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Retracing their journey back to Dirthavaren had been a tense, rushed affair. Ciri could see how much it pained Solas not to race ahead, not to press his mount and leave them behind. Each night that he searched the Fade and found no trace of Wisdom left him ever more worried and withdrawn, and in turn, her worry for him grew as well. His anxiety was infectious, hanging over them like a dark cloud as they traveled.
They left their tired horses at the forward camp with a brief word of greeting for Scout Belette. Ciri fell in behind Solas as he set the pace with a ground-eating lope, as sure of his destination as Mihris had been. He led them toward the stream, then alongside it, making their way past the Dalish camp and to the tall outcropping of rocks ahead.
A pained, furious roar broke the calm of Dirthavaren's air.
"No," Solas breathed, a quiet, despairing protest. He broke into a run.
Ciri struggled to keep up with him as he rounded the outcropping and almost stumbled into his back as he came to an abrupt halt.
"My friend."
She took in the cause of his distress at once. A massive pride demon thrashed and roared within a circle of bluish-white stalagmites near the river running perpendicular to the stream. The stalagmite pillars looked unnatural to her eyes, clearly magical in nature. The pride demon lashed out at one and stumbled back as light flared, and the scent of ozone scorched her nose.
"Oh, Solas." She reached out and set her hand on his arm gently. The muscles tensed beneath her fingers, but she didn't withdraw. "What happened to your friend?"
"Wisdom only becomes Pride when their purpose is perverted," he told her with a terrible blankness to his voice. "Something, or someone, did this to my friend. What did they do, what did they do?"
On Solas' other side, Olgierd inclined his head at three humans approaching them warily, all of them dressed in ragged, grubby mage robes and holding staves. "Someone like those three, perhaps?"
The tense muscles beneath Ciri's hand turned to iron, and Solas' face grew stormy. "Let us ask them."
The mage in the lead broke off from the trio to come closer. He was a pale, doughy man with a slackness to his cheeks that spoke of weeks, perhaps months, of inadequate meals, and he brightened as he looked from Solas to Dorian to Mihris. "Mages? Then you're not with those Freemen bandits. Do you have any lyrium? We've been trying to get that demon under control for ages."
"You summoned that demon!" Solas retorted. "But they were a spirit of wisdom at the time! You made them kill! Twisted them against their purpose!"
The mage took a half-step back, raising his hand at the furious onslaught of words. "I understand how it might be confusing to someone who hasn't studied demons, but after you help us –"
"We're not here to help you." Solas' voice was hard and scornful.
"We came to free a captive," Ciri said, backing him to the hilt. She nodded over the mage's shoulder. "That captive."
"Are you mad?" the mage sputtered. "You can't set that thing free – it's killed six of us! There's only three of us left!"
"Then you shouldn't have summoned them in the first place." Solas turned away dismissively and met Ciri's eyes with an intensity that caught her breath for just a moment. "Lethallin. If we break the elgar'arla, we break the binding on Wisdom. With no orders to fight, and no commands to kill, there won't be any conflict with their nature. They will return to themself."
"What? No! That binding is the only thing keeping it from killing us!" the mage cried. "Whatever it was before, it's a monster now!"
"Wrong," Solas spat.
"Listen to me!" the mage insisted. "I am the foremost expert on demons from the Kirkwall Circle –"
"I'll tell you this plainly, so you might come to terms with it in your own time," Olgierd said evenly. "You're a short-sighted, ignorant fool with an overinflated view of your skills and importance. You've ventured into a puddle and imagined you found an ocean. If Solas says it can be done, it can be done. Move aside, mage, or I'll move you."
Stunned into offended silence, the mage moved out of the way. At Ciri's side, she saw Solas reach up and squeeze Olgierd's shoulder in wordless gratitude, then lead the way over to the binding circle.
