The Veil Holds No Uncertainty For Her
"Please Birdie," Dorian pleads and the Inquisitor caves. Sileahilan struggles to reign in her bewilderment, as the Inquisitor pulls Dorian along behind her. The compliant elf does not at all match up with the impression she'd received from Eolas' reports, nor the intelligence gathered by the Venatori. Solas was clearly far too modest - insisting that the success of the Inquisition was not due to his efforts. When it was he that stabilised the Anchor and taught the Inquisitor to close rifts. When it was Solas that helped them seal the Breach, gave them sanctuary in Skyhold, and clearly held the Inquisitor's hand every step of the way toward defeating Corypheus.
"Dorian, this is Lea. One of Abelas' people," the Inquisitor introduces them and Dorian's eyes narrow. Eolas was right, but it is not merely Nightingale - they all seem highly suspicious of elves.
"Dorian Pavus, lately of Minrathous, but don't hold that against me," his aloofness seeming to thaw, as he offers her his hand, "I have it on excellent authority that I'm the good Tevinter."
Sileahilan grasps his wrist firmly, playfully arching her brow, "So, not one of the Tevinter's that invaded our Temple then?"
"Ha-haa…" Dorian squawks, running a hand over his hair. "Invasion is a rather strong word, I thought we were petitioners?" Squirming, he looks helplessly to the Inquisitor.
She pats his arm, "Come on, good Tevinter."
Together, they quit the dim, lyrium tinged confines of the tower and an icy mountain breeze stings her cheeks as they cross the battlements. The Inquisitor lifts her shoulders, the cowl of her robe pressing up to guard her face. The motion adds to the impression that she is being swallowed by her plain, over-sized robes - til she is little more than sharp ears and warm eyes, peering from under a ruffle of auburn hair.
Sileahilan stretches and rolls her toes as they descend upon the courtyard; the heat from ancient wards, cast deep into the peak, rising through the earth to penetrate the chill of her shal'braan. The turns her face to the warmth of the sun - the buzz of activity from the marketplace; the sharp striking of hammers in the armoury and the indistinct conversation between Inquisition troops, all blending together into a vibrant hubbub. A chorus of life that almost - if she closes her eyes and pretends hard enough - sounds like home.
Ahead of her, Dorian and Sulahnean joke and jostle, easy and carefree in one another's space. The Inquisitor refused to take her hand, but she touches the human without reservation. Their mutual affection is not something she would have expected from a Tevinter and a Dalish elf. It leads her to reconsider her planned approach to gain Dorian's trust. The Venatori expected elves to be cowering subordinates - she'd had to walk a fine line between being useful, but never too capable. No doubt, stroking his ego would remain an effective tool, but she will be relieved at not having to constantly debase herself before him.
"Is it wrong to be relieved, that I won't be accompanying you to chase my misguided countrymen through the ice and snow?" Dorian remarks and the Inquisitor laughs.
"You might change your mind, depending on how things go with Morrigan," she teases.
Rounding the corner of the Tavern, they come upon a pair of elven servants. They freeze in their tracks, cowering before the Inquisitor.
"Leanathe," they babble reverently, as the Inquisitor swerves sharply, giving them a wide berth. She acknowledges them with a tilt of her head, pointedly avoiding eye-contact. The servants wide-eyes fall upon Sileahilan next.
"Well met," she greets them in Common, as their faces are bare. They vigorously bob their heads as she sweeps past.
"They fear her wrath," Eolas had said and Sileahilan nearly scoffs out loud. The wide-eyed and earnest elf, that let humans speak for her and bowed readily to their whims - this was the fearsome Inquisitor?
Granted that her aura was rather unsettling a first glance, but ultimately it seemed harmless. From her observations, the elves here did seem genuinely cowed by her however. Was it simply that the Inquisitor had made her allegiances clear? Being naught but a weapon of the Chantry, a tool for elven and mage oppression - but with a face that beguiled.
Solas had expressed his firm belief that the Inquisitor would never join their cause - perhaps the Skyhold elves knew this truth too, not fooled by the propaganda that had been spread across Thedas. It shouldn't be too hard to bring Eolas' agents back into the fold, given how cold the Inquisitor appeared to be toward her fellow elves.
