They stood together in the rain, watching the battering ram slowly wrench back into position. The wall had given way at last, and now the Inquisition's men, her men, poured through the ragged opening. Her fingers flexed, brushed against his. "Thank you."
Solas raised his eyebrows slightly. "For?"
"For being with me now. Here. After. Well, after the other night."
"You were under a great deal of strain. Besides, I could hardly leave you alone. You know what we face."
"Do I? Do you?" She smiled sadly, squeezing his fingers. "Be careful."
"Always." Solas stared up at the great stone building before them, only peripherally aware of Evelyn slipping from his side. Adamant Fortress had once stood as a testament to the Grey Warden reach and influence within Orlais. A bastion of power and justice, with heavy walls and mighty griffons patrolling the skies above. Lack of both resources and care had dulled the shininess, made haunted halls where once life teemed. Dustiness and decrepitude crept over floors worn smooth by the stomping of boots, the crumbles of tapestries lost to the ages. Now the ravages of time and neglect paled in comparison to the damage the forces of men inflicted upon the structure. Thick plumes of smoke rose from the balustrade, choking clouds of hot ash and the scent of burning flesh filling the air. The fortress yet stood, in spite of the barrage of fire and stone lobbed at it from the Inquisition forces. Solas could not help but be impressed, a response he frequently felt at the sight of ancient Dwarven architecture. Scrabbling up the great stone steps of the main approach behind the other members of his party, he paused to survey the scene. The battle had taken heavy casualties on both sides already, blood of Inquisition, Orlesian, and Warden alike mixing in the rocky soil. Blackwall stumbled, his eyebrows knitted together as he noted what had caught his boot: a Warden chestpiece, raw rib bones poking where it had been cleaved in twain.
"These are not your brethren any longer," Solas placed a firm hand on Blackwall's armored shoulder. "They are but a twisted semblance of what they once represented. Steel your mind."
Blackwall's mouth snapped back closed, a look of determination crossing his face. With a curt nod, he turned back toward the great doors made of steel and wood that opened the courtyard to the upper ramparts. Solas knew not what they would find within the walls, but he had a feeling that none within the party were properly prepared for the true horrors of what the Wardens had brought upon themselves. Foolish men, too long denied the respect and glory they believed they were due. Solas might have pitied them, were they not presently trying to kill him.
"To me," Evelyn's voice sounded hesitant, in spite of the command. Her words were clipped and fast. One small scouting party to the north, to assess the threat before ladders could be deployed. One single scout to survey the courtyard below. Two with her to attempt to find the Warden Commander deeper in the fortress's innards. Three for heavy combat to slice through the forces between. He was to travel with the combat portion, to offer whatever support was needed.
"Solas," she said softly, her eyes lingering on Blackwall's hunched form. "Protect him."
The fighting was surprisingly light, a discovery that set his nerves on edge. If the brunt of their forces had not been sent to deal with direct combat, that meant the Wardens were mounting an assault that would be far worse. Rumors of their blood magic rituals had echoed through the troops during the journey here, stirring primal fear amongst their recruits. Their men were an army, equipped to be canon fodder and little else. Few among them had ever witnessed an abomination first hand. Even the templars within their ranks were far from battle-tested.
The theory of an enemy rarely held up to the horrors faced.
Ahead of him, his iron-clad companions kicked down a door that hung loosely on its hinges, sending splinters cascading down the stone steps on the other side. "Wardens," Blackwall yelled down to the landing below. "We mean you no harm. Drop your weapons and nothing will befall you." A steady stream of arrows responded, Blackwall raising his shield to catch them. "I will subdue the archers. Solas, deal with the mage." With his shield raised, he bludgeoned his way down the stair, slashing at the first archer with a blow that knocked the man backward, screaming as he fell. Blackwell let loose a bellow of victory as he shoved through the makeshift barriers to reach the second.
Solas picked his way down the steps behind the fighters, feeling the crackle in the air that raised the hair on his arms. The magic here was old, and very deep. It permeated the walls around him, rising up through the floors. Adamant was built on a rift that splintered time itself, weakening the veil and disrupting the natural flow of the energy of the area, causing the font of mystic within him to respond in a mix of fury and anticipation. He should not linger.
Perhaps this hesitation was visible, and why she chose that moment to fire. It caught him off guard, the spike of ice that froze his left arm and made his wield clumsy. He released an incantation of dampening in response, muting her power and slowing the entire room. Blackwall ran from him as if caught in a gel, his feet releasing soft and muffled thumps in the distance. The Qunari roared in slow-motion, his axe slicing through an intruding man's neck as blood arced away in a glittering spray. The mage slowly shifted her position from behind the pillar, revealing a vallaslin of Mythal blood-marked across her face.
An elf.
Solas pulled his staff back against his shoulder, two fingers extended as the numb wore from his left hand. Her expression bore no emotion, flat and empty, eyes dulled as though waking from a thick sleep. She examined her own fingers in the half-light of the torches before raising her gaze to meet his own. She possessed a power not yet fully unleashed. The thick haze of magicks yet to come wrapped around her like a cloak. She did not know what she was, but it was impossible to think that the Venatori did not recognize her potential. She would be marked for death, as surely as any other with a hint of the arcane. Her blood would produce a horror both ancient and unknown, a coup de grace with which they hoped to turn the tide of the battle. It was only a matter of time before she was called, to stand unblinking and obedient as her throat was slit.
Later he would say it was empathy that drove his hand, although that was never entirely the truth. She lifted her staff in a defensive posture, then something shifted, shimmered, a light within that recognized kindred, a stirring of her buried potential's instinct toward self-preservation. She dropped the staff, pupils widening as his fingers found the edges of her face. The thrall released with a fierce heat that singed his fingertips, the elf Warden slumped to the floor as he shook the feeling back into his fingers.
"Is she dead?" The Iron Bull pushed with his foot, shifting her tiny body violently.
"As good as," Solas replied, slumping back against a wooden scaffold.
"Should I crush her skull? Finish the job?"
"There would be no point to it. She will not wake for hours."
"But when she does, she'll be one of those things."
"Not if we do our job, my friend. Leave her." Solas placed his hand against the Qunari's arm. "Please."
A look that Solas did not entirely like flickered in the only visible eye. "Sure thing."
The roar erupted above them, obliterating all thought. Their party staggered back as the stone above shook, burdened with the weight of the blighted dragon. "He's here," Iron Bull stated in a dark tone.
"Yes," Cole's voice then. "The Warden Commander chases Erimond. The Inquisitor chases the Warden Commander. He chases the Inquisitor."
"We have to move quickly." Solas pushed past the others, to lead the band up the stairwell and onto the ramparts above. He ran despite the chill ache in his arm and side that still lingered, chasing after the distant sounds of Evelyn's shouts, the dragon's claws scraping the masonry as it skittered up and over, after her. The walls were a chaos of blood and fire, men engaged in brutal clashes only to be burned together as the wyrm laid waste to all in its path. There was another burst of flame and the dragon took flight, honing in on a figure in the distance. Solas felt his heart heave in his chest until he realized Evelyn stood directly before him, staring in blank horror as the dragon descended.
"No," she cried, breaking into a sprint.
"Evelyn!" Solas ran after her, sliding to a stop as the silent explosion lit the night. There was an ear-splitting crack as the floor beneath his feet canted. He saw Evelyn fall, spinning onto her stomach in an attempt to grab hold of the ground as it shifted. Solas reached for her arm but it was too late and she was tumbling, falling as he lost his on hold and felt the earth rush toward him. There was the sound of Evelyn releasing a primal scream before the world crackled and went blinding white, then dark.