Despite his obvious dread and her obvious worry, the stony silence of their standoff followed the pair onto the road. The journey was difficult, snowmelt making the pass unstable and, at times, treacherous. Their descent was slow, irritatingly so even to those who did not feel the same urgency to reach their destination. Daylight brought the slippery icy melt, dodging sudden landslides and hidden patches of frozen ground that sent the horses staggering; the nights held a frosty wet chill that seeped through the tent canvas, leaving a dull ache in the limbs and a hallow ragged cough deep in the chest. On the third day he falling ice and slick gravel gave way to soupy mud as the party entered the foothills. The earth stretched brown and barren, burned beyond recognition in places. This land had once been fertile and full of exotic colors, nearly blinding to the eyes. Years of war changed this landscape, boot and blade pockmarking the ground and the funerary pyres scorching the rest. The dead here had to be burned to be permanently stilled. Frightened men in battered helms blamed the rifts, but the truth was older. Ground that soaked up this much blood for so many centuries had a way of giving a half-life to anything that fell upon it. Souls ripped from this world too soon, angry and fearful, infested these bodies. More than any of the other horrors of war, this unending battle against foes who fell only to rise once more haunted the rank and file. Day after day, watching their comrades die only to have to strike them down again the next. The nights were filled with the sound of desiccated flesh whispering across the stony ground, and haunted moans of confusion and anger that no level of drink could properly muffle.

Near the river they encountered the first pocket of these pitiful wanderers, faces slack, mouths hanging open in endless silent screams.

"He doesn't know why his limbs won't work. Stiff, cracks in the skin like dried leather, snapping twigs. The faint memory of the taste of fruit. But his tongue now tastes of rot and soil. Cold. Everything is so cold."

Blackwall shuddered visibly as he pulled his sword from the husk of a decrepit Orlesian soldier. "Could we perhaps not read the... ehr, minds of these things?"

"Perhaps it's best to quiet these thoughts, Cole," Solas said softly. "They are beyond our help now."

"Yes. At least the burning stops the cold feeling." Another sharp glance from Blackwall

The bodies were stacked, Blackwall muttering a few words under his breath that sounded vaguely ceremonial, if not entirely Chantry-sanctioned. The scouting party stood silently as the flames consumed the remnants. This quiet continued while they followed the river south, watching the water pick up into rapids where the brackish sea began to mix in. Within him hummed an uncomfortable energy. Somewhere past the bend, a summoning circle throbbed its dark rhythm into the earth. Just beneath that dread-inducing hum was another vibration of ancient magic, dormant and unsettling, hidden in the hills. "Look," Evelyn said breathlessly, pointing across the water. Beyond the far bank, several pale-colored fabric sails jutted from behind a rocky outcropping.

"Ah yes," Solas stopped just short of standing beside her. "I had heard there was a Dalish encampment nearby."

"They follow the paths without seeing, their blood remembers the ways both words and time have forgotten. Buried. They search for a home they can no longer find. The questions are there, but they fear the answers. I'm sorry, Solas."

"There is nothing to apologize for, Cole. My knowledge is not always welcome." Solas warily avoided the water's edge, as if touching it would somehow catch the Clan's attention. He could hear the sharp laughter, the shout of a child. Primitive shadows of what they once were, living like squatters in the land that should be theirs by birthright, sleeping near a sacred place htey could not begin to fathom, even if they cared to.

"What is Cole talking about?" Evelyn narrowed her eyes. "What knowledge?"

"It was before I came to the Inquisition. I found that my attempts to share what I'd learned in the Fade was met with fear and, at times, open hostility. I'm sure that's what Cole was referring to."