"Keeper Thelhen used an elgar'arla to bind Imshael," Mihris told them, her voice barely audible beneath Wisdom's roars. "Only one pillar needed to be broken for him to escape, but then, he was incredibly powerful. A Forbidden One."
Solas nodded. "We will likely need to break all of them."
"Sure that tit isn't right about breakin' the circle?" Sera asked warily. "Since when do we help demons and not people? Even if the people are idiots?"
"Since that 'demon' is my friend," Solas said. "I am certain it will work. Please, Sera. For once, just believe me."
Her face screwed up in displeasure, but she nodded in reluctant agreement. "Yeah, fine. But if it all goes to shite, I get to say I told you so."
Olgierd eyed the pacing, raging pride demon with a look in his eyes that Ciri couldn't quite interpret, and he turned to Solas. "Have you any spells to crack stone or earth? To hasten their destruction?"
"I do."
They spread out around the elgar'arla, each choosing a pillar. Solas drew his staff and swept it before him, then slammed the butt into the ground. Shockwaves rippled beneath their feet, and Ciri shifted with them, almost but never quite unbalanced. The pillars cracked, deep fissures running up their lengths.
Ciri unsheathed Gynvael and smashed at a fissure with the pommel, again and again. It splintered, then fell apart in great chunks, magic fizzing and popping as her pillar broke. Wisdom roared and stomped toward her.
She darted away to help Mahanon, who was kicking at his pillar. She lent her own foot to his effort, and together they toppled his stalagmite and raced to Dorian.
One by one, the pillars fell, each one breaking apart with a hiss and pop of lightning. Then, at last, the sixth and final pillar broke, and Wisdom collapsed to one armored knee in the center of the destroyed elgar'arla.
"Please," Solas whispered. "Please, my friend."
A shiver of magic, a whisper of a spell breaking, and the great, spiked form took a heaving breath in, and on the exhale, shrank into a small, feminine body. They were black from head to toe, with just a hint of green tinting their skin and clothing, and as they looked up, Ciri saw that their eyes were twin, fiery pits of emerald.
Solas rushed over to kneel before Wisdom, Ciri and Olgierd hard on his heels.
"Lethallin, ir abelas," he said gently.
Wisdom raised a weak hand to Solas' cheek. "Tel abelas. Enasal. Ir tel'him. Ma melava halani. Mala suledin nadas. Ma ghilana mir din'an."
A look of pure heartbreak came over Solas' face, and he reached out to Wisdom.
"Wait!" Ciri interrupted. "Can't we save them?" She met Wisdom's burning emerald eyes. "Can't we save you?"
She flexed her marked hand. She could tear the Veil again if it would help get Wisdom back to the Fade safely. The damage it would do to her wouldn't be insignificant, but she could do it.
Wisdom shook their head slowly and switched to Common. "The struggle against the binding took too much from me, little Swallow. I am fading. Allow my friend to make it a peaceful end."
Olgierd knelt at Solas' side and extended a scarred hand to Wisdom. "I may be able to help if you'll allow it."
Their burning eyes examined him, and they set their frail black hand in his. "Your path to wisdom was a painful one," they said softly. "But you speak truly. I can endure a while longer. You may try."
He patted their hand and withdrew, getting back to his feet. Ciri watched as he looked around at the stony, broken ground with sharp eyes, then turned to Solas.
"I'll need to borrow your staff for a moment," he said. "To draw a circle."
Solas stiffened. "My friend has had enough of bindings and summonings."
Olgierd set his hand on Solas' shoulder as Solas had done to him earlier and spoke quietly. "Solas. Trust that I'll not harm them. This is neither summoning nor binding, I promise you."
Solas gave him a long, evaluating look, much like Wisdom had, and eventually nodded in reluctant agreement. "Very well."
With Solas' staff in hand, Olgierd went to the flattest, least rocky area within the broken elgar'arla and began to draw a summoning circle with smooth, winding lines and small dashes. He dragged the butt of the staff through the soil, digging a furrow as he went. He stopped the outer circle with six inches left to finish, then walked ten paces away to trace a pentagram.
