With gentle reverence, Solas lays the husk that was Mythal on top of the mountain. Her stolen power pulses through him and with a mere thought, rocks gather, forming a cairn over her body. When his knees slap hard upon the ground, he welcomes the pain; hunching forward to place his hand upon the mound. He is beginning to feel that he is trapped in an inexorable cycle; destined time and again to lose those he cherishes the most.
Perhaps Mythal knew this was inevitable and that is why she kept her distance all these years - to make it easier for him. She had always been able to see so clearly; judging outcomes and consequences that eluded him. What he wouldn't give, to have her guidance and wisdom going forward, but he has to assume - given how readily she surrendered to him - that he is on the right path. He imagines Mythal has taken steps too, to ensure her continued existence. He wants to believe that - needs to believe it - though a part of himself whispers that it is just wishful thinking to salve his own conscience.
"Forgive me," he pleads, though in his heart he knows - he is beyond redemption now. Perhaps I always was. Whatever glimmer of hope he dared to entertain is lost - like soft auburn hair, that will never again gleam in the sunshine. No brilliant smile to lift his spirits; or gentle touch to soothe his melancholy.
"Sulahnean…" His shoulders quake, silent tears splashing across the stones. This monster was never worthy of you. Perhaps he should have given himself over to Mythal instead.
"Be Fen'Harel," she had urged him, however. To unreservedly be the villain the people needed; the destroyer that would re-shape the world. He kneels in desolate misery, until the sun sinks low, and long, creeping shadows stretch across the ground.
Gathering himself in the darkness, he returns at last to the Eluvian and trudges along the twisting pathways. He makes his way back to Isenathaman, a shadow of the man he once was; resigned to his lonesome fate.
Eolas is absent from his study and Solas feels an abiding solitude. It is no less than I deserve, he muses, as he wanders the bare, silent hallways. How many more bright spirits - good souls, more worthy than he - will be snuffed by the time his task is done?
To his surprise, voices reach him as he approaches the Gallery. Eolas and his guest turn at the sound of Solas' footfalls and when his eyes light upon Abelas, Solas smooths his face into a passive mask; burying the panic that wells inside him at the sight of Mythal's Sentinel.
"I believe you've met," Eolas calmly states and Abelas steps forward, dropping to one knee.
"Forgive me, Fen'Ha'el, we Sentinels remember your name. If you had only made yourself known to me, I would not have dared to bar you from the Vir'Abelasan. If anyone was worthy of possessing it-"
"Think nothing of it," Solas interjects, calming enough to find his voice. "The cost was too high for me." He waves the Sentinel up and remarks, "It would have been better for you to possess it."
Abelas rises slowly to his feet, "Such a treasure was never meant for me. My duty was only ever to keep it safe."
"And now it is held by an arrogant, grasping human," Solas is quick to point out and Abelas grimaces at such censure.
"True…" His shoulders slump, heavy with remorse.
Regretting his sharpness, Solas warmly adds, "I am glad you have found us however."
Abelas nods solemnly, "You mentioned there were others?"
"A few of us wander, though most of my followers remain in Uthenera, until we can make the world safe for them. Are your people well?"
"For now. There seems little point however, remaining in Enansal'han, now that the Vir'Abelasan is gone and our home destroyed. Shems circle already; carrion crows, desperate to pick over what remains," Abelas scowls. "My scouts report however, that Shemlen swarm everywhere they go. I do not know what corner of this world remains free of their kind. I was hoping you might provide safe harbour?"
"Of course," Solas replies, casting a querying glance at Eolas.
"We have reclaimed a few sanctuaries, where they will be free and safe," Eolas informs Abelas, understanding immediately that Solas is loathe to have Mythal's Sentinels roaming Isenathaman.
"You have always been a true friend of the people," Abelas bows politely and Solas cringes inwardly. "If it is not too much to ask, I was wondering if you would help me locate Mythal."
"Mythal?" Solas feigns surprise. There is the barest pinch between Eolas' brows and Solas holds his gaze steady, as he addresses Abelas, "Mythal is long dead."
"That is what we believed too, but the Inquisitor claims she met a sorceress-"
"The Inquisitor?" Solas cuts him off sharply, a traitorous quaver in his voice. He takes an urgent step toward Abelas, "When did you see her?"
