A/N: To avoid any confusion: This chapter is all in one perspective with little to no time between scenes. The section breaks are simply to clarify 'real world' versus the Fade.
Chapter Inspiration: Where's My Love (SYML)
Lost Elf
Death. The ancient city was rank with it. Once-living stone figures left a sparse trail, starting from the South gate and leading all the way to the central square. But the Dread Wolf only had himself to blame for that. What he had not caused, however, was the carnage that had occurred since – bloody corpses littered the market. At least thirty elves of both camps had lost their lives here only hours before his arrival.
Wherever he walked, ruin followed…
"The false followers were here when our scouts emerged from the temple," Abelas reported, prowling across the stained cobblestone to the abandoned camp close at hand. "Something must have drawn more of them here after you cleared the way. Or someone."
Solas joined his lieutenant at the little campsite; all that remained were the blackened remnants of a fire, two half-folded blankets, and a few miscellaneous odds and ends. What caught the Dread Wolf's eye was a single leather vambrace with the symbol of the Inquisition embroidered on its face. He picked up the armguard with a churning mix of dismay and hope. Could she have been here?
The whispers of one of his followers broke the mage from his thoughts, returning him to the remains of the failed ambush. Tanin, a young hunter formerly from a Dalish clan, knelt beside one of his comrades who had fallen victim to the Cult. Closing his friend's empty eyes, the lad bent his head low with a quiet prayer:
"The Dread Wolf guide your soul to peace, brother."
"Your instructions?" Abelas chirped impatiently, causing Solas to shake his head.
"Pay your respects to the dead, then we must make ready in the temple. We have work to do."
The Trickster allowed himself to slip back into his swirling thoughts while pivoting around to return to the ancient underground maze. The Temple of Solas was accessible by only two points: Bypassing the wards to unlock the great statue from the entrance, or through the eluvian at its heart, deep under the earth. It would take an army of workers, perhaps some Qunari explosives, and incredibly precise digging to reach it any other way. Luckily, its remote nature would buy them some time. The secrets and traps of the temple were lost to all but those who had walked its halls of old.
Fen'Harel had seven of the eight Orbs in his possession, having been unsuccessful in unburdening the Magisterium of the final artifact. He just needed the time and resources to unlock their power. If he could wield the Foci, it would be a much simpler task to contain the Evanuris. Without that power, if he was compelled to bring down the Veil too early, they would be unleashed in their full wrath. If the Tevinters insisted on hunting him down rather than dealing with the threat of the Qun, they just might force his hand. But he could not fail, even if it meant death. If his penance was his undoing, so be it.
Tanin's voice paused the god's steps before he could disappear into the torchlit corridor:
"What shall we do with our enemies?"
A tense silence blanketed the square. A dozen pairs of eyes turned on him from investigating the fallen. Even Abelas narrowed his apathetic eyes in interest. Were they to treat their foes who had been rejected by his Call with the same respect as their own? Or would they burn their bodies in a forgotten bonfire? But why care what the Dread Wolf wanted for their dead? Did they still believe that he counted himself as one of them?
It seems you hold the key to our salvation.
The Inquisitor had been special, unique. These Dalish and city elves were merely tools.
You change… everything.
Sweet talker.
With a dismissive sniff, he began descending the stairs.
"Regardless of belief, they are your kin, are they not?"
Tools. Echoes. Nothing more. Inara had been rare light in the tranquil fog of this temporary, passing world. And he had broken her heart.
She is bare-faced, embarrassed, and she doesn't know. She thinks it's because of her.
And then there was the matter of this demon of Desire, who had last visited him only two nights prior. He had no way of truly knowing if Inara was in any danger without becoming more involved – interrogating his minions or visiting her Dreams personally. After driving away Despair and seeing how convoluted her Dreams had become, it was necessary to take a step back. Too often had she stood as an unknowing distraction from his plans. Too often had he allowed himself to wander into her unconscious world during those first months.
Yet he found it impossible to avoid her entirely. She drew him close, making him doubt every thread of his reality. There was good reason for him to stay away. He did not want her exquisite heart to change because of him. He did not want her to see what he became. He could not risk the chance that she could pull him away from this path. This world was his mistake; all that was left was to make amends in the only way he knew.
And yet… Desire was a demon, a creature of the Fade. He knew it had merely been taking the shape of his vhenan, but the sight only renewed the longing and self-loathing from the last time she had faced him. Solas shivered at the memory of the demon – her soft lips; her lithe arms snaking around his back; his own hands exploring her curves on their own accord.
He had allowed it closer this time – a moment of weakness. It was a mistake. Ill-considered. He should not have encouraged it.
You say that, but you're the one who started with tongue.
The man smiled at the memory of their earlier days, when everything seemed so much simpler for that fleeting second of time. In those moments, he was a man in love – a fool – but those moments could never last. It was a blink in his very long life – inconsequential compared to the atrocities he had committed.
"You have the power," Desire had whispered in his ear as her ravenous lips traced his jawline. "You have the followers, the worshippers. You have me. What more could you want…Dread Wolf?"
She had tried kissing him again, but the Dreamer finally found the willpower to push her away.
"No. I don't have you. I can't."
Solas had waited for the demon's reaction. Would it attack or try a new tactic to seduce him? Neither, as it turned out. She simply smiled and disappeared, leaving the mage alone with his battling thoughts. It wasn't about seducing him then – that was not its end goal, at least. The being had been studying him, testing him. But why? For what purpose? The possibility that it could be one of the Forgotten Ones made matters even more complex. And distracting.