Ciri's gaze went back to Wisdom. The ailing spirit had fallen to both knees in the time it had taken to draw the circles, and they had slowly begun to curl in on themself as if their very existence was painful.
Olgierd came back and passed Solas his staff before kneeling beside Wisdom. "May I?" he asked, reaching out to them with both arms.
"Yes," they whispered.
He scooped them up into a gentle bridal carry, their insubstantial form almost wafting through his arms, and strode to the nearly finished summoning circle with Solas and Ciri on his heels. With a delicacy and tenderness that would have surprised Ciri months ago, he set Wisdom down in the center of the circle and drew the last six inches with the tip of his boot.
"What comes next?" Solas asked, impatience barely masking his anxiety.
"Now I kneel in that circle," Olgierd said with a nod to the pentagram, "and open a connection between myself and Wisdom. I'll give them magic until they're strong enough to sustain themself, then break it."
Solas pressed his lips together and gave a jerky nod, and Olgierd settled inside the pentagram. Ciri stood at Solas' side and set her hand on his shoulder, just where Olgierd's hand had been. He stiffened, then relaxed slightly, his own long, graceful hand coming up to cover hers.
Olgierd closed his eyes and breathed evenly, his hands on his knees. Then, far less dramatically than he had in the mages' ritual room, he raised his hands and began chanting. Softly this time – the words were no less harsh or guttural, but his tone was kind, even beseeching. A light wind stirred around the edges of the pentagram.
Wisdom inhaled sharply, their back straightening. Their face went slack with relief, and they gingerly pressed their hand to the center of their chest. Tiny black flakes began to fall from their robe, slowly at first, then in a sootlike flurry, revealing a deep green color hidden beneath, shot through with spiraling jet-black lines.
An unseen wind ruffled their short black hair, and they smiled faintly as their black skin took on a slight green glow.
"Enough," Wisdom called to Olgierd softly. "I am…I am whole enough."
Olgierd stopped chanting and sat back on his heels, lowering his hands to his knees again and opening his eyes.
Wisdom rose to their feet as Solas broke away from Ciri and hurried to the summoning circle.
"Lethallin," he breathed, disbelief and fragile joy written across his face.
"Lethallan," they replied, reaching for him with a dark hand. Their small smile grew. "We will not have to say a permanent farewell after all."
"Niran," Solas said simply, reaching back across the summoning circle's lines to grasp their fingers.
They traced the contours and planes of his face with their free hand, unable to press past the outer line of the summoning circle. "Be kinder to yourself, lethallan. You are wise, yes. But do not mistake your certainty for wisdom as well. Pride has ever been your greatest flaw."
"I am unmoored, my friend." Solas' voice was a bare whisper Ciri could hardly hear. "What certainty is there when I would have ended your life, and another saved it?"
"You are not all-knowing. You never have been."
"This much I know to be true."
Wisdom sighed and squeezed Solas' hand. "The physical world is hard and painful, my friend. I cannot linger here. Let me return to the Fade, and I will see you in your dreams."
"Ma nuvenin."
Wisdom turned their fiery emerald eyes to Olgierd as Solas withdrew his hand and took a step back. "You have my thanks, brother-of-Adventure, friend-of-Compassion. I see the path that you walked to get here. I honor you for the choices that led you to wisdom."
"All my choices?" Olgierd asked. He sounded exhausted.
"Every choice is a lesson. Every lesson leads to more choices. Your choices brought you pain, but also wisdom, in the end." They cocked their head at him. "And kindness. Would you take that back?"
Olgierd gave a tired shake of his head. "My path hurt too many people along the way for me to not regret it. But I don't regret where it led me in the end. And regardless, a man can't un-walk a path. It's not a question I can answer fairly."
"And you prove your wisdom," Wisdom said kindly. "Send me back to the Fade, brother-of-Adventure. I have lingered too long already."