"No more than a week ago," Abelas looks from him to Eolas, sensing their surprise and alarm. Solas' heart hammers back to life and he glances at Eolas; desperate for confirmation, but afraid to let hope take root.
"Excuse me," Eolas hastens from the Gallery, to verify Abelas' report and discover why their intelligence is suddenly so remiss. Solas paces away from Abelas, unable to hide the relief that sweeps across his face. A restlessness wells in his depths; sparked by an interminable longing. As though a taut thread has woven between his bones, pulling upon him; urging him toward Skyhold. He longs to see her with his own eyes; to hold her and be comforted by the certainty of her solid form beneath his hands.
"I was surprised when the Inquisitor told me you were not in communication," Abelas continues, clearly perplexed. "Was she not your ally?"
"What did she…?" Solas purses his lips, leaving the question unasked. Better to not know what Sulahnean might have said about him. Not when the thought that she lives leaves him giddy - robbing him of sense and reason. He tries to calm the euphoria that surges through him; making his skin prickle with elation. Clearing his throat, he turns back to Abelas. "For a time she was useful, but she is not Elvhen. Her goals and interests do not align with ours."
"I see." Abelas hesitates, then asks, "Your goals being?"
"To restore magic to the world, so that our people may thrive once more. To bring a final end to the Evanuris, in retribution for the destruction of Elvhenan and the murder of Mythal." Solas clenches his fist, as he makes this vow to Abelas.
"In that case I would offer you my aid, if you would have it. I too would see my people safe, and Mythal avenged."
"I would gladly welcome it," Solas replies, offering Abelas his hand. The Sentinel grasps his arm in friendship.
"The Inquisitor was mistaken then?" Abelas asks.
"Mistaken?" Solas queries absently, eyeing the corridor down which Eolas had disappeared; silently urging him to return with haste. His pulse is still thrumming; feet shuffling with anxious energy. He could always enter the Fade again, that would be the quickest way to confirm her condition. What had happened to her, where had she gone? Abelas is still talking at him however, and he glares impatiently at the Sentinel.
"About the human that claimed to be Mythal?" Abelas replies with a degree of exasperation. Solas takes a calming breath, he needs to be patient and wait for Eolas.
There are more important matters, he reminds himself. "This was her fortress," Solas waves his hand toward the depiction of Mythal at the end of the gallery. "We her loyal followers, yet she does not return. It would bring all of us great comfort to know she was alive."
"The Inquisitor believes she did not approach us, because she knew we would never accept her in a human form," Abelas despairs. "Not that I believe Mythal is obliged to grace us with her presence," he adds hastily. "It is only, with the state of the world, I thought she might deign to."
"If we hear anything further about this… sorceress?" Solas raises a questioning eyebrow, feigning ignorance of Sulahnean's encounter in the Fade with Mythal.
"Flemeth, is what the Inquisitor named her."
"We will certainly investigate the matter, you have my word." Abelas accepts his promise with a solemn nod. Solas quietly ponders the Sentinel, his mind churning over the opportunities his presence affords. "Do your people truly wish to leave Enansal'han?" he asks at length.
"I do not see that we have a choice. As I've said, the Shemlen seem to think they have the right to enter our temple. We've held them off so far without violence - but I fear it is only a matter of time." Abelas shakes his head, "It was only through the Inquisitor's grace that we avoided obliteration. Fighting that mad darkspawn and its minions was one thing, but I fear what would occur, if we were forced to defend ourselves and draw the ire of the human nations.
"I dedicated myself to the Vir'abelasan because I grew tired of endless bloodshed and conflict. The Temple offered me peace and purpose. I wanted to protect something that was worth my life. But my stubbornness, my indignation, nearly cost the lives of my fellow Sentinels. I know they all made the same vow as I, but the Inquisitor was right. The world has changed and we - our lives - have meaning, we are worth more. The old ways are not…" he breaks off with an exasperated grunt. "The Inquisitor made compelling arguments - with reason and passion - and I have been questioning my purpose ever since the events at the Vir'Abelasan. It is unsettling." He twitches his shoulders, as though to throw off these troubling feelings.
