Grief.
Sorrow.
Despair.
Ruminating thoughts of defeat and helplessness had forced Solas to seek the comforts of the Fade and the memory of an old friend. Taking the familiar path leading into the dense forest, passing streams and bed of flowers, until he came to the secluded grove. Finding the place had not been difficult. Rather, it had been too painful.
As expected, Wisdom did not greet him as she usually did, nor did the wisp that had manifested after her death was present. Again, he was alone, with only the noise of the night and the moon to guide his steps. But he preferred the loneliness, because it was only here he could allow himself to feel anything. When he reached the center, Solas collapsed. He sank to his knees, hands fisted upon his cheeks.
The grief he'd carefully weaved into his anger and rage pulled him under like a man drowning at sea. The pain began to distract him, threatening to overwhelm him. He could no longer breath. Only then did the tears come. They fell like the enavuris river, flowing freely. He could not stop the flood of tears, even as he wiped his eyes angrily. He had not cried since he was a young boy, well before he was recruited into Mythal's army. It was amazing, for he had thought he had forgotten how.
The image of IIyana falling to her supposed death pierced at his heart. No, no, no, he shakes his head angrily. But doubt echoed loudly, screaming that she couldn't have survived - she'd already lost too much blood.
Only a man in denial would not accept the truth.
No. He must remain vigilant. He must remain strong. Because that is what she'd want him to do. He refused to give up. He could not give up. If he did, she would die.
But dammit, why did he feel so helpless?
"Hello, why are you crying?"
Solas glanced up to see a small child-like figure staring back at him. The Spirit glowed in shades of white and gold, it's eyes bright as it repeated its question.
"I lost someone I love," Solas said. "I can't seem to find her."
"Oh, a mystery! I love looking for things." The Spirit said. And though Solas was unable to see her expression, he felt her smile. "I can help you," she continued. "Who are we looking for?"
Solas hesitated for a moment before answering. "Her name is IIyana."
"That's such a pretty name. What does she look like? Is she tall, short, small, round? Where did you lose her?"
Despite his distress, Solas couldn't help but smile at the Spirit's enthusiasm.
"You must not remember," The Spirit said. "But I can still help. How about you help me help you remember?"
It was clear now, that in his desperation, Solas had summoned a benevolent Spirit. "Alright. What can I do to help?" He asks.
The Spirit floated around Solas several times before she finally came to rest next to him. "First, I need you to close your eyes. Now, take several deep breaths while you focus your attention on the IIyana. Let me know when you see her in your mind's eye."
Solas did as the Spirit bid and closed his eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths. He opened his mind to the many memories he had of IIyana and chose the image of her smiling face, the day he fell in love with her. Her smile had been bright, her eyes green with twinkle as she placed the flowers on Senna's grave.
"Do you have an image of her?" The spirit asked.
"Yes."
"Good. Now, focus all your attention on her image and let's see if we can find her."
At first, the emotions that had overtaken him earlier were overwhelming but the more the Spirit directed him to focus on IIyana, the lesser the pain became. Soon, his gaze traced every curve and angle of her face, her eyes, and lips, resting as they came to her vallasin. Soon, other images flooded his senses. IIyana dancing with him, IIyana telling him she chose to forgive, IIyana confessing her love, telling him she'll stay alive.
His heart pounded loudly - he had his answer. No matter what comes, no matter what distance they must cross, or whatever threatens to separate them, he will always find her. And he knew then, that she still lived. He felt it. He believed it.
"Did you find IIyana?" The Spirit asked.
"Yes." Solas said hoarsely as he opened his eyes.
The Spirit clasped her hand and let out a happy squeal as she floated around Solas, illuminating her joy and streaming it through the shadowed grove.
"Tell me, by what name are you called?" Solas asked of his new spirit friend.
"Hope." The Spirit stopped, and where her mouth would have been, bright light curved into a big smile. "I am a Spirit of Hope."
"Ma serannas, my friend," Solas replies with gratitude.
And as if the gift Hope hadn't given him was enough, the calling of the wolf in the far distance signaled that he'd been summoned.
His agents finally had news.
IIyana woke, awashed with pain. Her skin felt tight and stretched as though she'd been flayed alive. She would have gladly let Falon'din lead her to the Fade and Beyond, but when she opened her mouth to mumble the simple prayer, her lips were too cracked and dry.
She could have easily murdered someone for a cup of water.
