Ch 10 – Finding Purpose
Solas took quill to paper, careful not to drip ink. It was quick, but it would have to do. He scribbled a fairly accurate map with notes, a legend, and instructions on an accompanying page. A miserable smile curled at his lips as he remembered Lavellan had asked him to draw maps once.
It was a wonder she ever spoke to me again.
The early days of the Inquisition, in the Hinterlands.
They were walking constantly and they'd been desperate for horses, and out of gold. Lavellan seemed particularly nervous about something. She kept fiddling with her hair and it was distracting him. He'd already tripped over a root and stubbed his toe. Did she have to touch her hair? He wondered what she'd look like if it was long. Would it curl? Would it lay flat? Would she braid it? He thought it would be very soft and he'd like to run his fingers in it.
She tucked some errant strands of hair behind her ears and asked, "Solas, maybe we could make use of your artistic skills instead of throwing coin away on maps. What do you think?"
He probably should have really listened to her question, but instead it was just an interruption from his new favorite activity watching her. Lavellan's hair, her face, her thighs were quite nice and her rear in those pants? Spectacular. Her interruption made him slow down walking. Her lips were very… plush. They were also a little dry, with teeth marks in them because she kept biting her lips. Was that a nervous habit of hers?
He furrowed his brow and stared at her with a firm expression. He needed to stop looking at her all the time, she was practically dancing around in his vision when he shut his eyes. He did not have any attraction what-so-ever to this little elf. To even call her that was insulting. She was as elvhen as a nug. But he could understand how someone might find her attractive. Someone that wasn't him.
What was the question? Maps? Drawing maps for the Inquisition? He felt the muscles on his face contort with a sneer. He gave enough to the Inquisition. And as for drawing? He would rather draw her than maps. He could enjoy her modeling for him…
He was tired of staring at her, tired of wanting to get a little bit closer to see the colors in her eyes. They were green, but the edges seemed almost brown. He wanted to reach out and see if her cheeks were as soft as they looked.
No. No this needed to stop. He let a huff escape his lips and his nostrils flared as a vein throbbed in his forehead.
"Would you also have me mend your clothes? I already donate my skills, what else do you want of me?" He snapped at her, practically bristling like an irate porcupine.
Solas wanted to just stomp off into the woods. Didn't he do enough? He put up with her constantly being so… affable. It was enough to drive him insane. She was likeable, she was friendly. Lavellan was thoughtful, eager to learn, and genuinely funny. She was kind. She was open minded! It must have been a miracle or an accident in her Dalish upbringing, because she didn't judge him for being barefaced. She never treated him as less than.
Yes, she could blunder her way through conversations as she tried to carefully navigate social situations without offending anyone, but she was truly a lovely person. Her difficult life changed into one that was nearly impossible – because of him.
Solas didn't want to feel more guilt. It would be easier if he thought she were an asshole. If she were just like the Dalish, judgmental and small-minded. They had turned him away when he came to them with knowledge and offers to help them reclaim what they'd lost. They mocked him, jeered and taunted him, practically spat at him. If she were just like them, then he'd not feel such churning anxiety about the events he set into motion and the fate of the future. After everything was dealt with and the monster with his orb defeated, when it was time for him to finally tear down the veil, would he send her to her doom? He didn't want to think about it. It shouldn't be a hard choice to make. His people or hers. She was not one of the people. None of the Dalish or the city elves or any one of them walking on Thedas was worth being upset about. She made it harder. Each day he felt a warmer draw toward her. He blamed the mark. That had to be the source, the magic in the anchor was trying to find its way home to him. That's why he wanted to take her hand in his and run his finger across-
Someone like her shouldn't exist!
None of them should exist.
The woman looked at a loss for words. She stammered nervously, "I'm sorry I just-"
He cut her off.
"You just assumed." He nearly growled it. Then he stiffened his shoulders and turned from her.
Lavellan looked at him with those damn doe eyes, as innocent looking as a newborn halla. Did she have to look at him with such empathy? Solas didn't deserve her caring and her warmth. He was used to people mocking him, scoffing at his thoughts and actions, or outright ignoring him. Someone's hate was easier to stomach than a person's caring touch. A person who listened to him was practically unheard of. An ally that valued his opinions? It was terribly refreshing.
This woman made him feel better about himself. She respected him without a doubt and she listened to him. He was sick of it.
She made him want to be there, to walk by her side, to watch her tuck hair behind her ears, to see her freckles in the sunlight, to keep her safe, to keep her company…
He would think of those lips and it made him feel a stirring that he was not comfortable with. Lavellan wore a stunned expression at his reply. She flinched and looked away.
She was not innocent. Did she have to seem so utterly good, when he had seen her murder people? Sure, she only killed 'bad guys', but what did that matter? He was a bad guy too and yet she would be more likely to hug him than harm him.