Solas eyes Abelas with sympathy - he knows all too well this feeling of self-doubt. Perhaps he can provide him with new purpose. "The elves of this age," Solas begins, "have no love for Fen'Harel."
"So I have gathered," Abelas remarks humourlessly.
"Would you be amenable, to being my ambassador?"
Abelas scoffs at the suggestion, "As you are aware, diplomacy is not my forte."
Solas smiles. "What I mean to say is, the Dalish in particular, hunger to uncover their forgotten history. I tried to approach them in the past and they would not heed me. But you, a credible Elvhen - discovered by the Dalish Inquisitor and bearing Vallaslin, no less. These are things they would understand and accept."
Abelas scowls at the notion that Solas is somehow a lesser Elvhen. "If you say so," he grumbles.
"If you were to invite them to your Temple, slowly teach them the truth of the Evanuris…"
"And win them to your cause," Abelas concludes and Solas nods. "There is still the issue of human scholars and treasure hunters trespassing…"
"The Inquisitor has a lot of power and influence. If you asked her to declare Enansal'han a protected area - off-limits to those without permission-"
Abelas gasps, "You want her to claim those lands for the Elvhen?"
Solas holds up his hand to quiet Abelas' alarm. "It would be impossible, even for her, to declare it a free elven state. Not without dangerous repercussions. It would simply be designated a site of historic importance. One that needs to be respected and cared for, under the auspices of the Inquisition. Potentially even dangerous and requiring careful oversight, given the presence of Red Templars and their blighted lyrium."
"You believe she would do this… for me?" Abelas' eyes narrow with skepticism.
"If you said you wanted to invite the Dalish and any other elves that seek to learn of Elvhenan… Perhaps even some token, Inquisition approved human scholars and historians. I am positive she would not deny you."
"You seem confident of the influence she exerts, I am not so sure."
Solas cocks his head in query, "What makes you say so?"
"I overheard the shems arguing about her. When I questioned him about her, that Commander of hers was overly anxious too."
Solas snorts. Only in death would Cullen cease being anxious about Sulahnean. His curiosity is peaked however, "What did they argue about?"
"They said she was dangerous," Abelas replies flatly.
"The Inquisitor is dangerous, as you know," Solas' mouth quirks wryly.
Abelas shakes his head, "To enemies, yes. Her companions seemed afraid of her however. Or afraid for her perhaps?" Either Abelas has misinterpreted what he overheard, or Sulahnean is drastically changed. Solas' stomach knots anxiously, recalling what Cole had confessed to him.
No, he firmly decides, Sulahnean would never hurt her friends. If she truly was Tranquil, she'd be even less inclined to do so.
"I do not know her well, but she did seem different. And she has… she was…" Abelas struggles to explain what he witnessed, "When I touched her…"
Solas stiffens, clasping his hands behind his back to resist taking hold of Abelas and shaking him 'til his bones snap. How dare you touch her! he wants to snarl.
"She said it was an effect of the Anchor, but I felt the Fade. As I have not felt it since before the fall; around me; inside me," Abelas sighs deeply, his scowl melting into an expression of wistful longing. "It was everything."
Solas shakes with rage. Abelas' words do little to mitigate his irrational jealousy. He can recall with perfect clarity how Sulahnean's face would light up, when she spoke of their encounter at the Vir'Abelasan; effusive with joy at having met a real Elvhen. Solas grits his teeth. "You should return to Enansal'han now," he instructs tersely.
"Should I not make my way back to Skyhold? Am I not to petition the Inquisitor?" Abelas blinks at him in surprise.
"There is much to be done at the Temple," Solas strides in the direction of the Eluvian as he speaks, assuming Abelas will follow behind. "Firstly we must repair the Eluvian. And you must ensure that your people do not end up in open conflict with humans. No, you must return with haste before that happens."
"I do not understand," Abelas huffs, "surely if I am to make such an immense request of the Inquisitor, it ought to be delivered in person?"
"Leave it with me, I will…" he pulls up short. He cannot go. What was he thinking? He is tempted, however - not just for the excuse to see Sulahnean - but to also see if she would grant this to him, or turn him down flat. Does she despise him utterly, or does he still hold a special place in her heart?