"Solas. Is something amiss?"
Solas allowed Abelas a reluctant side glance, nothing more. Then, with a wave of his hand, the Dread Wolf opened a rift and disappeared into the Fade, alone.
What was he doing? Pining over the slightest of mortals, wishing for what could not be and wondering over her wellbeing. He could not risk visiting her Dreams. Not now. If he saw her, the Dread Wolf might speak to her. If he spoke to her, he might forget all else that mattered.
"Inara?!"
Dorian burst through the revitalized eluvian, yelling at the top of his lungs. No answer. Cassandra and Varric were close at his heels, but it was the panicked Tevinter mage who led the charge up the hill, weaving between the petrified Qunari.
"Inara!" he called louder.
A woman's agonized cry urged him on.
At the top of the hill was the cliff and the twenty-foot-tall mirror, which flickered out the moment they caught sight of it. The elven rogue was hunched over on her knees, tears streaming down her face. Dorian stopped short as he caught sight of the emerald wisps of magic encapsulating her left arm. There was no Anchor, no hand, and no blood. Most of her arm was just…gone.
"Where is Solas?" Cassandra demanded a little too harshly.
"Gone," the Herald breathed, gasping as the magic finished its work.
Master Pavus caught the rogue with a feather-light touch when she collapsed. His bewildered eyes quickly surveyed the scene before returning to her arm – no blood and no sign of her missing limb. The tattered remains of her sleeve hung around her inflamed, half-healed stump.
"Inara? Inara, talk to me," the man fretted, brushing her feverish cheek. "I'll not stand over your grave on this day."
Varric hefted Bianca over his shoulder and cursed,
"Andraste's flaming backside… Let's get her back to the palace. What does Chuckles think he's doing?"
In a flurry of movement, the scene seemed to jump forward in time. No longer were the companions standing on the tortured cliffside. Instead, the watcher found himself in the Halamshiral storage room that housed its eluvian.
Dorian stepped out of the mirror with the unconscious Inquisitor cradled against his chest. He transferred their friend to the waiting arms of Commander Cullen. And with that, the Dream was ended – perhaps its owner had awakened.
However much time had passed since the Exalted Council, that day clearly left an impact on the young Magister.
I try to mend the damage of my fellows from long ago, and yet I only seem to make the world a darker place. It was not supposed to happen this way. It never is…
Shaking his head at the empty, raw Fade, Solas summoned another portal and returned to the waking world.
No longer near the temple, his quest had drawn him to a rooftop overlooking a village several miles from Perivantium. Night had fallen since he had wandered into the realm of spirits. Those who were not sleeping lingered in the tavern below, listening to the tunes of a fair maiden bard. The only other living creature here was a blond-haired assassin with a wide-brimmed hat. The lad did not need to turn to know of the Dread Wolf's presence – he was no normal human.
"The Wolf strikes fear in their hearts, yet whimpers within its soul," Cole muttered thoughtfully, not even bothering to look up at the mage who had joined his perch. The humanized spirit of Compassion whimsically kicked at the air over the eaves. "Your campaign goes well; I can feel the Veil thinning. The spirits grow more restless. You care little for the elves, yet you agonize over the slightest." He was quiet for a moment, waiting to see if Solas would speak without a prompt. Then, "Ask."
Solas bowed his head, cursing himself for allowing his emotions to get the better of him. Compared to his centuries of memories and hate, Inara's brief sojourn shouldn't have mattered. Yet here he was, fretting over a single woman – and one whose great purpose was to stop him, of all things.
"How is she, Cole?"
Cole continued to methodically kick his feet through the open air.
"There is a flame that flickers. It wants to live, but the wick runs short. Air sucked away, darkness closes in…alone. There are other candles, other lights, yet she can no longer find warmth in them. There is an inferno that burns in the Fade…threatens to consume her, if she does not resist. She doesn't want to." The rogue paused and looked up at the god. "You should go to her. She needs you. And you need her." He shook his head. "Why do you resist what is good?"
"I can't," the ancient elf sighed, hanging his head when the boy stood to study his face.
"If you don't go to her, the pain will cut too deep for you to mend. The Wolf will wander, woefully. Regret. It can't feel worse, yet it will." Cole leaned closer, demanding Fen'Harel's attention. "I would help if I could. I'm sorry, but this is not a hurt I can mend."
The mage locked his wrists at his back, standing tall despite his pain. He had a choice to make.
"I am sorry for how my quest may affect you. And yet…"
How could he admit he was wrong, when his entire goal centered on the return of the world to what it had been? This boy had done the improbable – a spirit become human. Such an occurrence was rare indeed.
"I am better," Cole declared warmly. "And I know my path. Mine is a path of Compassion; lost, yet found anew in a new world. Yours is a path of Wisdom, old and lost." He cocked his head quizzically. "For a moment, you could see it. Yet you turned away. Why?"
Solas exhaled heavily. He should have known the conversation would lead to this.
"Enough, my friend. Just…stand with me…for a little while."
"You are lonely. A new meaning to a name. Light, pride, sorrow. You are no longer soft, subtle. You still search for wisdom, but…alone. Edges hard, sharp. She is a rare soul that brings the quiet, the soft, the champion. Vhenan."
"Cole…"
"Sorry."
Cole is just...so fun to write. Cheers!