She cocks her head thoughtfully as she studies Suleahnean. She has to allow that there is perhaps more to the Inquisitor than meets the eye. A few times now, Sulahnean had given her a tiny smile, that - while innocuous at a first glance - felt like it was all fang underneath.
Her first impressions however, were beginning to cement her long-held fear that Solas had managed to become ensnared by his own machinations. He was already burdened with years of remorse and guilt; that alone would take its toll on anyone. Was it not possible, he was so desperate to seperate himself from those feelings, that he'd lost sight of himself - had lost himself in the false identity he'd created? She knows from her own experience how hard it is - how one must remain guarded at all times - to not allow these mortals to rouse their sympathies.
She never thought the day would come, when she might envy Enastarin of all people, but she could have used some of his detached self-interest over the past century. Thinking of him, she shudders. He of course thinks Solas' turmoil is such a wonderful joke, but Sileahilan finds it disturbing. To think that Solas is so anguished; so desperate for affection and atonement that he has become obsessed with the object of his manipulations. They should not have allowed him to wander the Fade alone for so long - not that it was in their power to stop him - but they could have tried harder to persuade him.
Wisdom was with him, the unprompted thought strikes her hard, stealing the air from her lungs. She raises a trembling hand over her eyes, Wisdom's terrified cries echoing in her ears. Familiar doubts clamour through her mind, You should have gone… she might have been saved, if you hadn't left it to Solas and the Inquisitor… what could be more important?
"No," she croaks quietly, clenching her hands. I am committed to the cause. She exhales sharply, turning her focus back to where it belongs.
"Who are you going to take along?" Dorian asks as they climb the stairs to the Great Hall.
Sulahnean sighs, "Bull, Blackwall and Sera, I suppose."
Dorian hums thoughtfully, "That's not ideal against the Venatori."
"Bull is frighteningly effective against Venatori," she counters.
"I'm more concerned about your habit of diving into the fray. You neglect your barrier because you've become too used to-" he stops abruptly, "…to others doing it for you," he finishes quietly.
Sulahnean shrugs, "Cass anticipates a summons from Val Royeaux any day now and Varric is returning to Kirkwall so…" The Inquisitor hiccups quietly and her shoulders hunch forward, further diminishing her slight frame. Dorian reaches up to gently squeeze the back of her neck. He glances over his shoulder at Sileahilan, eyeing the glaive slung across her body.
"I suppose it's too much to hope that you might be a spirit healer?" he queries.
"Sorry to disappoint, but my focus is primarily offensive" she informs him, her mouth curling wryly, "I could only dedicate a mere century to the study of restorative magic."
Dorian barks a laugh, "Only a century? For shame!" He jerks his head at Sileahilan, "Funny this one, you should take her."
"Yes, because another comedian is what the party is lacking," the Inquisitor quips and Dorian snickers. "It would be up to you," Sulahnean continues, casting a speculative glance at her, "You came here to represent your people, not become embroiled in our existing conflicts."
Sileahilan is torn by the invitation. Dorian is her primary aim in coming to Skyhold, but she does not want to pursue that relationship too keenly. She had also promised to keep the Inquisitor safe however; not that the situation in Emprise should prove much of a challenge surely. She has little fear that any of the Venatori might recognise her - she'd already disposed of the ones she was closest to. Perhaps the safest course for now, was to let the Inquisitor believe she was in control.
"I am happy to be of service, in whatever capacity you see fit."
Sulahnean pauses at the next doorway, turning to address her directly. "You can refuse, I would hate to distract you from your duty." Though they seem spoken with consideration, there is a bite to her words. "I do encourage you to see what lies beyond the Temple, beyond Skyhold. But it can be at whatever pace you are comfortable with."
"I believe I would enjoy experiencing more of the world."
Sulahnean looks askance, her thoughts seeming to drift elsewhere. Dorian's jaw tightens and he reaches out to pinch the Inquisitor's forearm.
"Ah!" The action snaps her from her reverie, "Why the-"
"You know why," Dorian scolds her and the Inquisitor's mouth purses. She silently turns to push open the door to the garden and Dorian's posture relaxes.