None of this should matter, he berates himself. It should not be influencing his decisions. Even so, he cannot bring himself to allow Abelas to return to Skyhold. The thought of him touching Sulahnean - the thought of anyone laying their hands on her - he grinds his teeth in jealous fury.
It is unfair and irrational, he knows. Does she not deserve to be happy, even if it is not with him? He sighs resignedly.
"I need someone I can trust and that your people will heed, at Enansal'han. Perhaps however, as a gesture of friendship, another of your Sentinels could make this request and remain at Skyhold, as a liaison?"
"There is wisdom in your request, but I am hard pressed to imagine who would be best suited to the task." Abelas frowns, "My people are still reeling with culture shock, and their failure to defend the Vir'Abelasan. To isolate one further by sending them to Skyhold… Surely you can see that it must be I."
"I will go." Abelas starts slightly, as Sileahilan emerges from the shadows.
"Out of the question," Solas snaps.
"Why is it?" she replies sedately. "You both have duties you cannot abandon. I have nothing to do at present, given that my master is dead." Solas tenses at her allusion to Corypheus. Sileahilan meets his admonishing glare with quiet insolence - confident he will not pursue this argument in front of Abelas. "I hope you will not object, Elni," she stretches her palms toward Abelas in reverence, "Allow me the honour of presenting your request to the Inquisitor."
Abelas glances between them both, hesitantly responding, "I have no objections, of course." He bows in deference to Solas, "If Fen'Ha'el wishes it so."
Solas nods in acquiescence, his left eye twitching with irritation. This was the inherent difficulty of leading a band of rebels and upstarts - they were inclined to mutiny at the most inopportune times.
Victorious, she offers her hand to Abelas. "Sileahilan," she introduces herself. Abelas cocks his head in surprise - clearly wondering if she is the Sileahilan.
"Abelas, my lady," he takes her hand and she gives him a small smile - a knowing smile that says, I am she. Abelas' eyes widen and he drops her hand, quickly giving her a low bow instead.
Solas does not often contemplate the mythos of Fen'Harel - not when it has become so twisted and full of fanciful nonsense. It occurs to him however, that from Abelas' perspective, he has walked into a fortress full of legends. Despite his annoyance, Solas emits a quiet snort of amusement. He wishes Sulahnean were here to see this. She would be equally amused to discover that, as much as she was in awe at meeting the Sentinels, they too have heroes they revere - the chosen of Mythal.
A hollow ache blooms in his chest at the thought of Sulahnean's laughter. Does she even laugh anymore? He maintains a selfish hope that she still harbours feelings for him, but what if she felt nothing now? Abelas said she was changed. Just how much damage did Cole inflict? His joy that she lived was being rapidly smothered by fear for her emotional state.
"That is settled then," he hastily interrupts Sileahilan and Abelas' conversation, steering the Sentinel once more toward the Eluvian. "Eolas will send supplies and see to the repairs." He manages to contain himself at the very end; holding off from physically thrusting Abelas through the shimmering mirror.
"Does he know the path back?" Sileahilan archly queries, once Abelas it out of sight.
Solas rounds on her. "You are not going to Skyhold," he grumbles.
She quirks an eyebrow at him, "I thought it was settled?" She falls into step beside him, as they make their way to Eolas' office. Eolas is slumped in his chair, mouth hanging open as he slumbers. Solas restlessly paces the room, awaiting his report. Sileahilan crosses her arms and leans against the wall, patiently awaiting the lecture she expects to be forthcoming.
"You are wasted on such a menial task," he utters at length, frustrated at his inability to muster a better argument.
"I disagree," she retorts and is interrupted by Eolas' loud, rasping snore. His head rocks back as he breaks suddenly from the Fade, blinking his eyes open. Solas hastens to his desk, tense with anticipation.
"What are they saying at Skyhold? Why didn't they report this?" he barks.
"They say she is…" Eolas rubs at his chin, taking a moment to compose his thoughts. "I'm not sure how to explain their agitated rambling. They speak of her as though she is divine - that she has an aura about her." He shakes his head, a deep furrow on his brow. "All of them refused to say any more, no matter how I cajoled them. They said they fear her wrath."
Solas frowns with worry, Abelas' words ringing in his ears, "Her companions seemed afraid of her." He paces away from Eolas, it makes no sense. Unless.. no, no! He cannot bear to think such things.