But Cole's attention was focused elsewhere, pupils dilated wide as he made an "Oh," exclamation that was half-sob. Solas felt the same wave of energy (crackling rage pulsing confusion why why why am I here why stop it stop the light and the pain will go why why) so strongly that he nearly lost his footing and had to use his staff to hold himself upright. There was a roar, alien and metallic, that set teeth on edge followed by the anguished and terrified cries of men. The sound pierced him as surely as a spear, taking his breath away as he struggled to clear his head, ears once again ringing loudly. Evelyn had her hand out as if to steady him, but he pushed past her outstretched arm, fingers grazing her wrist. Blackwall noted this with interest, and the disappointed expression Inquisitor Trevelyan wore even more so. Evelyn widened her steps to catch up to Solas, gazing over his shoulder at the summoning circle in the clearing.

His face was blank, no twitch or frown betraying the pain that coursed through him at this vision. The pride demon stomped uncertainly around the circle, testing the edges and finding only building pressure, sharp stabs when she ranged too close to the barrier. He heard Evelyn's sword leave its sheath, her hand resting on his shoulder as she drew closer. "Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me what to do." Solas unconsciously leaned his head toward her in response, their foreheads nearly meeting. Blackwall again sharply focused on this.

"Yes," Cole said, from beside him. "Most nights. But sometimes they just sleep."

The demon roared, the surviving mages scrambling toward their party in relief. One dropped to his knees, clinging to the front of Solas' tunic. In response, he took the mage's hands and shoved them roughly away from himself. To Evelyn, then: "We have to destroy the pillars. It will free her."

"Will it save her?" Evelyn's eyes searched his face.

"From this, yes." He stared grimly back at her, watching the realization cause her features to droop slightly.

Magic is an art best practiced with a quiet mind, a determined focus. He found that he lacked either as he cast recklessly, wildly, his own internal storm affecting his abilities. Fortunately, Blackwall and Evelyn proved much more stalwart, effortlessly destroying stone after stone until the circle lay in a crumbling ruin. The part he needed to play in this whole wretched affair left him with a giant void deep within, an empty space that made the release of her spirit feel as if it were something he observed, instead of brought about. He watched that other version of himself speak the words that felt hollow and alien to his ears; watched her form, once vibrant and dancing with light, slowly fade and blow away like ash. Then he was back inside his body, with Evenly kneeling beside him, her words slow and soothing. The world flooded back in, the grey sky and wind too bright, too loud. Then, beneath the cacophony, the meek voices of cowardly men.

"Is it... is it gone?"

Solas stood to his full height, striding toward the three who cowered back against the boulders at his approach. Behind him, the telltale sound of boots rushing to catch up, her hand on his arm, shaken away once before she gripped it more firmly.

"Solas," she hissed. "You can't."

"Oh, but I can," he spat. "They are fools, playing with forces they are incapable of understanding. This time we were here to stop it, to destroy a beautiful, living thing to patch up their mistakes. What of the next time?"

"I can deal with them," she pulled his arm forcefully. "Lawfully. Killing them is just as bad-"

"Killing them would be a mercy!"

"Then let us not grant it. Let me deal with it. This is my burden, not yours. I have to deal with this my way. I'm the Inquisitor."

His eyebrows raised slightly, and he took a step backward, letting her hand fall away. "Of course you are. How could I forget?"

Hours later, after the mages were carted away by Inquisition soldiers, she found him sitting back at that divot in the ground, the scorch marks fading from the trampled grass. "We can go back now, Solas. To camp, or journey on to Skyhold. Whatever you need."

"I need," he trailed off, looking across the waves, at the fading horizon. "I believe I need a little time."

"Time?"

"Yes. Time to sort through what happened. Time to myself."

She stiffened at the last word. "Ah." Two small steps backward. "I understand." When he didn't turn to look at her, didn't move to stop her from leaving, she strode back toward her waiting party. "We're heading back to camp."

"And Solas?" Blackwall asked uneasily, looking from the elf's crouched figure back to their Inquisitor.

"Solas will not be joining us at this time," she said brusquely.

Blackwall watched her stalk away, his brow wrinkling, mouth hanging slightly open as if he were trying to devil something out.

"Yes," Cole was at his side. "Most nights. But sometimes they just sleep."