Sileahilan traipses in after, eyes flicking between them as they walk. There is a mystery unfolding here at Skyhold; where everyone seems to be exactly what one might expect, yet clearly hiding secrets. There is an unspoken tension between them all and the Inquisitor. As much as Dorian seems at ease in her presence, by turns he is worried and anxious too.
She had expected there would be discrepancies of course; nuances requiring first-hand observation that were lost in dry reports. What troubles her the most, is that Solas did have those observations, yet it's clear to her now, he has chosen to withhold details of his perspective on the Inquisition. He had not wanted her to come here and now she wonders what it is he is trying to hide. They wouldn't even have known how deeply haunted he was by the Inquisitor, if he hadn't cracked because he believed she was dead.
And what exactly happened there? she wonders, pondering Sulahnean's mysterious return. Sileahilan runs her hand over a curtain of ivy, casting her eyes around the park; there is a quaint charm to the garden, but she misses the beauty of the one that grew here aeons ago. Nothing in this world can compare to what has been lost.
"Amatus," Dorian coos, as they approach a gazebo in the centre of the garden. The ex-Templar Cullen is playing a game of Ny'athen with the Iron Bull, or rather she should say - after a quick assessment of the board - losing it.
"Lea, you've sort of met Commander Cullen," Sulahnean introduces her and Cullen eyes her warily.
"Commander?" she bows deferentially, "My apologies, I thought you were a footman."
"Oh no, he's more of an ear man," Bull interjects with a smirk and Cullen scowls at him, his stubbled cheeks flushing with rapid intensity.
"And this is Bull," the Inquisitor sighs. "Lea has come from the Arbor Wilds." Sulahnean seems to put the smallest emphasis on the latter part as she locks eyes with Bull, but if some secret meaning was passing between them, Bull shows no sign of it.
"The Iron Bull," he corrects, giving a playful wink to Dorian.
Taking him in, Sileahilan is painfully reminded of her decade in Seheron, and her failed attempts to infiltrate Par Vollen. She tamps down an involuntary shudder, thinking of the mages she witnessed there; minds ravaged by Qamek and how close she came to suffering a similar fate. The Inquisitor is a fool indeed if she trusts Bull; no matter how much he claims to have turned from the Qun. In her experience, it is branded on their hearts and minds, and not something they ever truly relinquish.
"Esay saron, garal eolasal," she intones formally, pretending she does not already know every significant event in Bull and Cullen's lives.
"Gara…" Cullen's face sours further, casting a questioning glance at the Inquisitor.
"Oh no," she waves her hands, "what Lea means is that she looks forward to getting to know you. Er… coming to a mutual understanding." Sulahnean laughs, tugging the lobe of her ear, "Dalish dialects seem to have diverged quite a bit from Ancient elven."
"You seem to have an excellent grasp of it," Sileahilan remarks and the Inquisitor shrugs.
"A First is expected to learn as much of the old language as they can, even if the clan has adopted a more modern dialect. Your Common is perfect." Once again, Sileahilan feels there is a veiled jab beneath the compliment.
"Spirits reflect the world," she explains modestly, "When one language wanes, they begin using others. By necessity, one learns many things in the Fade."
"Salvaci," Dorian rolls his eyes skyward and Bull guffaws loudly at whatever private joke she has stumbled into. "You're not acquainted with a pompous ass named Solas by any chance?" Dorian jeers.
Sileahilan feigns confusion, but the Inquisitor's lip curls, baring her teeth at the sound of his name. "Have you seen Morrigan around?" she asks tightly.
"I believe she is meeting with the porters," Cullen informs her, pointing toward the far side of the garden, "detailing how she wants the Eluvian packed for transport."
"Oh… right," Sulahnean replies with dismay.
"Frankly I'll be relieved to have that… thing gone," Cullen grumbles.
"I'm not a great fan, but I'm surprised at you Cullen, speaking so ill of a lady," Dorian teases.
"I meant the mirror!" the Commander blurts, turning red once more. "She assured us that it was safe and that no-one but she could use it, then her son goes running off into the Fade through it." He shuffles restlessly in his seat, agitated by the thought of horrors from the Fade. "No, I'll be glad when the Eluvian is gone, before something horrible comes back out of it."
"Come on," Sulahnean tugs on Dorian's sleeve, and the Tevinter delivers a suggestive smile to Bull as he is pulled away.
