If one wanted to get to the heart of a story, one had to live it. It was this guiding principle that kept him clambering over the jutting stones, picking his way through crumbling skeletons of those who had tried to find the hidden treasures this place held and failed. Through the Deep Roads he tromped, stopping only to ensure his path was the correct one. While the allure of gold and precious stones had lured more than one adventurer to their untimely end in the centuries before, he sought only one thing. The answer to an ancient question lay within these ruined halls, as his forward party had confirmed weeks before. Now there was another mystery to unravel, one of battle and blood spilled across these stones.
It had taken the better part of a month and several distasteful maneuvers to first locate the passages he had come to believe led to Morolan Thaig. It was a place lost to the ages, marked by death of those long forgotten. Once it had been the seat of a small duchy, ruled over by twin brothers as alike in politics as features. Their deaths at the hands of a rival's assassins had thrown the entirety of this section into a small-scale civil war. The flames of the fires scorched the ghosts of stone walls just as the massacre's screams still scarred the Veil between worlds. This was a place where the essence of memory throbbed like a distant drum's beat, pulsing around the edges of his vision.
At an intersection of rubble and molten earth, Solas stopped and sniffed the air. The sulfuric smells he had become accustomed to now held the underlying hint of decay. He had to tread carefully, lest he alert the Hoard to his intrusion. Darkspawn possessed a preternatural ability to track, especially in the winding close quarters of the caverns jutting out of the Deep Roads. Dwarven excavation had opened up new and terrifying ways to encounter the Blighted. The empty helms and rotted bits of cloth within hollowed-out chestplates bore testament to the horrors the dwarves had unearthed. It would neither be prudent nor productive to come all this way only to fall to a small clutch of withered halflings who happened to catch him in this tight confine. With a clenching of his fist he extinguished the small blue ball of flame he used as a guiding torch and made the rest of his descent under the cloak of darkness.
The narrow hall he emerged from gave way to a great cavernous space lit here and there by the glow of deep mushrooms and phosphorescent lichen. The air was cool, heavy, waiting. The Veil was thin here, the membrane permeable. As Solas gazed up to the stony ceiling above, an overwhelming wave of presence enveloped him. The wisps sense it when one who can walk among them stands at the edge of their realm, a tiny pinprick bleeding into their darkness. He would need to clear the place before seeking out his goal.
The thaig ran the perimeter of the cavern, with exit only permitted through the constricting channel he'd entered and a steep incline on the far end of the compound. He raised two fingers above his head and felt the cool rush of air. This passage led to the surface. From the stink of fetid flesh and fire, he knew all too well what he would encounter at the apex of this ramping path.
The encampment was a study in Darkspawn social behavior. Close-cropped tents jumbled in one corner and a messy assortment of blighted creatures gathered 'round a roasting nug. The nug, for its part, was burnt almost beyond recognition and cooked well after its peak freshness, the flesh dripping into the fire in unpleasant sizzles. Their feast was forgotten, as most of the assembly was focused on a shiny bit of armor likely uncovered during their ascent. It conveniently provided him with the upper hand. "Arlan'asamath," he whispered, his arms rising upward to shoulder height, palms extended heavenward. If the horrors heard their inevitable doom, they gave no sign, continuing to stare as the largest among them rapped two knuckles against the finely polished steel. Solas snapped his fingers over his palms and rapidly brought his hands to his waist. After a great thunderous crash, the green-tinged dust slowly settled atop the crushed remains of the battalion. He kicked over the embers of the now-extinguished fire and made his way back to the thaig below.
It was here that he found the evidence of recent disturbance, one made by a small army. They had swept the stone clear of rocks and spiderwebs, creating a perimeter for a cooking fire, bedding, and a place to plan the next stage of their exploration. All hastily abandoned after something befell them. Was it Darkspawn? Bandits? Something worse, something he feared more than he dared admit?
There was only one way to know for certain.
