The ascent was slick, the dusting of fresh snow covering the hard-packed layers of ice beneath. Ahead of him, the Seeker continued to brief the prisoner. From what he had garnered she was Most Definitely Trevelyan: an Evelyn, in fact. He also learned they were to meet the Spymaster and Commander at the forward camp, where they could then press on to the Temple proper. The demons were scattered, and scant. There was something disrupting their attempts to gather, to work as a force instead of in pieces. Solas suspected the mark on Evelyn's hand of causing this disturbance. They could not discern between the material and immaterial worlds, their senses blurred by the pull of both the holes in the world they fell through and the strange, hypnotic pulse that resonated from Evelyn Trevelyan's palm. He watched her as she moved, the way she unconsciously flexed her fingers just before balling the hand into a fist as the shocks wracked through her. All things considered, she was weathering this remarkably well.

His ministrations had prevented the mark from spreading - as it was wont to do - up her arm and engulfing her entire body in its cold flame. The binding spells were strong and would hold, for a little while. If she was careful and learned to harness the ability, to release it in focused streams rather than discharged build up, she would survive much longer. With a sideways glance at the Seeker, Solas idly wondered if he would be permitted the time to work with her, to teach her to wield it like a proper key or weapon.

"You okay? Your face is much more doom and gloom than I'd prefer, walking into the unknown." The dwarf was again at his side, eyes more piercing than his lighthearted tone of voice would betray. They fell back a few steps, Cassandra forging ahead and the prisoner struggling to keep up. "Is this thing going to kill her when we do... well, whatever it is she needs to do?"

"Kill her? I do not believe so. But I think that each use she makes of that power will alter her. I only pray we are able to close the breach before it alters her irretrievably."

"And then what?" Varric narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying you know how to get that thing off her?"

In a manner of speaking, Solas thought before shaking his head in response to the dwarf's query. "I have no way of knowing if it's possible, but I think I will have to try."

Varric closed his mouth quickly, his jaw grinding slightly as he turned his eyes from Solas to the retreating figure of Trevelyan. "I hope you can figure it out. I think that kid's been through enough."

The top of the path yielded another small tear in the veil, a small assembly of lesser demons winding their way around the crackling light. Solas felt a pang of pity for these creatures, forced into this world blindly, unsure of their place or purpose, lashing out at the strange shapes that confronted and confused them. He watched as Evelyn hesitated for a moment, her palm sparking.

"You must seal it," he goaded her. "And quickly."

Her small white teeth worried her lower lip for a moment before she reached with her arm, the power from within her flesh arcing toward the tear. Her mouth tightened into a firm line, eyes unblinking as the power bucked her backward, the connection broken as the rift sealed.

Solas exhaled. "Well done."

She let out a laugh, loud and jarring in the cold silence as she curled her fingers under and opened them again. Varric quirked a brow, "Let's hope she's still amused when she sees the big one."

This lighthearted attitude was quashed once they met up with the gathered forces at the top of the hill. Chancellor Roderick was exactly the type of unpleasant bureaucrat these sorts of tumultuous events tended to bring out of the shadows, a small-minded man with beady eyes who seemed suspicious of every shadow. The Lady Trevelyan was undaunted by Roderick's tone and accusations and forged ahead, jaw clenched in anger and right hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

The mountain path provided a brief respite from the clanging of swords and shouts of fear. He ascended the ladder first, followed by the Seeker, the elf and dwarf bringing up the rear. Here, above the fray, all that could be heard was the howl of the wind and the whisper of long-faded fabrics, likely banners hanging in the abandoned outpost ahead. The sound of clanging steel and shouts of fighting did not reach them at this height, although the silence did not bode well for the scouting party that took this route earlier. At the back of his neck, separate from the thrum that sounded from Lady Trevelyan's palm, the familiar electric tickle of fade remnants scratched. There were spirits in the cavern, likely the selfsame ones that dispatched the Spymaster's men.

He rounded the corner and there they were, three sad little shades still lingering, routing through their paths without purpose, without vision. They were disposed of quickly, Solas mentally noting each's passing back into the nothing from this world they desperately clung to. It never became easier, to see what was once a peaceful and curious being twisted by their violent birth into this world of washed-out colors and dull sunlight. Some could be saved, but the process of such a rescue would likely not win him friends among his companions, and would further raise suspicion of his motives. All he could do was assist in their destruction and lift a silent prayer for their rest, no matter how his heart may break for each.

In the clearing beyond the stone building, the demons encountered proved far more formidable. He watched with dismay as Evelyn Trevelyan, the home for a great and misplaced power, found her sword lodged in one of the pride demons. She cried out for assistance. The spell left his fingers before he could fully process her request, freezing the shade instantly. As it crumbled, Lady Trevelyan stumbled backward slightly, the weight of the sword once again fully in her hand. She threw him an appreciative glance that made his ears feel warm. It was strange, interacting with her here as if they were strangers when he had shared such intimate knowledge of her in a shared dream. Perhaps there would be a time when he could probe her for detail, see if any lingering trace of him remained, if only subconsciously.

Solas placed his staff back against his spine, noting the penetrating stare of Varric.

"Where did you say you were from, exactly?"

"I didn't," Solas responded without returning the dwarf's gaze. "But if you must know I am from a small village just to the north."

"You have a clan or something in that village?"

"No," he said simply. "I have been without others for a long time."

"It's just that I have known some mages in my time, Chuckles. Good ones, too. None move quite like you."

"I suppose I shall have to take that as a compliment."

Cassandra made an impatient noise. "The temple is ahead, if you are quite done with your pleasantries."

Solas bowed slightly. "By all means." He made his way toward the outline of the walkway, feeling the weight of Varric's eyes on him.

"You know, you're tall for an elf," Varric called after him.

Cassandra snort-laughed, her smile more sneer, "Everyone is tall to you, Varric."

Solas chose to ignore the observation entirely. He hoped this Tethras would not prove to be a problem.