"Do you play?" Bull catches her before she can step away, having noted her earlier interest in the board.
"I am acquainted with this game," she replies.
Bull's eyes light up, "You should play me once I finish Cullen off."
"I beg your pardon," Cullen interjects, obviously still confident he stands a chance.
"Another time perhaps," she replies hastily, as the Inquisitor and Dorian disappear behind a screen of foliage, "If you'll excuse me." She leaves the gazebo, trotting to catch up with the pair of mages. They disappear into a dim doorway and Sileahilan sidles in behind them to find a bristling durgen'lin exchanging heated words with a raven-haired witch.
"This is not a barrel of kippers. It is a priceless artefact," Morrigan drawls, voice laced with condescension as she waves emphatically at the large mirror standing at the end of the narrow room.
"An' I told you, we'd get it safely to wherever you need it, but if that doesn't satisfy you, you can contact the mob from Orlais what brought it the first time," the dwarf retorts, clearly exasperated by her tone.
"That would takes months!" Morrigan snaps.
The dwarf crosses his arms defiantly, "Not my problem. I work for the Inquisition, not you. I was asked to help as a courtesy, but I'd rather be deliverin' kippers than your fancy fuckin' mirror." As he turns to storm away, he pulls up short, realising who has entered the room. "A-apologies, your Worship," he bows to Sulahnean and then barks over his shoulder, "We'll pack up your mirror before the week is out." He makes another hasty bow as he scurries from the room.
"Is it wise to antagonise the people responsible for transporting your precious cargo?" Sulahnean asks blandly and Morrigan peers down her nose at her.
"He took issue with my directions for the manner in which it ought to be cushioned for transport." Sileahilan steps around them, moving closer to the Eluvian. "I was forced to impress upon him the value of the Eluvian. That it is no mere mirror and quite irreplaceable."
The Inquisitor sighs, "I'm sure he is aware, Morrigan."
"I suppose you think I ought to coddle them? Tis what you do, is it not? Then you are surprised when you are disappointed."
"Possessing manners is hardly coddling," the Inquisitor bites back and Sileahilan quirks an eyebrow in surprise. It is probably the most acerbic she's heard her so far. It would appear Morrigan rubs everyone the wrong way.
This human carries the Vir'abelasan? What a waste.
"Would it not be safer to leave the Eluvian here?" she asks and Morrigan turns her sharp, citrine gaze upon her.
"Not according to Cullen," Dorian laughs.
"What Cullen understands could be contained in a thimble," Morrigan snaps.
"This is of Elven construction," Sileahilan remarks, running her hand across the surface of the mirror and feeling the dormant power within.
"Twas broken. I had it restored at great cost and effort, and would appreciate it not being broken again," Morrigan admonishes her, as though she were a clumsy child. "I alone have uncovered the lost art of enchanting Eluvians."
She chokes down any number of disdainful replies. How did Solas ever manage to bite his tongue when confronted with such grotesque arrogance?
"Perhaps then, you ought to repair the one you so carelessly destroyed in Mythal's Temple." She presses her palm flat against the mirror, with a bit of effort she could activate the Eluvian. The witch is not as clever as she thinks.
To her credit, the Inquisitor seems genuinely aggrieved by this news. "I'm sorry," she remarks sincerely, "I was not aware the Temple's Eluvian had been broken."
"We destroyed nothing, we merely passed through it," Morrigan protests. "Corypheus presumably broke it in a rage. A stroke of luck indeed. Don't forget, he might still have made use of the Eluvian, to reach the Crossroads and tear down the barriers to the Fade."
"Why would he have destroyed it then?" Sileahilan counters.
"If you wish to accuse me of something, then do so. Otherwise, keep your veiled jabs to yourself," Morrigan rasps.
Sileahilan steps away from the Eluvian, dropping the matter with a shrug. The pensive frown on the Inquisitor's face is victory enough.
"I have much to arrange, is there a reason you've ambushed me?"
"Ah, yes there is," Sulahnean shakes off her doubts. "We are attempting to find a way to bind, or incapacitate the Nightmare demon and hoped the Vir'abelasan might hold a solution."
"I see…" Morrigan muses with interest.