Wards were set up around the edges of a deteriorating home's former living area, a mix of warning and cloaking, set to keep anything from being tempted to wander too close. If a Darkspawn or one of the underworld's larger spiders set foot in the area, they would be filled with a sense of impending doom, yet unable to ascertain the source. General unease was a potent barrier indeed. Once he felt safe, Solas laid flat on his back on the hard pack of dirt. Sleep came easily, pulled as he was by the restless spirits who still wandered. Beings stirred by the feather touch of another mind pushed in.
It was very lonely, being forgotten.
Solas dreamed for hours, carefully picking through the memories of the Fade. The oldest were often the strongest, having time to seep into the surroundings, carving through rock as a river does: slow and patient until the grooves are a part of the landscape.
A newlywed wife scrubs at a copper pot, her thick red curls reflected in its gleam. The pot was a gift from her sister, handcrafted with care. Love abounds. Her husband due to arrive home at any moment, the announcement of life growing inside her giving her hands purpose, her cheeks a glow. Her love is the first to fall in this conflict, thumped unceremoniously on the back of the head for treading a step too far into another's mining area. A thoughtless accident, resulting in a senseless death. Her son will never know that his mother's eyes once shined; that she ever smiled.
Stories, like mortal beings, butterflies, bird's eggs, hearts and dreams, are fragile things, made up of nothing stronger or more lasting than the words that carry them. Words on the air, composed of sounds and abstract ideas, invisible, gone before spoken. Frail, but lasting. Stories like these, small simple ones of adventures and monsters, outlasting those who would have once told them.
These outlasting the places that created them.
The serving man runs into the stone street, his hands smeared with blood. They've killed him, right in his own bed. He does not know what to do now, with his hands, with himself. He was raised to serve this house, and with one slash of the knife the only remaining heir is gone. He thinks only of himself, unable to bear the thought of what is to come.
Fire engulfs the garden's rickety structure. Months of work gone in a mess of haze and smoke. The black chokes them all, unable to escape the rising column.
Blade cuts into flesh. She grimaces but continues to fight. With a flourish she fells two with an edge of grace. Beautiful in its deadly design. She turns again, surveying her own damage. She is made of Veilstuff, ethereal and unfocused, layered within her mortal form are deeper secrets that press her to fight on. Not a dwarf. She lunges as a smaller figure, an elf, comes into frame, knocking into her side with a grunt that collapses them both against the wall. A spell rises from deep within the slighter figure's torso, the wall gives way, crushing the woman, the elf, and several others. The cries from the men as they lift the stone. The elf lies sightless, already dead. The woman lives, is lifted, carried away as the rear guard defends.
He found himself on his feet before the sleep had fully left him, flowing off his body like a discarded garment. With head craned to one side, he listened to the silence of his surroundings. Hello, yes, the voice whispered, echoing in the Fade's remnants still clinging to him. "You knew this true before you set foot in this realm."
Solas lifted his pack back onto his shoulders, the staff secure at his back and strode with purpose toward the eastern wall. There, barely visible, the outline of a stone archway. The entrance was the victim of a cave-in many decades prior. Turning sideways, he managed to slip between the rock and into the hall beyond. The distance thrum of battle, pain, wounds both deep and superficial, and above that, an ancient thread pulled.
Each being who ever was or will ever be has a song. Their own melody, their own words. While most are a simple tune, elves carried within them a symphony. It was one of these symphonies that called to him now, sweetly beckoning. Somewhere in the Fade that still clung, a familiar voice sang to him.
The passage curved and twisted, Solas attempting to move swiftly in spite of the treacherous footing. The carved details visible through the rubble told him that this was the road to another thaig, likely one of the warring factions. Dwelling too close was forever a hazard in ancient dwarven settlements. Allowing one's greed to coexist in the same region only led to bloodshed and ruin. The tug of regret that he would likely not have time to unlock the secrets of either place was shoved violently back down by the utterance of his name.