Olgierd extended a hand toward Wisdom and muttered beneath his breath, and Wisdom disappeared from the circle.
"Dareth shiral," Solas said to the empty circle, a faint smile on his face.
Olgierd rose to his feet with painful slowness and almost staggered over. Ciri rushed to his side and tucked herself beneath his arm to catch his weight.
"That took too much out of you," she scolded him quietly.
"Goetia isn't meant to be used that way, dear." He scuffed out the pentagram with his boot and led them over to the summoning circle to do the same there.
Ciri felt a pang of worry at the sight of three bright white hairs at his temple, stark against the flame red of the rest of his hair.
"Some of your hair's gone white," she murmured. "Not nearly as bad as mine has. Just a few strands. But…"
"I'm fine," he told her, and he straightened as best he could as Solas and the others approached. The officious mage and his two ragged companions crept out from around a boulder, their eyes wide.
"How did you do that?" the mage asked.
Solas whirled to face them, scowling. "You. You tortured my friend. Brutalized them."
"We – we didn't know it was just a spirit!" the mage protested.
Olgierd scoffed. "Speaks well of that expertise you boasted of."
"If not for Olgierd, your actions would have led to Wisdom's death!" Solas snapped. His knuckles went white and bloodless around his staff.
Ciri reached out to him, and like before, set a hand on his arm. "Wisdom lived, Solas," she reminded him, keeping her voice low so the ragged mages couldn't hear. "I understand wanting vengeance, but would they want you to murder these idiots on their behalf?"
The muscles beneath her hand tensed, then slowly relaxed. "No," he admitted, still glaring at the mages. "But something must be done."
"Let me?" she asked him.
He gave her a sidelong look and nodded once, a short jerk of his chin. "Very well."
Ciri stepped forward. "You clearly can't be trusted to make sound decisions," she said dryly. "Is there somewhere my scouts can escort you to? I'm hesitant to leave you alone here in Dirthavaren. I expect you'll capture another poor spirit and kill off the rest of your group."
The self-appointed spokesperson looked offended at that, but the two women flanking him winced. "That's not –"
"Ferelden," the woman on the left interrupted. "We heard the rebellion was over, that the rebel mages allied with the Inquisition. Are mages still allowed in Ferelden if we don't use our magic against people?"
Ciri took a long, deliberate look at the broken elgar'arla pillars, then back at the mages. "This sort of magic won't be welcome, either."
The woman on the right pinched the middle mage's arm viciously before he could protest. "Ow!"
"We understand," she said with a bow of her head.
"Scout Mahanon and Mihris will escort you to the Riverwatch camp for the night," Ciri told them. "You'll leave for Ferelden in the morning. If you like, you might find employment with the Inquisition. It would keep you safe and out of trouble."
The woman on the right pinched the man in the middle again. "That's a generous offer, and we'll consider it. If we took you up on it, who should we say recommended us?"
"Inquisitor Cirilla Morhen," Ciri said.
The mage in the middle swallowed hard. "Inquisitor?"
"That is my title, yes," Ciri said mildly. "Have a safe trip to the camp. Try not to bind any more spirits."
Mahanon stalked forward with Mihris at his side and gave the three mages a hard look. "Stay close, shemlen, and follow us."
The woman on the right pinched her colleague a third time. "Thank you for the escort, Scout Mahanon."
"Hmph."
The trio headed off along the river's edge, Mahanon in the lead and Mihris bringing up the rear. Solas watched them go with a bitter expression on his face, and he turned back to Ciri once they were out of hearing range.
"That was too kind to them. Far too kind."
"What else was left?" she asked him. "We couldn't kill them in cold blood, and it would be risky to leave them to their own devices. There are no laws I can invoke to punish them for what they did, though I do agree that it was wrong. Wisdom killed six of them, Solas, and it's their own fault for trying to bind them. Let the loss of life be punishment enough."
