Time moved at a different pace in the place between worlds. While Warren rode through the sleepy woods, arriving at his destination just as the evening fire had extinguished, and Evelyn paced in front of her leaded glass windows, once again unable to sleep, Solas had journeyed to the last sanctum of the woman now known as Flemeth. She had smiled secretly when she saw him, as if she'd been waiting. As he'd anticipated, she gave of herself willingly, and without argument. He'd sat with the shell, the remnant, for as long as he could bear. The shades in this area would grow restless from the release of power that now scarred this part of the Fade. They would be angry, confused, apt to lash out in a way that would prove unfortunate. She had deserved a better end, in this form. It had served her well for ages, allowing her to perform the act of puppetry she'd loved. Not puppetry. What had she called it? A push?
And sometimes a shove.
The act of hima'durgen seemed to rip the air from his lungs. Too long since he had practiced it, too weak still from his sleep. Solas staggered to the Eluvian and pressed his palm against the liquid surface, willing himself to push forward, to push through. The Crossroads were a welcome site, even as silent and desolate as he now found them. There was a time when he could never have walked these paths alone, where the bustle and noise of hundreds would have echoed, and now solitude was all that awaited him within this space between. It is not for long, he reminded himself, his jaw set firm with a renewed sense of purpose.
Inside his head, the spirit of Mythal wrestled with his thoughts, attempting to gain control. Weary though he was, she was no match for his resolve and she quickly quieted, sulking somewhere in the recesses of his being, biding her time. Eventually, she would find her place within him, find some way to coexist in peace and comfort. As the days wore on she would knit herself into the fabric of himself, merging until her presence was as natural and familiar as his own hands. For now, however, best to try to keep her docile.
He rounded the corner, feet clumsy and head heavy as if he were drunk, and found himself relieved to see the portal in sight. He needed a good rest, perhaps some nourishment, and then he could begin the complicated process of sorting out his new knowledge, his new power. Passing through the mirror, he was immediately overwhelmed with the influx of sound and noise, activity. A pair near the entrance dropped the pelts they were carrying and rushed to his side. With an irritated look he waved them away. "I am not injured. Se'vara. Have bread sent up. And water."
In the upper levels, he slumped into a large chair near the wide windows that overlooked the center of his operations: a bustling courtyard humming with work. Within moments a hand had placed a tray with his requests and a few missives that had arrived during his absence onto the adjacent table. He made a sound he hoped was interpreted as a "thank you" and closed his eyes, allowing his head to loll against the back of his chair. He needed just a moment to recharge, to regain himself before he could return to Skyhold. Then he would take the mark, take his leave, leave her to her own damned sense of purpose and importance, and proper, organized love with what little time she had left.
He slipped into the fevered dreams one only had in a place such as this: a place of one's own creation. When one walked the Fade for as long as he had, one learned certain methods to protect, to hide, to conceal. He built this fortress as he had many others, out of the ether, and ensured that it could not be found on any map, or by any landmark. The Eluvian which led to this place led to nowhere for anyone not given the proper passage protocols. These failsafes had not yet proven necessary, as there was no one left who knew the Crossroads well enough to make it this far, but experience taught him never to take anything for granted.
He saw Evelyn bow before a crowded hall, a crown placed on her head made of the same filament that once graced the structures of Arlathan. She wore golden gleaming armor beneath a robe of shimmery white. He watched as the building around her crumbled and blew away into dust, the people within in desiccating and crumbling in a similar fashion. She stared at him evenly, and what he saw in her gaze was the same recognition he'd witnessed in her quarters. I know.
The image shimmered, and he found himself standing in the grove that once bore the name of Ghilan'nain. The firelight from her pyre throwing shadows both familiar and terrifying. The gristly crunch of birth that heralded her new creation, scent of animal hide and fire. Horror and fascination in equal parts. Not wishing to witness it again, he turned to roam the halls, the screams of awareness echoing in the chamber behind him.
In his dream he then wandered a place not unlike the Crossroads, wide avenues of brick and stone that stretched into all directions with no clear ending to any. In the center stood a glimmering gazebo made of white mist that gave off its own light without the aid of flame. Within stood a small and simple silver fountain from which the sound of splashing water could be heard. The sight of it made his heart feel as if it had been turned to stone. Her presence, then. Behind him, but not visible. "Why have you brought me here?" he asked sadly. "And how? I did everything I could to keep you silent."
"You invited me, da'len," her voice was like leaves whispering over the stone. "You seek me still, despite your denials."
"I do not need you to attempt to talk me out of this," he said, quiet anger hidden behind his words. "You tried once before to prevent me from my path, and look what that did to you."
"They would have taken my life from me eventually. You know this. You were a part of that desire, but not the entirety of it. I spoke too much, too often; I spat truths they did not agree with. The easiest way for cowards to snuff out an idea they fear is to snuff out the font."
"They failed. Your words endured, but they twisted them to fit their own purpose."
"Is that not what history does?"
"She is afraid of the same, you know."
"I know. Pity you chose not to let her see it through."
He was quiet then, hands folded in front of him, shoulders slumped. "I have no choice. I did not intend for any of this to happen."
"And yet, it did. Time changes all, and a time inhabited by mortals changes faster than any other. You can either embrace that change, or you can behave like a petulant child, tearing apart that which offends you."
Her words were gentle, yet the rage still flared within him. "You think my plan childish? Is that what you've garnered from your time rummaging about in my thoughts? You would rather condemn our people to what they have become? Terrified children hiding in the shadows, unable to appreciate the gifts they lost because they possess neither the imagination nor the lifespan? Would you not grant it all to them, if you could?"
"And you care nothing for the cost of that?"