"The Inquisitor's wrath?" Sileahilan interjects with disbelief, pushing away from the wall.
"You are here yet, Da'lea?" Eolas rubs his eyes, still awakening.
She shrugs, "I could make my way to Tevinter. I'm sure there are sympathetic Venatori Magisters that would take me on board." She eases onto the edge of Eolas' desk. "But if we hope to align the Imperium against the Evanuris, surely now would be the time to bolster the other side."
Eolas nods in agreement and Solas only half-heartedly listens to their discussion, as he prowls in a circuit around the map table. "You have a plan?"
"A long game perhaps. I thought that Pavus boy seemed rather promising - a good balance of cynicism and eagerness." Sileahilan absently fiddles with objects on Eolas' desk as she speaks - a pen; an ornate silver casket; a small carved figure of a bear. The larger elf purses his lips, silently trailing her prodding fingers. In the wake of her disturbance, he calmly re-adjusts his belongings to his satisfaction. "I could go to Skyhold and attempt to gain his trust."
"I'm not sure that's the best course," Eolas is quick to reply. "Nightingale grows increasingly paranoid about elves and has begun to probe for weaknesses in her network. I lost an agent in Crestwood and another in Kirkwall. They weren't the best obviously, but I can't imagine what story we could concoct that would convince her to let you into Skyhold. Let alone near one of the Inquisitor's trusted inner circle."
Solas' heart pounds with terror; his innards twisting with guilt. Something had happened the night of the Skyhold celebration - the strange aura; the Anchor; the Fade seeping into Sulahnean, Cole had said. Had it finally become too much, had she broken at last and succumbed?
Sileahilan chuckles, "Ah well, about that actually-"
"Is she an abomination?" Solas hoarsely interjects.
Eolas blinks in bewilderment, "Who… Nightingale?"
"Sulahnean!" he growls in exasperation.
"Huh…" Eolas utters quietly, "I hadn't given it much thought yet. It's a possibility I suppose."
Solas slumps against the map table, burying his face in his hand, "It is because of the Anchor. This is my doing."
"All the more reason for me to go to Skyhold, since it appears you've lost your spies. Abelas intends to ask the Inquisitor to bring Enansal'han under her protection," she informs Eolas. "To keep interlopers out. I wish to make the request on his behalf, to represent the Sentinels."
"I see," clarity lights his eyes and he nods in approval. "They might yet send you away."
Sileahilan sighs, "There is little harm in trying."
"Unless the Inquisitor is indeed an abomination - there could be a great deal of harm," Eolas grumbles dourly.
Sileahilan chuckles lightly, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I will be fine. I'm always careful."
"You are lucky," he retorts, "Do not confuse the two."
"Can't I be both?" she teases and Eolas mutters quietly under his breath.
Solas frowns at them - at their easy nonchalance and callous disregard for Sulahnean's condition. His skin burns with shame; is this not how he was, not even a year ago? So disdainful and aloof. Thinking himself above the people of this world. Does he not still believe that on some level? Making an exception only for Sulahnean and his Inquisition friends. Little by little they broke through his defences and he has done everything he can to distance himself once again. To close himself off from the painful truth that perhaps this world - the people within it - are real. If that is the truth, then what he plans is beyond monstrous, but what is the alternative?
"You will need Mythal's Vallaslin," Eolas reminds Sileahilan, his expression sombre.
Solas' spine crawls in revulsion, shaking him from his melancholy. "No, absolutely not!" he protests, leaping to his feet.
"It is my choice and it is a small price to pay," Sileahilan insists. He shakes his head, horrified by the notion. "It is only a tattoo, lethallin."
"But what it represents. It is abhorrent." Solas waves his hand with dismissive finality - he will not budge on this.
Eolas grimaces, "She would not be bound-"
"The details that you two get hung up on," Sileahilan cuts in with mild annoyance. "Are we not still bound to Mythal, in truth? And to each other? Soul-bond or not, duty and love are more than a mark on your skin. And sometimes, free-will is choosing to bear one."
Solas crosses his arms, stubbornly refusing to be swayed by her words. He had sworn long ago - never again would they be branded. Is he now to throw that vow aside for convenience, and for such selfish reasons?