His mouth flattened to a thin, disapproving line, but she held his gaze, and eventually he sighed and relented. "I don't like it, lethallin. But I see your point."
"I'm sorry, Solas," she said softly. "I know it's not what you wanted."
He gave her a small, understanding smile. "Your mercy is your strength. And you are right. Wisdom would not wish vengeance carried out on their behalf."
"Let's go back to the forward camp," she said with a brief glance up at the late afternoon sun. "We can head to Skyhold tomorrow."
Once they'd all settled around the campfire for supper, with bowls of stew distributed and weapons set to the side, Solas turned his attention to Olgierd.
"I owe you more than I can express," he said. "Wisdom is one of my oldest and dearest friends. For a moment I thought all was lost."
"I'm glad I could spare you that pain," Olgierd replied.
Solas nodded and seemed to think for a moment, his lavender-gray eyes sharpening as they assessed Olgierd's tired form and his new strands of white hair. "That is the second time in as many weeks that I have encountered a language I'm unfamiliar with."
Olgierd shrugged and ate another mouthful of stew. "It's not conversational. It's meant for that sort of magic. Summoning spirits, banishing and binding. What I did stretched its use nearly past what I can manage."
"I am an expert on spirits and the Fade," Solas said. "Perhaps the greatest expert you'll meet. But I have never heard of the sort of magic you did." He gave Olgierd a speculative look. "Does it have anything to do with the demon you encountered in your past? The one Ciri's father saved you from?"
"It does," Olgierd said after a brief pause.
"You haven't spoken much of that experience. Will you share it with us?"
Ciri watched as Olgierd paused again, then nodded in agreement. Sera leaned forward eagerly, her cheeks bulging with food.
"Mmf! 'Scuse me. Wot, really? Finally goin' to spill your secrets?"
"May as well," Olgierd said, smiling at her.
He met Ciri's eyes, and she tried to wordlessly convey a warning for discretion to him. A wry twitch of his lips and the barest wink let her know he understood.
The story he told was almost familiar to her. Two wild brothers, but half Ferelden this time, with a Nevarran father. A beautiful maiden from a wealthy family, and a pledge to wed. A loss of fortune, and a broken engagement. And the elder brother, desperate for help, searching for something, anything, that could reunite him with his love.
"A demon found me at my lowest point," he said. "Promised to restore my family's fortune, give me back Iris' hand, and let me live as if there were no tomorrow. But there was a catch."
"There always is," Solas said.
"Iris or Vlodimir. I had to choose between them. One would need to die for the demon's spell to work." Olgierd looked down at his hands, then at Solas. "I chose Vlod. And the next day, he fell in battle."
Solas sat back on his log, a light of understanding in his eyes. "You and Adventure spoke of this in the Fade."
"We did."
"But – but, why?" Sera asked. "Why not tell the stupid demon to piss off?" She stared at him as if he were a stranger.
"Because I was a selfish, grasping, desperate man," Olgierd said, "and my understanding of the world was a cruel one."
Sera's brow wrinkled in confusion and upset, and she looked away.
"I assume the demon failed to uphold its end of the bargain," Dorian said. "Or you wouldn't have been at Haven with three robes, a single pair of boots, scars enough for two dozen men, and no wife."
"It upheld its end all too well," Olgierd told them. "I had my family's fortune again. Iris and I were wed. But the third part was twisted against me. Instead of living as though there were no tomorrow, my heart was hardened against all emotion. My body could scar –" He touched the largest of the scars across his chest. "– but no blade could kill me. I'd not been a good man before, but I became a monster. And Iris hated me for it. There was enough of me left that couldn't bear to hurt her with my presence, so I left her.
"She died," he said softly. "Years ago. I wasn't with her when she passed. I didn't have the heart to mourn until Ciri's father confronted the demon and forced it to free me from its curse."
Solas nodded slowly. "And your strange knowledge?"
