Translations at the bottom.
Var Era'Mana
"What are you doing up here? I have been searching for you since midday." Solas's voice calls me back from immersion in my thoughts.
"Not very effectively," I note, closing my book and turning from the view before me to look at him. "I told Harding I would be here."
"Yes, well, Harding failed to mention it to anyone else before heading out of camp with Cassandra to gut and skin the nugs we will be eating tonight," he says, choosing a rock nearby as his seat. "The rest of us were understandably concerned."
"Ma delathe. Next time I'll tell Vivienne," I promise, offering an apologetic smile. "She wouldn't be caught dead gutting and skinning...anything."
"Me, perhaps," Solas suggests. "No," he corrects himself immediately. "She would make the kill, but then leave the dirty part to someone she considers less important. You're right."
"I know," I chuckle.
"Will you answer my question now?" he asks, looking out over the forested valley below us. "What have you been doing up here for so many hours?"
I hesitate - I had hoped he would forget. The reason I came up here to begin with had to do with getting away from the judgments of others. His, most of all. "Will you promise not to think I'm a complete fool?" I ask, even though it isn't a promise he could possibly make.
"Easily," he says, returning his attention to me. "You are not a complete fool, and so no reason you could give for being here would make me believe it so."
Sweet words - but not as reassuring as I would have liked. Still, I pass the book I have been examining to him - the primer on Elven runes he wrote for me.
"I am glad to know you are making use of it," he says. On the surface, it isn't a question, but I can hear the query beneath.
"It's different, studying it here, where our ancestors walked," I confess, my eyes dropping to my hands resting in my lap. "I know you think Halamshiral was nothing but a thin, fleeting shadow of Arlathan - and no doubt you are correct - but even so...our people lived here. Free. In a land they owned themselves, for hundreds of years. And then...they lost it all. Again."
"What I said concerning your people and Halamshiral...my words were rash, ma vhenan," Solas says, his voice gentle, as he passes the primer back to me. "Sathan, lanasta em. Of course the tragedy of this place moves you. You are right - to live free is something, when the rest of the world has deemed you worthy only of slavery. A shame, the bitterness those attitudes stirred in those who had won their freedom - so deep a bitterness that they could not bring themselves to make the alliances necessary to hold it."
"Yes," I agree. "Human antagonism. Elven arrogance. Both were to blame - but we were the only ones who lost our home and our freedom for it."
We are both silent for a moment. "Here," Solas says suddenly, rising from the rock he claimed earlier and fishing papers out of the pouch at his belt. "I intended to show you these once we returned to Skyhold, but perhaps they may be of some use now." He seats himself on my rock, just behind me, and reaches around me, holding the sheets of paper out so we can both see. They are rubbings taken from Elven runes.
He pulls me back a little more firmly, resting his chin on my shoulder. "I found these on pieces of stone scattered about various places - often around our camps, though occasionally outside ruins or other areas that might once have been inhabited. I weighed the age of the carvings with magic to be certain, but you can read the progression of the Dalish attempts to recreate the language simply by examining the number of runes used, as well as the sentence construction. Look-"
He searches for a moment before he finds and pulls off a long stem of grass. Using it to point to each rune on the topmost sheet of paper, he shows me the simple subject-action-object formula that every sentence follows. Soon I am able to find the pattern without his prompting - at least when I know the runes involved. Even at this apparently early stage in the Dalish reconstruction efforts, there are still many runes I have yet to memorize.
"You are delightful," I tell Solas when he finishes with the page, turning my head so I can kiss his cheek.
The compliment or the kiss makes him blush, which is delightful all on its own. "I am pleased you think so. It occurs to me that rubbings of ancient runes are not normally the gifts with which one plies beautiful women."
"Those women don't know what they are missing," I decide, and am rewarded by a pleasant shivery sensation as he laughs in my ear.
"Would you like to try reading some of the earlier constructions?" he asks, shuffling through the papers until he comes to one he finds suitable.
"Yes, but - don't laugh at me," I beg.
"Never," he promises. "Not over this."