"But, preferably by a means that doesn't involve blood magic or anything else that the Circle mages might be uncomfortable with," Sulahnean clarifies.
"Why ask me at all then?" Morrigan scoffs. "My mere presence makes them uncomfortable. They think I've willingly given myself over to demonic possession. I doubt they'd be comfortable with any of the ancient, forbidden arts I might suggest."
"I would appreciate your input regardless," Sulahnean states firmly.
"I… if you insist," Morrigan grudgingly agrees, her compliance surprising Sileahilan. "And what stipulations do you have Master Pavus?"
"None for the time being, beyond Lani returning safely with Stroud. Shall we?" he sweeps his hand toward the door, inviting Morrigan to accompany him to the tower.
"The Well of Sorrows is vast," Morrigan states, as she falls into step beside him, "The more specific you can make your questions, the easier it shall be for me to provide answers."
The Inquisitor clasps her hands behind her back, lost in thought as she watches them leave. "Are you not going, to keep the peace?" Sileahilan asks, sidling up beside her.
Sulahnean snorts, gifting her a genuine grin that is followed by a fleeting expression of grief. All too swiftly her features smooth once again, becoming neutral and calm, and she steps aside, increasing the distance between them.
"Did the Commander say that her child activated the Eluvian?" she probes, eager to provoke further unguarded reactions. "He must be a special boy indeed."
Sulahnean squirms. "It's possible it was activated from the other side," she replies.
"From the Fade? Then the Commander is correct and Morrigan has not adequately secured her Eluvian. Did something come through?"
"No, nothing happened," Sulahnean insists, her eyes raking over the Eluvian. "It's complicated…" she trails off, her gaze becoming distant. Sileahilan wonders why she is lying about Kieran and Flemeth, when she already confessed the meeting to Abelas. Before she can pursue the matter further, the Inquisitor stiffens and backs out of the room. Sileahilan pursues her, easily keeping pace with her agitated steps as they quit the gardens.
"You probably wish to send a message to Abelas," she remarks distractedly, "Josephine can sort that out for you and you should look over her draft proposal for the Arbor Wilds." She waves her hand toward Josephine's office as they rapidly approach - it is a polite, yet clear dismissal.
"I actually have more questions, if you don't mind." By now they have reached the door to the Inquisitor's chambers. "I understand however, if you are anxious about being alone with me."
Sulahnean leans back against the door, that small, familiar smirk curving her lips. She pushes the door open, making room for Sileahilan to enter and waves her hand toward the stairs. "After you," she murmurs, her amber eyes gleaming, and Sileahilan's skin crawls. She can't help but feel like a salivating beast has just invited her into its lair.
She brushes the feeling aside, climbing the stairs. I'm becoming paranoid, she reasons, I've been too long under constant threat of discovery and death. Perhaps that was the reason Solas did not want her to come, he just didn't want to say it to her and undermine her confidence.
"A moment please," Sulahnean asks, as they reach her roomy quarters. The Inquisitor disappears into a smaller chamber, a dressing room she supposes - confidently leaving Sileahilan to inspect her abode. She steps out onto the balcony, looking over the Frostbacks - the mountains at least have not changed. Her heart aches; it is a painful sensation, to be gazing at the same vista, from the same peak, but standing in a different fortress. To come home at last and find it infested with strangers and enemies. She lets out a shaky breath, turning inside to await the Inquisitor.
The soft rustle of leather and the clinking of chainmail vie with the crackle of the fireplace, as she makes a quick tour of the apartment - sharp eyes searching for insight into the Inquisitor's nature. The furniture is all human crafted and functional; not evoking a particular aesthetic beyond meeting her basic needs. The bookshelves are crammed with tomes on politics, magic, culture and history - no works of fiction aside from the book by Varric, resting on her desk. She picks up the only Dalish article she has spied, brushing her thumb along the worn comb. Beside this and a Halla statuette, the Inquisitor does not seem to possess any personal items. Either she is not sentimental or…
No, Sileahilan resolutely places the comb back on the desk, pushing aside further speculation. She does not want to feel pity for the Inquisitor. A crate is perched on the far end of the desk and she moves over to inspect the contents. Her eyebrows rise sharply in surprise, immediately recognising Solas' handwriting. She carefully rifles through the pile of papers, but there appears to be nothing incriminating in them; just research notes and some translations of ancient Elven.
