Past Is Prologue
Wisdom ambles - like an amorphous, cerulean beacon - through the dreams of mortals. A reflection of the world's knowledge, the spirit seeks to pass on the ages of wisdom it possesses. Like a menacing whisper, Solas watches, intangible amongst the Ether at the edge of dreams; appearing in the fantasies of these small-minded sleepers does not appeal to him.
The world has moved so far beyond him and there are few left in it that he felt any commonality or kinship with. In ages past he had found conversing - ofttimes toying - with mortals an amusing diversion, but lately finds himself weary of their mundane, predictable behaviour.
"Taking on a partner now will help your business expand," Wisdom whispers to a merchant from Denerim. "Your Uncle lies to you," she issues as a warning for a minor noble in Nevarra.
Occasionally, a mage of some skill calls out to Wisdom and the spirit answers eagerly. She is a repository of ancient and obscure magic, lost to the passage of time; buried like the ruins of empires that had first uncovered such secrets. These self-styled masters of the arcane are unfailingly petty and short-sighted, seeking only to lord power over their peers for prestige and wealth - they do not grasp Wisdom's true potential.
"They are beneath you, Lethallin," Solas grumbles. "Come away with me. Let us walk the paths of forgotten places as we once did."
"Wisdom is to be shared, not kept for you alone," she chides. "A seed planted in fertile ground might grow into something beautiful. There was a time when you understood that." Solas bridles at her words; he did not spitefully withhold his knowledge. Deceiver; outcast; madman he was called by those that feared and despised him. He had freely offered his discoveries, it is the world that had spurned and slandered him.
"It is not I that has changed," Solas protests, though even to his own ears the words ring false and leave a foul taste in his mouth.
"Indeed, you have always been intractable," Wisdom retorts. Solas falls silent then, brooding with disdain as his friend's precious gifts are squandered. They are drawn into a darkening dreamscape and Solas clings tight to Wisdom, intent on protecting the gentle spirit.
"A Harrowing," Wisdom remarks and Solas recalls the first time he witnessed this barbaric ritual. It made his blood boil to see these young mages forced into the Fade; minds reeling with such terror as they are made to face spirits corrupted by the summoning and often their own ignorant assumptions. It was so typical of mortals to lash out in fear of magic and spirits, not caring who they hurt in their attempts to feel safe from powers beyond their comprehension. A trembling young elf materialises, his eyes darting around the mire of his own consciousness.
"Don't approach him," Solas bars Wisdom from moving closer. "Can't you smell the fear on him? He could hurt you." Other spirits are drawn to the dreamer, some of them taking on the shape of his memories and desires. Solas tries to pull Wisdom away, he does not want to stay and witness the inevitable violence. For Harrowing's always ended in pain and violence; whether it would be the mage or the denizens of the Fade that suffered was the only variable.
A vicious screech reverberates through Solas' skull as a dark mass rises near the mage. The elf's terror is so intense it has summoned a demon of Fear, the creature drawn to the mage like a lodestone. Bony spines lash toward the mage and he falls back, barely having the wits to defend himself. A fireball surges toward the demon and it swats the conjuring away like an insect.
"The Templars are going to kill you boy." Fear hisses, its voice the embodiment of night terrors - icy sweat, racing heart and primal horror. "They knew it before they even sent you here. Because you are weak."
"Stay away from me!" The mage shrieks as he scrambles away from the demon.
"That's right, run away like you always do. Cowardly little Eannen," Fear mocks. "Too afraid to be First, too afraid to defend the Clan. No wonder they were ashamed of you." Eannen attempts to summon another fireball but it fizzles out before it even comes close to Fear. "But you wouldn't have to be afraid anymore, with me," the demon whispers suggestively. "I could show them how strong you really are. Make them afraid for once!"
"He didn't stand a chance," Solas remarks indifferently and Wisdom watches silently as Fear corners the mage. There is a flash of silver and the demon rears back snarling, as an elfin figure paces around Fear, Dar'Misaan held steadily toward the towering spectre. Long legs bound in leather, she anchors her feet in the ground between the mage and the monster. The mage, Eannen, gawks at her in awe, relief flooding his tear streaked face. Fear slithers back and forth as it measures up this unexpected rival, seeking an opening, a weakness to exploit.
"You have no power over me," she says coolly, raven hair cascading over lithe shoulders. Solas laughs lightly at her boldness, he is not often surprised by events in the Fade. Fear roars in frustration and lunges at her. Her blade flashes like quicksilver and shreds the demon, banishing its essence to the Void. She scrutinises the other spirits that have gathered close around the Mage. Determining that they are no threat, she sheathes her sword and turns to regard Eannen.
"You're Dalish!" the mage exclaims, noting the Vallaslin etched over her elegant features; the delicate lines of Mythal's mark branching across her forehead and cheeks like a silver, filigree mask. "Hahren told us legends of the Creators but I never believed them. Are you the Mother, will you help me find justice?" Solas owns that she is striking, like a figure of myth carved in alabaster: but she is no Mythal.
"Is she a spirit?" Solas wonders aloud, though she is unlike any spirit he has encountered.
"I do not know," is Wisdom's pensive reply. If she is a Dreamer she is an anomaly. In his experience, their ilk are not inclined toward kindly interference; not since the days before the Tevinter Imperium in any case.
"I am no God." The Dalish elf clarifies to Eannen and Solas can understand the mages' confusion. Compared to elves of the modern age she must appear divine, as she towers imperiously over Eannen's feeble frame. It has been many millennia since he has encountered a true Elvhen in the Fade - a devotee of Mythal no less - that was not one of his followers. While at first glance that is what she appears to be, something about her is dubious; like a child play pretending to be an Empress. The sublime not-goddess turns to take her leave.
"Wait! Don't leave me here alone," Eannen begs and she peers down her sharp nose at him.
"You can do this, Eannen. You can be strong." There is a hint of tenderness beneath her earnest declaration.
"Is this a trick?" Eannen scowls. "You want to possess me too?" She shows no anger at his accusation; only a sparkle of amusement in her light brown eyes.
"I desire nothing from you," she states and Eannen winces at her bluntness. "Heed me da'len, the only demons you will find in the Fade are the ones you bring with you. It is your fears and desires that grant them power."
"I wish I was back in the forest, that I had never run away," he confesses with a sob. "I'm so sorry." His words seem to touch her and she bends down to grasp his forearm.
"What's done is done. You can wallow in regret or you can grow from it." Her words pierce Solas; regret has been his steadfast companion these many long years. "You have a second chance in the Circle. Become a Keeper for your new family." Eannen nods, accepting her counsel as she helps him to his feet. "Dareth shiral, Eannen."
A shimmering arch opens near them and she disappears over the threshold. Before he even knows what he is about, Solas races toward the doorway. He catches himself at the last minute and turns, looking back to where Wisdom floats.
"Come with me, Lethallin," he urges but Wisdom shakes her head.
"If I go with her I will forget myself," she declares and adds ominously, "as will you." Solas looks back and forth between Wisdom and the door as it rapidly fades. He feels torn between his dear friend and this strange creature; something familiar in her spirit calls to him. As the portal nearly winks out of existence instinct drives him through, causing him to abandon Wisdom.
TRANSLATIONS
Da'len - little one
Dareth shiral - farewell/safe journey
Dar'Misaan - Elven style longsword
Lethallin - a close friend
Vallaslin - blood writing/tattoo