I struggle through a few pages, slowly relaxing as Solas's voice in my ear offers corrections, other contextual interpretations, and a great deal of encouragement. And then, all at once, it occurs to me - I am reading. This isn't simply sitting at my desk pouring over the primer, trying to commit all the runes to memory, or writing them down to test myself on them. I am reading the language that, because I wasn't born a mage, has always been denied me. And I am doing it here, in the Emerald Graves where my ancestors are laid to rest. And that I am doing it at all is thanks to-
I turn to Solas. "Ma melava halani," I whisper.
"Ara melava son'ganem," he replies, not displeased, but evidently curious about the change in my mood.
I don't know how to explain. This place is steeped in tragedy, and yet - we are here, together. Against all odds, I have found the one person who can help me make sense of the past by giving meaning to the future. I lean into him, breathing in his scent. "Ane ma sal'shiral," I murmur against his neck, fully understanding for the first time that there will never be anyone else for me. I don't know what will happen after we save the world - if we manage to save it - but I know I would go with him anywhere.
His arms tighten around me. "Vhenan'ara," he whispers into my hair, but something in his voice makes me look up.
Solas's face is pale, the lines in it drawn more sharply than I have ever seen them - but before I can formulate a question, he kisses me, his mouth stealing away any words I might have spoken, or questions I might have asked.
I opened my eyes to the raw stuff of the Fade, and found Latha standing before me. Almost standing. It had visible legs now, which was a first, but they didn't quite make it down to become feet.
"That moment was torture," the spirit said thoughtfully. "I feared you meant something like that, when you called me your life. And yet - I wanted it, too. I wanted to know I was the only one, and I hated myself for wanting what I could never promise you in return."
It spoke of itself as Solas more and more now, with fewer and fewer corrections. "It hurts knowing what I know now," I acknowledged carefully. "But it doesn't change what he gave me there, at that time - or that I will always, always love him." Perhaps I ought to have let Latha lapse into its identification with Solas without attempting to prod it away, but - those were, in a sense, my memories it was attempting to lay claim to. I could not quite still my reflexive urge to put distance between us.
And maybe, I could not help thinking uneasily, I had that reflex for a reason. If it truly came to believe it was Solas, might it be able to fool even me? Not forever, likely - but perhaps it might succeed for long enough to take control of me.
The need for a mage to talk this over with was growing on me, even though I also feared it. How many mages did I know whom I could trust? Not Vivienne, certainly. She would have been horrified by what I was doing. Fiona, perhaps, but I didn't dare take the gamble. Solas - ha! The irony wasn't lost on me that he was likely the only mage currently living who understood spirits well enough to truly give me counsel.
That left Dorian. One advantage with Dorian was that he was probably more loyal to me personally than to Leliana or the remnants of the Inquisition. Another was that the crystal he had given me would allow me to speak to him now - well, when I woke up - rather than having to wait for an in-person meeting. Or worse - having to devise a cipher even Leliana couldn't break so I could send him a painstakingly - and painfully - coded message. No, Dorian I could simply speak with, as though he were visiting my tent.
The problem with Dorian? I doubted he would have any real answers. Like most Tevinter mages, he was adept at binding spirits. And, like most Tevinter mages when it came to slaves of any sort, spirit or elf, he had not been raised to question the nature of what he bound. His practical "will it serve me or not" experience was unlikely to guide me toward revelations regarding the fundamental differences between spirits and demons.
On the other hand, it was possible he knew a great deal about possession.
Latha had been silent as I contemplated my options - silent after the subtle rebuke I had offered for its attempt to be Solas for me - but it was watching me with keen interest. "How many more nights of this?" I asked it.
It looked away thoughtfully - it had enough expression now to do that. "Difficult to say. It all depends on your will and your focus, but we will inevitably make less progress as you near…" the spirit paused, and then went on more slowly, "as you near...his...stronghold in the Fade. There may come a time when you are unable to make more progress, and then we will need to look for other solutions."
Like opening a portal into the Fade. Well, I was about to visit a college filled with mages. Perhaps I could bribe or coerce one of them into doing it. Pleasant thought.
"Very well," I told Latha. "Then I will see you tonight."
Var Era'Mana: Our History
Ma delathe: My mistake
Sathan, lanastas em: Please, forgive me
Ma melava halani: You have spent your time to help me
Ara melava son'ganem: My time was well spent
Ane ma sal'shiral: Both "You are my life" and "You are my soul's journey"
Vhenan'ara: My heart's desire