She came into his thoughts unbidden then, flashes of ember-colored hair in the morning sunlight, the smooth expanse of her sun-bronzed skin beneath his fingers, the gentle quiet laugh she gave when he whispered into her ear. "Am I to abandon our legacy for the love of one woman?" he said quietly, in disbelief. "That is what you would tell me to do? That is your grand counsel? Did my love for you not…" his voice broke then, thick with emotion. "Did it not cause the destruction of our world? Would you ask me to allow that devastation to continue simply because I once again carelessly gave my heart?"
"You are many things, da'fen. Careless with your heart has never been one of them."
There was only silence for a moment, his head bowed. "I cannot sacrifice our people. Not even for her." With his eyes closed, he focused on forcing her away, hiding her in a corner with other unwelcome thoughts.
When he awoke the fire in his suite had been cold for hours, his bread still untouched beside the chair. He rose stiffly, finding his neck in quite a bit of pain. Solas searched his thoughts for any lingering semblance of Mythal's unwelcome presence and found himself relieved to find no trace.
It remained that way as he prepared, her voice silent as his power redeveloped and grew. As he mapped out the surgical extraction needed to regain Evelyn's misbegotten anchor, his forces prepared for their journey ahead, packing crates to the brim with weapons, sigils, runes, and armor. His generals argued late into the night, opinions running hot as the forges where their artisans hs forged lyrium-infused swords and greaves. This was a great siege engine, preparing for his final battle.
It was on the eve of his re-entry into the waking world, Evelyn's world, that Mythal returned, her whispers like cold claws on his spine. "You cannot silence me forever. I will always be here. I will always be the conscience that haunts you in your darkest hour."
Solas stood at the windows in his suite, outfitted for battle. There would be no sleep for him this night. "Why do you come to me now?"
"Because you move with every moment further from that which I loved. I will not allow you to become what she can no longer care for."
"And why do you have say in such things? A chance meeting with her once does not make you her protector."
The low, itching laugh. "Foolish boy. Do not think you can dismiss her the way you attempt to dismiss me. I have known her longer than you. I watched her rise from the ashes of her once-great house to become what she must. I have witnessed her birth. Her mother saw a golden eagle on the horizon the hour before she emerged. The midwife told her it was a blessing. I heard her fervent prayers throughout her childhood. I loved her first, and I delivered you to her like a pretty package, all wrapped up for Feastday."
Solas stood, dumbstruck. When he at last found his tongue, he managed weakly, "She drank from the Well…"
The laugh again. "And you took my essence."
"Why?" he said sadly. "Why would you do this?"
"I gave you what you always wanted."
"All I ever wanted was my freedom. You know this."
"No. You wanted to be loved."
"It is too late for that."
"Is it, now?"
The hand on his arm, firm and unyielding, ripped him from the dream like a hot poker on the skin. He found himself gasping into the terrified face of Se'vara.
"You shouted. We thought..." her mouth twisted in consternation. "To be fair, I'm not sure what I thought."
Solas rose and began tossing items into a rucksack, sketches of the anchor, a few blue bottles half full of a glowing brew, a knife with a green-tinted edge. "Are you leaving again, then? We hadn't had time to prepare for your arrival, there are still questions from some of the others..." she trailed off again.
"Answers will come in time. Trust the plan."
She nodded, hands worrying the edge of her tunic. "When?"
He paused. "When?"
"When will we have answers? We've been preparing, waiting for the first strike we thought was imminent."
"I have received new information I must sort out before we can proceed."
"In dreams?" she asked. The question innocent, yet laden with implication.
"It would take too much time to explain." He turned to her then, this girl who had been a barmaid in Denerim when he found her: dirty, angry, kept too long from the truth of her heritage. Under his tutelage she had become a force to be reckoned with, uncovering a keen eye for strategy and a knowledge of the information networks of the world that rivaled any spymaster he'd met. With both hands on her shoulders, he looked deeply into her face, now marked with the lines of knowledge, time, and dedication. "Do you trust me, Se'vara?"
The warmth flooded into her eyes as she nodded. "I do."
"Then keep them patient until I return."
She watched as he left, slipping through the portal into the rocky terrain of the world beyond. His responses grew cryptic when he did not wish to tell them the whole truth. And when he did not wish to tell them the whole truth, the reasoning was usually the human woman known as Evelyn Trevelyan.
The damned shems had kept me from this life for too long, she thought bitterly as she moved through the halls. The seed of discontent settled into her belly.
At the other end of the path traveled between this place and Skyhold, another woman with rough-hewn hands and dreams of a better life whispered a secret to a new friend. That friend told the soldier she met beneath the moon's glow that evening, who spread it to his bunkmates upon his return. One of those bunkmates rose and met the blacksmith's assistant for a quick game of cards before his shift at the training grounds. "Oh ye," the assistant coughed. "Heard that one." He laid his cards before the soldier.
"Fucking hell," the soldier slammed down another coin in irritation. "I'm always the last to know."
"I would say that honor lays with your lord."
The soldier picked at his nails. "You think no one's told him?"
"Nah, no one would have the guts. Shame really. Usually they reward information like that, if you can help them save face. Fancy lords always want to save face."
"He might not be so keen to learn. Might be a bit angry, take it out on me."
"That's why you don't tell him directly, fool," the blacksmith's assistant spat into the dirt. "You tell someone else. Like one of his stewards. They'll give you good coin and handle the unpleasantries."
The soldier leaned back against the wall and considered this information. He thought of the girl, Bess, the one who had given him this information. He thought about the pretty things he could buy her, if he only had a few extra pieces of gold.
Above them, from her position high upon her balcony, Evelyn watched for Warren's return and news that her secret was safe. That she was safe.