Prying one eye open, never imagining it could hurt so much to do such a simple task, she was surprised when her eyes swept across the room. Grandiose in size and stature in nature, was a massive hall filled with broken stairs and columns, crumbling in a pile of stone. Golden arches as high as the eye can see, open way to a second story filled with long corridors that she knew held riches pertaining to elvhen history.
Again, another place Solas would love to see.
"Oh," a sweet voice soothed. "You're awake."
Looking to be somewhere in her early thirties, with short brown hair framing a slim face, the woman's bright green eyes were made more cheerful by the yellow scarf she wore atop her hunter's outfit. But it was her vallaslin - in the style of Dirthman, god of secrets and knowledge - that caught IIyana's attention. The design curved around the top half of her face and what should have been harsh lines were softened by a caring expression.
IIyana wondered if the woman collected nugs or quirky books. For sure, she would have been invited in for tea if they were friends. She tried to sit up, but grimaced against the sting her movement caused, triggering memories from the past few days, then flinched lightly as fingers brushed her skin.
"Ah, dear. I didn't mean to scare you." The woman said quickly, hand frozen in mid air. Suddenly, as if only realizing her predicament, she smacked her palm against her forehead. "By the creators, where are my manners?" The woman chuckled softly. " Hello, my name is Merrill."
"Don't touch me," IIyana warned as Merrill reached out.
"But your wounds. I wasn't able to heal them completely and if you don't let me examine them … they could fester. Then blister. Maybe you'll lose the whole arm. Then you'll be all wonky." At IIyana's concerned expression, Merrill shrugged. "I shouldn't have said that should I? I always say the stupidest things."
"How long have I been here?" IIyana asked hoarsely, ignoring Merril's attempts to make her lie back down.
"Not long. A few hours. I only found you this morning."
"Was I alone? Did you run into anyone else? A man perhaps? Human with a serpent tattoo..." IIyana's voice trailed off, crackling slightly, as if whatever horror she had endured had imprinted in her soul.
Merrill leaned forward. "I assure you," she soothed. "We're quite safe. We're in Din'an Hanin, the tomb of the Emerald Knights. Whoever is after you won't be able to get in. Not unless he's a mage. Is he? A mage, that is."
"No," was all IIyana said, ending the conversation about her captor.
"Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat? I have … water." Merruk said, pulling out a brown waterskin made of ram leather from her pack.
To her credit, IIyana drank thirstily, ignoring the suspicious thoughts aimed at Merrill that had plagued her mind from the moment she'd awakened. When she was done, she eased back on the bedroll and closed her eyes to lesson her discomfort. "You're Dalish," she stated, doing her best to ignore the spasm stretching her muscle.
"Yes - I mean I was. I left a while ago." The unexpected sadness in Merrill's answer did not press IIyana to investigate any further. "I need to look at your wound, if that's okay."
IIyana nodded. She will trust the Dalish woman … for now.
The next time IIyana woke, the room was cast in evening shadows with only a few streamers of moonlight filtering through the rafters and broken ceiling. Everything looked hazy to her and she felt so disoriented that she couldn't remember where she was. Surprisingly, she felt wonderful. Every muscle in her body tingled as if someone had laid her on a hot table and massaged every single abrasion, erasing all memory of the past week.
Wondering where Merrill had gone, IIyana managed to stumble to her feet and make her way to the giant doors leading to the courtyard. The winter evening was clear and the night air was fresh, clean. Her breath came out in puffs as she shivered lightly and rubbed her hands together for warmth.
The smell of meat roasting caught her senses and IIyana's stomach grumbled loudly, and soon, she was following the wonderful smell to where Merrill stood over a small fire.
"Oh, wait. Let me help you," Merrill said.
Once settled in front of the fire, Merrill and IIyana ate in silence, each waiting for the other to speak. Finally, IIyana stated, "How did you find me?"
"Oh," Merrill stated, wiping her hand along her breeches. "I was exploring actually. I found a map of this place - although now that I think about it, I might have been stealing. You see, the camp where the map were found was actually in disarray. Everyone was dead. Not a soul alive. And before you start making assumptions, no, it wasn't me. I don't like blood."
"Does anybody?" IIyana agreed. "The stains are horrendous and it tastes like metal."
Merrill laughed. "Yes. I was heading there when I saw you."
IIyana gave the woman a small smile. "I guess I have you to thank, for saving my life. I'll make sure you are well compensated once we get back to Skyhold."
