possible to practice necromancy and remain a good, decent person. Dorian was an excellent example of that.

"Having power doesn't make you a bad person," Cole said gently.

Tal frowned and looked at Cole, thinking hard. He remembered Cole talking to him in the Chantry, touching his shoulder. The touch did something to him, affected him. Eased his terror. In that brief instant Tal had come away knowing Cole wasn't just a strange boy. He was a spirit somehow given flesh. Now, Cole was demonstrating that same power again by reading his mind. It was mildly unnerving, but Tal quashed that response. Cole's mind reading was harmless and perfectly normal for a spirit.

Cole fidgeted beside him, looking down at his hands. "I used to kill people. I thought I was helping them and I thought I had to do it. I didn't understand." His blue eyes when he looked up again had a touch of wild desperation. "If it happens again, if I do that again—you have to kill me. I don't want to be a demon."

Tal grimaced. Maybe Cole wasn't as harmless as he first thought. Still, he forced himself to nod. "Got ya. Don't worry about it. If you act out like that we'll put you down."

"Good," Cole said, sounding relieved. "I'm glad. I don't want to be like that again."

"Yeah," Tal agreed. "Let's not think about that. I've got enough to worry about without adding an unstable spirit to the mix." He stopped then and chuckled dryly. "I mean, another unstable spirit. I was just starting to enjoy life without Rogathe—whatever happened to the old bastard."

Cole stared at him, blank and uncomprehending.

"Never mind," Tal said, waving a hand at Cole dismissively. "You didn't know him." He let out a sigh and then corrected himself. "It. You didn't know it."

Cole continued to stare at him, eyes glazed. Tal thought the spirit boy had turned completely inward and wasn't listening at all, but then he spoke. "Bravery. You are a coward, da'len. Turn back. Face the threat. You must do what is right and what is brave!"

For an instant Tal flashed back to the aftermath of the Conclave, when Cassandra marched him up as a prisoner to the demon-infested ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Shortly after meeting Chancellor Roderick for the first time Tal had realized with utter horror that Rogathe had possessed him somehow between the explosion and when he woke up in Haven as the sole survivor. Rogathe was always going on about doing the right thing and calling Tal a coward when he refused to act in a way the spirit deemed acceptable. Cole was quoting Rogathe now.

He nodded. "Yeah, that was Rogathe." He blew out a breath. "But it's gone now. Disappeared while I was in the dark future at Redcliffe, somehow. My memories buggered off with it, too."

Cole's brow furrowed, as though straining with effort or pain. "It won't go back with you," Cole said, whispering. "In will be gone forever, stuck here in this time, this world." Cole blinked and seemed to shake his head. His expression turned sheepish and apologetic. "I'm sorry. I can't see anything else."

Tal's skin prickled with déjà vu. "What was that?" he asked in a gravelly croak.

But he thought he already knew.

"She took Bravery," Cole said. "In the other time. With the other me."

There was only one she Tal could think of when it came to Rogathe: Rosa.

Tal's heart pounded hard in his throat. If Cole could glimpse even that small tidbit of memory, which was lost to Tal, then he might uncover everything with enough time. "You found something in my head," he said and reached out, grabbing the spirit boy's arm in his enthusiasm. "Mythal's tits! Don't apologize! That's wonderful!"

Cole had cringed from him at first, but now just stared at him, confused. "It is?"

"Yeah!" Tal exclaimed and let out a hoarse laugh. "Try digging around some more and if you find something I'll call you my new best friend!"

Cole brightened. "I had a friend once. It was nice."

Creators, that sounded sad. Tal gave Cole's arm a squeeze and a little shake. "Well, tell you what, even if you don't find anything—you can call me a friend."

"I'd like that," Cole said quietly.

Tal's grin was genuine and bright as he agreed. "Me too, buddy. Me too."


Endnote: I have a tiny little section written for next chapter, but I didn't think it warranted being a preview. I have had a lot of trouble writing since becoming pregnant. I don't know why. It's frustrating, like my drive to do it dried up. If you knew me, you'd know that's outright alarming. But I'm probbaly just not trying hard enough. Gotta double down! And of course the state of the world now doesn't help. Damn this frigging pandemic! I hope everyone reading is at home, safe and healthy!

One thing that's exciting with taking this story with Tal as Inky and being a major narrator is that I can explore his inheritance from Falon'Din. We don't see it much firsthand in RST. Here we can explore it thoroughly. I figure it's come on harder here than in RST, what with Tal being the possessed one, dealing with alcoholism caused by the clash of his personality with Rogathe's, and then the trauma of time traveling and mortal terror in Haven when Cory attacks. Tal's core character value isn't bravery like Rosa's is, and he wasn't raised properly for leadership. So he has a HUGE learning curve to overcome. But he's getting there.

Thank you to everyone who took time to review!

Haley, great to see a new reader and I'm thrilled you're enjoying! I enjoy putting Solas in situations that could crossover into cheesy, but I don't think Solas has a cheesy bone in his elfy-elf body! LOL. He's the epitome of angst and he's right up there with classic characters like Oedpius. I love that sort of thing, must be the English major and mythology lover in me. If you haven't read my other DA:I stories, you might enjoy those too. And, I'm proud to say, they're all complete!

Dirthara-ma: Still love your name! So glad you like Tal! He is indeed a chaotic mess! I think I've mentioned it before but I actually made a DnD character based off him, a wood elf wild magic sorcerer. My hubby is the DM and was ecstatic when he learned I was going with wild magic. He was like, "Oh Chaos!" Anyway, I digress. Elia really does change the dynamic times infinity. Solas has to juggle her in the equation now as well as Rosa and Tal. Plus I just delight in tossing him into situations where he has to dad!

Cookie! Thank you for reviewing! Yes, Rosa had a really hard time last chapter. Tal was the same in RST, when Rosa literally had to sleep spell him to get him to leave with the rest of the Inquisition. I think if Rosa didn't have Elia to worry about she would have stayed to fight at Tal's side. It was only the need to protect Elia that forced her to leave. Good news! I intend to keep Dorian and Tal bantering, too! I just hope I can do Dorian's wonderful wit justice.

Whitewolf, I hope I can keep surprising you! LOL