"I wouldn't have that if not for the demon," Olgierd said, and Ciri realized it was an entirely truthful answer. "I dislike what the magic is intended for and prefer not to use it. But if I can be of help with it, then perhaps something good has come of my knowledge."
Silence stretched for a long, solemn moment, then Solas set his bowl to the side and leaned forward. "Wisdom was right. Your choices, painful and ugly as they were, made you a better man in the end. I don't believe I could call the man you spoke of a friend, but you…you, I think I can."
"We all have our winding paths to clarity," Dorian said, raising his mug to Olgierd. "I know I've stumbled off mine more than a few times."
"I expect we all have," Ciri agreed.
Solas nodded. "Indeed. Though you are lucky you survived the attentions of a Forbidden One."
"A Forbidden One?" Olgierd asked. "Like Mihris' Imshael?"
"I believe it was Imshael," Solas said. "Did he introduce himself by name?"
"Not by that name. He called himself Mirror."
"An alias I'm unfamiliar with. But he presented himself as an average-looking man? Offered to fulfill your greatest desires so long as you did something, or sacrificed something, for him in turn?"
Olgierd raised his eyebrows. "Yes, to both of those."
"As I thought."
Ciri stifled a sigh of relief that Solas had hit upon an alternative explanation for Gaunter O'Dimm. Then she had to repress a shiver of apprehension. What if he was right, and they were one and the same? Did O'Dimm have the same sort of world-crossing powers that she did? She met Olgierd's eyes and found veiled concern in their depths.
"Your friend Wisdom," Olgierd said, changing the subject. "They called me 'brother-of-Adventure.' Do you think they meant…"
He trailed off, his hand tightening on his bowl.
"Will he ever come back?" he asked.
"There's no way to know for certain," Solas said with rare gentleness. "But I do hope so, for your sake."
"My thanks."
Sera huffed and stood from her seat to stalk across the campsite and drop down beside Olgierd with her half-empty bowl. "I don't like it," she muttered. "I thought – You were nice, yeah? Weird, and all scarred, and a robe, and a rich tit, but nice. Kind. Kind people don't kill their brothers."
"No," Olgierd said simply. "They don't."
She scowled at him. "No more muckin' around with demons."
"Never again, Sera." He pressed his scarred right hand to his heart. "You have my word."
"Ugh." She set her bowl down by her feet and nudged his shoulder with hers. "I still like you, stupid. Even if you did use to be awful. It's just confusin', is all."
He nudged her back, smiling slightly. "I'll try not to confuse you going forward."
"Arse." She stuck her tongue out and nudged him harder. "Sing somethin' nice. That's enough dark and gloomy shite for one day."
"Something nice?" Olgierd looked briefly thoughtful, then his smile widened.
"Oh, what's all the noise, the commotion, hey,
The mosquito has married the fly.
"Taking for himself a darling wife, hey,
That cannot cook nor sew for her old man."
Sera burst into startled laughter. "That's bollocks!"
"A wicked storm has broken out, hey,
And that mosquito was blown clear away.
"Oh, the mosquito fell from the tree, hey,
Breaking and shattering all of his bones."
The atmosphere around the campfire lightened as one silly song flowed into the next, each chased by Sera's cackles and Solas and Dorian's appreciative chuckles. Ciri sat back with a small smile, her mind hard at work.
Had saving Wisdom done anything to help her in her cause with Solas? He so rarely talked about his past, but he'd been frantic at the thought of losing a friend she hadn't known about until it was nearly too late to help. They seemed to understand him well, too, with their cautionary words against certainty and pride. Solas had even expressed friendship to Olgierd – a first outside his preference for spirits and Ciri. Were they beginning to make progress with him?
And the parallels between Imshael and Gaunter O'Dimm...she'd been aware of them before, but they were too stark to ignore now. If Imshael made an appearance, she'd have to be ready for the worst.
But first, she thought, watching her friends laugh, we'll need to survive the empress' masquerade.