"Skyhold," Merill said, her ears perking up. She glanced at IIyana, then at the green anchor in her hand, and back to IIyana. "You're the Inquisitor!" She gasped. "I can't believe it. I can't believe it."
"Busted." IIyana chuckled softly and held up her right hand. The anchor glowed softly, illuminating Merrill in green light.
"The Inquisition is tearing through half of Thedas looking for you." Eyes wide now, Merrill came to sit next to IIyana. Without thought, she studied the anchor closely, tracing every detail to memory. "Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore. But I still wonder at its true purpose," IIyana confessed. "I mean, how much power can the anchor hold if a demigod is willing to risk the wrath of Thedas to get to it."
"What do you think it's meant to do?"
The anchor sparked slightly, sensing IIyana's uncertainty. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I've thought about it and still can't come up with a decent answer other than, it's meant to destroy. And that's not good, right? Especially if it gets in the wrong hands."
Merrill scoffed, then chuckled to herself. "Hmmm… hands. Oh! I didn't mean to make light of the anchor." She apologized profusely as IIyana laughed.
"No offense taken, Merrill. You're golden."
Sometime in the middle of the night, the wards went off, shaking IIyana from sleep. Muffled voices, panicked voices, and a roar - perhaps in her name - echoed throughout the night and she shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the dream.
Images of being dragged, drugged, touched …
Her heart pounded furiously, sweat gathered at her temple. She could feel his hands on her, around her throat, making promises of the things he will do.
No, no, that was a flashback. That was a memory. This is reality.
Feeling restless and jittery, she took in several deep breaths, trying to calm her anxiety. She counted to three, released to five. She counted the items in the room and breathed after each item, just like Eri used to teach her. But she couldn't shake the memory of her captor from her mind, her body, her spirit.
Needing fresh air, IIyana left the room and headed towards the massive doors leading to the courtyard, but seeing Merrill asleep near the entrance, she turned around and headed up the stairs with no particular destination in mind.
She just needed to breathe. To get away.
She had no idea how long she walked, only that each step took her deeper and deeper into the ruins. Heading right, then left. By then a memory flashe din her mind and her anxiety rose to a crippling fear that choked her of breath and reason. Shadows stalked her, people whispering her name, and she ran. From behind, she hears Merrill, followed by quick footsteps, but she didn't dare look back.
He was still out there.
He was still chasing her.
He will find her.
And he will kill her.
The footsteps came closer and she managed to round the corner and run into the farthest room. It was dark but she managed to make out a desk, chairs, and cases of books piled along the floors and in piles form the collapsing bookcases. Scrambling to the fire place, she pulled the fire poker from its resting place and waited as the door slowly clicked open.
One breath.
Then two.
Three. Four.
The only sound was her rapid heart beat. Never had she imagined that a heart could beat so fast. She barely dared to breathe. She blinked, then stiffened when the shadow of a man came to view. Tightening her hands around the fire poker, she bit her lip to prevent herself from screaming as the man started to move. In seconds, he would be upon her. She knew she had to strike, and strike surely this time.
In one horrid flash, IIyana brought down the poker. Her attacker managed to move just in time to avoid death, but she caught him on the shoulder. She cried in frustration as he grunted in pain, cursing softly as he brought up his hand to grip the weapon.
And she waited for a blade to fall.
But none did.
"IIyana …"
At the familiar voice, IIyana stopped breathing. Her mind raced for answers, moving as quickly as the winds on a cool, summer day. He said her name again, this time, more gentle, not anything like the crass, angry voice who'd haunted her steps for the past week. She wanted to cry, to fall to her knees. But the sickening feeling dread wouldn't go away.
No, her mind screamed. She wasn't safe. The Gods were fucking with her.
They were ALWAYS fucking with her.
He took a step forward.
She yanked back the fire poker and held it in front of her, the sharpened edge pointed straight at his heart. "Don't come any closer," IIyana sneered.
Solas bit back a cry of distress. IIyana looked so fragile, so skittish, that he was afraid if he made any sudden movements, she may react and hurt herself.
"IIyana, it's me," he said desperately.
"No," she protested. "This isn't real. I'm dreaming and you're a fucking demon."
Solas considered her words carefully. Then he took another step. Her eyes widened and the weapon raised slightly, so that if she chose to, she could easily end his life. But he didn't care. The relief of finally finding her was too overwhelming. With little hesitation, he took a step forward. For every step he took, she took one back until her body pressed against the wall, until there was nowhere left to go.
"I said stop." She demanded angrily.