He emerged from the gap and skittered to a stop, finding the floor beneath him gave way to a gaping maw in the earth. Across from the gash in the stone stood a thaig that rivaled the age of Morolan, parapets stretching upward against the ravages of time. One thin slip of rock still connected the thaig to the wall he stood against, running from the thaig's great hall to the proper entrance, marked by twin paragon statues, their hammers thrust into the air in unity. The true road to Morolan, guarded by the twin sentinels. He suspected the way he had found here was dug out of utility, a quicker way to enter the rival thaig unencumbered by guard. Solas slumped, nearly falling.
She presses herself against the wall, child clinging to her chest. The distant sound of pickaxe scrapes and clangs. Every noise matches the rapid beat of her heart. They're almost through.
Solas shook his head, attempting to clear the last of the Fade's cobwebs from his mind. Waking unnaturally from such a sleep always left shadows. It would be hours before his thoughts were fully his again.
There was a skittering in the dark, then. He'd surprised a few blighted stragglers. He raised a single hand, fingers extended and released a barrier of white energy, halting them where they stood.
She was wounded. Gravely. Nearly bested by one of his own.
One of the darkspawn let out a hiss. The barrier shimmered, his attention had wavered.
Deep breath, sucked in, eyes closed, focus. Focus. Envision it, breathe it into being. Solas raised his fist again and pushed his energy outward, funneling it toward the barrier. The crackle of air as the veil caught fire, split open, sucking those held captive behind his barrier into it. Beast and weaponry pulled upward, pulled apart, pulled into the void beyond this world, into the next. The crackle died, leaving behind only footprints and drops of blood. With a heavy exhale of air he folded in on himself, gasping.
She'd been here. Evelyn had been here. Closer than he'd thought possible. Perhaps that spymaster of hers was more cunning then he'd believed. She'd made it all the way into the thaig, was she seeking the same item of power as he? How did she know about the artifact? Or had she came searching for him?
This hit harder than any physical blow. He'd heard of her injury, heard it was won in battle and that it had happened in the layers beneath the earth, somewhere in the Deep Roads. He hadn't imagined, couldn't have dreamed that it was...
That he had been the cause. His people. His activity. His machinations managing to wound her, even now.
At the entrance, the group he'd traveled with appeared anxious, as if they already knew the result of his investigation. This was something that caused a feeling of deep resentment. So they knew and no one told him that it had been his own scouting party that waged the attack on Evelyn Trevelyan. He wandered which among them would be the most likely to confess, if confronted. To explain why they chose to hide this particular detail.
"We have news, of the Trevelyan woman," one said in a careful way.
"I am certain you do. Pray tell, how did you learn this particular news while I was the only one standing in the aftermath?"
The elf who spoke, Meridyon, a city elf who had been in his ranks now close to a full year, squinted in confusion. "The messenger arrived moments after you left."
"The messenger? The messenger who came to explain to you that Diera and her party had attacked Inquisition forces?"
Meridyon frowned. "What? Did you find Diera? The others?"
"Of course I did," he spat. "I found their stony grave." Solas stared from Meridyon to the others, their faces shocked and surprised. "Are you telling me this is not the news you are attempting to deliver?"
Meridyon shifted uneasily and extended her hand. There was a beautiful embossed envelope within it, the paper shimmery and expensive. The seal had been broken, the wax imprint two joined symbols that could only mean one thing. He removed the thick card from within.
"They said you had demanded any word, any change be delivered immediately," Merridyon continued. "They rode all night, after intercepting this in Denerim. This explains the other oddities we've tracked."
Oddities. The first indication of the sea change was when the first sightings of Starkhaven forces began again to stream in. Heightened military presences were always of note, but this one flew a banner of ambassadorship and headed up the front path to Skyhold's gates. Notable for many reasons, not the least of which was how long the forces lingered, Whatever they were doing with the Inquisition, it was a sustained effort. He'd thought it not related to the Vael boy, not after all this time without a word, without a hint of gossip.
It seems he had been mistaken.
There was to be a wedding, after all.