"Those are not for you," the Inquisitor's angry snarl reaches her from the doorway of her dressing room. In the next instant she is beside her, fade stepping across the room with ease, and a furious wave of heat envelopes Sileahilan. She snatches her hand away as the Inquisitor clamps hers down upon the pages.
"Ir abelas," she chokes out, her heart inexplicably racing, "I did not expect to see written Elvish, I was curious." The Inquisitor's peculiar aura has changed. Where before it swirled lazily, drifting around her in a colourful plume, it is now static and coiled close against her form - thrumming with anticipation of violence.
Sulahnean scoffs, "Indeed, you must be terribly surprised." Her voice is laced with venom, genuine anger marking her features for the first time. She pushes the crate beneath her desk with reverent care, the motion pricking Sileahilan's instincts.
Enastarin waxed endlessly about the Court rumours of the Herald and the Apostate, but everything he said had to be treated with a healthy dose of skepticism. Feeling Sulahnean's covetous anger however, seeing her anguish-
He would not be so reckless, so utterly foolish! she gapes wide-eyed at the Inquisitor. She had not even contemplated that the Inquisitor might reciprocate Solas' feelings with equal intensity. She had assumed an infatuation at best, one which should have faded quickly with his departure.
The thought that he might have encouraged her is troublesome, but pales compared to the feelings Sulahnean is evoking within her right now. No wonder Eolas' spies were losing their minds. They couldn't possibly understand the nature of what they were experiencing - the urge to bow in dread reverence; submitting in fear to the will of powerful and ruthless beings.
She feels it emanating from the Inquisitor - a presence straining against the limitations of her physical form, pushing outward and lashing at Sileahilan. It is equally terrifying and enticing - calling to her; cowing her; urging her to submit. She grits her teeth, fighting the frightened snarl that lurches up her throat and she crosses her arms tightly to hide the trembling in her limbs. She will not bow before false gods. Never again.
Sulahnean stalks around the desk toward her and Sileahilan feels like her blazing eyes are peeling away the layers of her identity, exposing the very heart of her. Dressed now in her armour and suffused with power, the cuddly wood elf has disappeared - this is the Inquisitor and she is more terrible than she ever imagined. Without warning, the feeling evaporates, like a weight lifting off her all at once and she can breathe again.
"You are forgiven, cousin," Sulahnean smiles pleasantly, her voice soft and sly - like the hush of a slowly tightening noose. She offers her hand, palm up in supplication and the Anchor winks brightly at Sileahilan. She eyes the green striations that twine along Sulahnean's wrist and disappear beneath the cuff of her armour. She wonders if she has noticed the slow crawl of it - its inexorable growth. Does she know her life is forfeit?
Sileahilan breathes out shakily, doubting very much that she is truly forgiven, but she will move forward more cautiously from this point. She slides her palm over Sulahnean's and her senses explode. Lightning flares along her nerves, the dormant ashes of her full power surging to life and answering to the touch of the Fade. She blinks in shock and when she looks around her, she sees the world once again in vibrant colour - the Fade laid over, the connections visible once more. The matter between and within all things, ready and waiting to be manipulated; formed to her whims.
"You were not… at the Temple, you were not like this," she gasps.
"I have grown much since then," Sulahnean replies.
She closes her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks. She had forgotten how it felt and she revels in the sensation, her heart bursting with joy. Below it all there is a faint tugging - a calling of her spirit and Sileahilan begins to understand why Solas feels as he does. The Anchor, it must be Solas' mark that calls to her - that recognises their magic as kin. She hazards a glance at the Inquisitor and her traitorous knees quake at how brightly her spirit burns.
We are alike. Yet so different, the Inquisitor is raw and untamed chaos, she has never seen anything like it. It is all suddenly too much. Feeling as though she is being drawn helplessly toward Sulahnean, she snatches her hand away.
Her knees give out at last, as numbing darkness descends upon her once again and she wails at the feeling of herself diminishing; the Veil crashing down and cleaving her.
"No-one… I didn't think it was hurting anyone," Sulahnean says with genuine contrition.