"No. I need you to listen to me, IIyana. This is not the Fade. I'm really here."
Tears of disbelief gathered at her eyes. "You're lying."
"I'm sorry it took so long ..."
She shook her head. The sound of his voice felt so real. So fucking real. He took another step and she pressed the weapon into his flesh. "By the fucking gods, I'm warning you! STOP!"
The agony in her voice was like nothing he had heard before. She sounded like a wild, caged animal, fighting for survival. Solas didn't want to think about what had transpired for her over the last few days, but he knew it wasn't kind. He wished he could take that away from her. He wished he could shelter and protect her always.
Using his magic to bring light into the room, Solas focused his attention on her. "IIyana, listen to me. Listen to my voice. This isn't the Fade. This is real. I'm real. Here, feel me. Touch me." He flicked his wrist and a small burst of magic swirl in his palm. It hummed and tingled against her skin as it enveloped her in a safe cocoon. She couldn't shake the feeling of warmth and safety as it absorbed into her skin, healing wounds and abrasions with familiarity.
But she was still doubtful. She was too afraid to look at him for fear that he was just a mirage.
"How do I know it's you?" She demanded brokenly. "How do I know that you are what you say and not just a fragment of my imagination? I don't think I can - if this the Fade - I don't think I can," she sputtered.
Solas swallowed painfully. He needed her to see him. He needed her to believe him. Desperate now, he pulled the weapon away from her and threw it across the room, and wrapped her in his arms. While she screamed and fought, he tightened his hold.
"Listen to me. LISTEN TO ME," he demanded. Taking her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "The first time we argued, I insulted the Dalish and you called me a horrid name. Do you remember? What did you call me IIyana?"
He held his breath and waited. It felt like an entire lifetime before she finally answered.
"I called you a crusty old bat," she gasped.
"Yes," he chuckled softly. Relieved. "Yes you did. I count your blushes. Do you remember what number is my favorite?"
Tears of hope gathered at her eyes, nearly blinding her to the man before her. She took a couple of deep breaths before answering. "Number thirty-five."
"Number thirty-five," he confirmed. "It was the night you invited me to your room. The same night we made love for the first time."
Relief as she'd never experienced flooded her body and IIyana shook violently, tears flooding like a waterfall, slipping free and sliding down her neck. She gripped his arms tightly, as if she were afraid to let him go.
"Our last night together at Skyhold. You said you felt nervous." Solas said. His hand came up to brush her tears. "What did you say, IIyana."
"I - I said that I was … that I felt like a falon'saota," she said brokenly.
"Yes," he said thickly, tears gathering at his eyes. "You said you felt like my mate. And you are. Now and forever." He presses a kiss to her forehead. "Feel me, IIyana." Kissing her eyes and cheeks. "Remember me, remember us."
He saw sanity return to her eyes a moment before his lips brushed upon hers.
IIyana closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. She felt the warmth of his hand against her cheek. The rapid beat of his heart. And as his aura crashed into hers, in a kaleidoscope of greens, she knew that he was real. With tear stained cheeks, IIyana opened her eyes to find his - so blue, so real, and so full of love and warmth and safety. Ever so carefully, she brought her hand to his face, her thumb brushing his cheek.
"So … Solas?"
Overwhelmed with emotion, Solas was unable to speak. He could only nod.
IIyana broke then. Body collapsing in a state of exhaustion and relief, shaking violently as she wept in his arms. "You came," she finally managed to say, in between sobs. "You really came."
"But not soon enough," Solas hoarsely. His eyes were bloodshot and shadowed, a testimony to stress and lack of sleep. He cradled her body softly and gently brought them to the floor, he never released his hold on her. Instead, Solas held her, stroked her, soothed her, his silent tears mingling with hers.
Outside, Cassandra and the inner circle listened as IIyana's cries carried into the night. "Come, let us make camp," she suggested. "IIyana would not want us to see her like this."
At first, the inner circle hesitated but they also understood the two lovers needed their privacy. One by one, the inner circle left for the courtyard, all except Dorian, whose back was pressed to the wall opposite of the door.
"Dorian," said Cassandra.
"Just a moment," he said, though she didn't miss the slight crack in his voice. "I'll be there in a moment."
Cassandra stared at the Tevinter, whose eyes were suspiciously moist, and nodded. She made her way through the long corridor, down the stairs, and back into the main hall before she stopped. Taking a moment to gather herself, Cassandra sent a prayer above, thanking the Maker for bringing IIyana home.