"Let this be my duty," Sileahilan pleads. "Too much is at stake and you cannot afford to be distracted by this any longer. If this is what it takes, to give you peace of mind-"
"To know you could kill her in an instant, should I waver," he snarls.
Eolas gasps and Sileahilan rears back, as though he has struck her, "Is that what you believe?"
"No, I…" he scrubs his hand over his face, ashamed of his outburst. "Forgive me… That was beneath me." Eolas and Sileahilan exchange a worried look and Solas breathes in deeply, attempting to reign in his fears and frustrations.
"I know this is hard," Sileahilan remarks gently. "I understand about the Inquisitor, I do. There is a passionate intensity to them and it is remarkable what some of them can accomplish, with so little time. That vivacity can be alluring. But we are not like them - fleeting creatures with shallow dreams."
"Even if she could understand and accept what you are, and what you plan to do," Eolas adds, "would you truly wish to watch her slowly decay before you?"
"You think I have not asked this of myself, a thousand times over? That I am not acutely aware that I cannot reconcile my desires?" he groans plaintively. "I have not forgotten where my duty lies, but I have pursued this course with single-minded purpose, is there not…" he hesitates, afraid to confess his misgivings to them. "Is there truly no other way, no middle-ground?"
"To leave the Elvhen in Uthenera is untenable, you know we lose more with every passing century," Sileahilan calmly counters.
Solas winces, "I know."
"And to wake them now, into this sundered world?" Eolas adds. "We would be condemning many of them to a slow death and their descendants to oppression and enslavement."
"Let's not forget the spirits that continue to be bound - called against their will and contorted into a cruel mockery of themselves," Sileahilan's voice breaks with sorrow, turning her face from them and Solas knows she is thinking of Wisdom. Every point they make cuts right to his heart - all of these problems are of his making.
"We have no choice," Eolas concludes firmly.
"I know!" he rages, slamming his fist atop the map table. The impact echoes through the study, followed by a loud crack. All at once the legs splinter and disintegrate, the heavy top crashing to the floor. "Fenedhis!" he hisses, burying his forehead in his palm. He winces sheepishly at Eolas from under his hand.
Seeing his expression, Sileahilan lets out an amused snort, which quickly morphs into a snicker. Eolas brushes his hand over his mouth, hiding his own grin. In spite of his embarrassment, an irrepressible mirth bubbles out of Solas - his own quiet chuckle triggering greater peals of laughter from Sileahilan.
"Argh…" he groans in frustration, as their merriment subsides. "Ir abelas, lethallin," he solemnly remarks to Eolas. The Spymaster graciously waves off his apology. "As for you," he fixes Sileahilan with a stern grimace, "go then. I will not stop you. I cannot, apparently." He shakes his head in resignation.
She hops down from Eolas' desk to stand before him. "I'll fill you in, as soon as I can," she assures him. "And I will keep her safe, I promise you. You can ease your worries."
"Be safe yourself," he urges. "I cannot bear another…" his throat closes over, a tear spilling down his cheek. Sileahilan crashes against him, burying her face against his chest and squeezing him with her arms.
"Daratish, ha'isamalin," she urges, her words muffled by his body. She pulls away, not meeting his gaze as she waves goodbye to Eolas.
"Dareth shiral," Eolas wishes in parting and Sileahilan slinks from the room. As she crosses the threshold and out of sight, Solas is beset with a familiar pang of concern. He has never expressed it to her before - not wishing to add to her burdens, or give her cause to doubt herself. Without fail however, every time he watches her leave, his worries increase tenfold.
"Whether she succeeds or not," he remarks to Eolas, "we need our agents back on track at Skyhold."
"That goes without saying," Eolas replies. "I will continue to work on them."
"Tell them this… aura, is a boon if you must," Solas commands. "A blessing, from the Mark of Fen'Harel. Whatever it takes."
TRANSLATIONS:
Da'lea - little spark
Daratish - be at peace
Dareth shiral - Safe journey
Elni - our friend
Enansal'han - the blessed wilds
Fenedhis - shit/damn it
Ha'isamalin - elder brother
Ir abelas - I'm sorry
Isenathaman - Dragon's Rest
Lethallin - close friend/relative