"It did not… it is the loss of it," she gasps, curling into a ball, "It is not physical pain. You are mortal, you are ala'shena. You cannot possibly understand." She shakes her head, looking up at the Inquisitor, "You cannot possibly be what you are. How are you even…" Her eyes fall upon the Anchor, "You should not be able to wield it in such a fashion."
Sulahnean chuckles - it is a bitter, mirthless sound and Sileahilan cringes as her aura tightens again. "So said the mad magister Corypheus, and any number of other prideful fools that have fallen before me." She glares down at her, Just as you have, her eyes seem to say. "I did not ask for this," she curls her left hand tightly, "I did not ask to be endlessly hounded and insulted by arrogant madmen who thought I was a worthless elf."
She paces away, pausing at the top of the stairs. "I thought Solas saw me, believed in me, but it was all lies." She snarls over her shoulder, "You are all liars and I am tired of playing your games."
Sileahilan reaches toward her, "Please, I-"
"Go home," the Inquisitor commands, descending the stairs.
"No, I…" she cradles her head in her hand, "I promised…" She struggles to her feet, she would have some choice words for Solas, for letting her come here so unprepared.
But first… she hurries down the stairs, dogging the Inquisitor. "Where are you going?" she asks, when she catches up to her.
"To test an hypothesis," she remarks, cautiously opening the door to the Great Hall.
"Let me come with you," Sileahilan begs.
"I don't need you," Sulahnean retorts, scanning the Hall. It is mostly empty, aside from the masons that appear to be doing some maintenance work. "I don't need anyone," she insists, the tremor in her voice betraying her. She slips out into the Hall, moving quickly and waving at the posted guardsmen with an affected air of nonchalance.
Sileahilan follows behind, "I want to help," she whispers. The Inquisitor snorts derisively, but does not argue further, her attention fixed on the various entrances to the Hall. Indignant, Sileahilan summons her cloaking barrier, extending it to cover the Inquisitor. She freezes, her head whipping around to glare at Sileahilan.
"Stay close and no-one will see you," she smiles smugly and Sulahnean blinks, cocking her head as she contemplates the shadowy barrier that envelopes them. She gives an answering smirk of her own and then disappears. Fenedhis! Sileahilan shakes her head, amused despite her frustration, This damned slippery elf.
Moments later, the door to the garden shimmers and she assumes the Inquisitor has Fade stepped through it. She scurries after her, fairly confident of where she is heading.
Sure enough, as she slips into the room with the Eluvian, the Inquisitor is there, the Anchor rippling with power as she presses it against the mirror. She carefully closes the door behind her and Sulahnean shoots her an amused look as she approaches - obviously more entertained than annoyed by her persistence. She turns her full attention to the Eluvian then, the Anchor flaring and surging.
"Wait… what is happening?" Sileahilan stumbles back in a panic, feeling her connection to the Fade diminishing further. No, no, no, her chest heaves with panicked breaths, unable to call her magic; the world becoming ever more fixed around her.
"Relax," Sulahnean urges, voice strained with effort, "It is temporary." So saying, the Eluvian bursts to life, its surface swirling blue and green.
Sileahilan's skin tingles as her magic slowly returns. So many choice words for Solas, she seethes, hugging herself.
The Inquisitor steps back, contemplating the Eluvian. She half-turns, swallowing hard as she glances back toward the garden.
"What's wrong? Where does it go?" she asks.
"I said I wouldn't be reckless, but…" she seems torn. "Stay here, I won't risk anyone else. Not even you."
"No," Sileahilan says firmly, stepping forward. "I'm sorry I lied, but I swear to you, I just want to keep you safe."
Sulahnean eyes her skeptically, but her features slowly soften as she seems to accept the truth of her words. Her brow knits with confusion then, as though that truth is even more troubling to her.
"Very well," she finally nods in acquiescence. "Prepare to face your nightmares," Sulahnean warns, squaring her shoulders. She shakes her head, "Dagna is never going to forgive me," she sighs and steps through the Eluvian.
TRANSLATIONS:
Ala'shena - earth born
Durgen'lin - child of the stone
Esay saron, garal eolasal - I hope we can come to understand one another
Leanathe - your worship/grace/glorious being
Ny'athen - four divisions / chess
Salvaci - Save us
Shal'braan - armoured boots