She did not deserve to be treated like one of the people. She was a flawed pathetic little smidge of elf, with her bloodlines probably so diluted with the quickening – that was his fault - that she'd live for maybe 80 or so years in total. Solas had seen pets live longer in Elvhenan. It would be unheard of her her to be valued above a pet, and yet he did value her.
This world was cruel and dark and all wrong. All these mortals were insignificant and ignorant gnats, not worth his time, not worth his empathy, not worth his efforts to save. None of them were worth saving – not even her. What would he do when the Fade returned to Thedas? Would he whisk her away and keep her as his own? She could live her life beside him knowing what he was going to do? Even she deserved freedom, to determine her own fate – except no matter what, he was going to ruin any plans she or anyone else could ever have for the future.
That was fine with him. The world as it was didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve her.
He'd make a new world, a better world.
When the ink had dried, he sent the newly drawn map and letter off with a raven. Fen'Harel had given his agents the location of the object he needed; He had known of it from memory. Long ago it had been moved for safe-keeping. Then it had been disturbed since, but he found it again walking the Fade for thousands of years. He had provided his agents with a multitude of maps; maps of the Ocularum, powerful objects, places of interest, and the location of elven artifacts used to strengthen the veil.
Solas surmised that the Inquisitor would be furious if she knew she'd inadvertently prepared the veil to be destroyed. They did strengthen the veil; He just simply omitted information about their purpose; He was their creator. They kept the veil together by supporting its weakest points, as a way to preserve his hard work during his long sleep. The veil was weaker in some areas, and stronger in others. The orbs helped hold the veil together, like the leading between sections of stained glass. He had never wanted the Evanuris or other horrors escaping from his trap.
The Inquisitor, with his help, had activated many of the orbs, but not all. His agents were tasked with activating the remainder, as well as picking up items he steered them towards. Some things could be bought, easily done. For the most useful items, there would likely be blood spilled. Solas had planned to activate them all, then he would use their power to take down the veil, whole. If he tried to tear it down without their aid, he'd still have bits of veil here and there to deal with that would prevent the successful reunification of the Fade with the world. By strengthening the veil, he could pull it out like a pane of glass from a window in one fell swoop.
Soon, he would tear it all down.
Two days earlier in the Hissing Wastes.
The Venatori stumbled across a camp, recently abandoned, in the desert sands. They scowled and kicked through the now cold campfire, sending charcoal flying across the area. They scouted ahead, suspicious of anyone that might have been there before them. They were after a powerful item for their master. Their search proved fruitful hours later, when they sighted strange elves venturing past ruins and into a cave. The Venatori commander glared daggers at them. These elves were much taller than those in Tevinter. They wore golden armor and hooded cloaks. It was hard to make out much more in the heat with sand constantly barraging them in the face. The Venatori tried to follow the elves, but the closer they got the stranger they appeared to be. They did not look like the Dalish; They had bare faces. They did not look like city elves; they were much too well fed. They were not freed slaves from Tevinter or from the Qun, they moved with too much pride; These elves weren't hunched over or fearful. After one mighty gust of wind made the Venatori turn away to shield their eyes, they lost sight of the elves.
These elves were different. They were neither Dalish nor City elves. They worked for Fen'Harel as his agents. They had pledged themselves to the cause; They were proud to be restoring their people, their kingdom. The agents of Fen'Harel made their way out of the desert, heading southwest. They had left with something ancient and powerful, something that was warm and pulsed with a magic that held the rhythm of a heartbeat. It had simply been powerful in ancient times, now it would be world changing. It was locked up in a chest and the elves carried it through the dunes and over craggy paths. Fen'Harel had a plan to restore the people and they were the means for him to enact it. They dreamt of what was possible.
Later that night, the commander sat in his tent and mulled over their findings. He wrote to his master and patron with a hasty scrawl. After rolling up the letter, he thought twice about sending it on a raven. "Let us investigate further, I won't come off as inept." He tucked the letter away.
The commander's life ended when they were happened upon by the Inquisition. He never did send that raven.
That evening in the Fade, Solas struggled with his conscience and found that his memories were replaying around him for him to relive again and again. It was torturous.
He took a deep breath and tried to clear his thoughts, bring up a good memory, something that would help calm him.
He opened his eyes to campsite in the pouring rain. It was muddy, the sky was a blanket of darkness, and the area around him smelled of damp grasses and swampy muck. His breath was cold in the air, like little wisps of smoke. He frowned, cold and wet was not a good or calming memory. He could feel it on his skin and he felt like he was truly there.
Sometimes the Fade could be harmless, and sometimes it was as real as reality itself. He shook off the water from his arms and grumbled. Lightning flashed and he was suddenly in a tent, and it was warmer but only just barely. Then he saw her. He saw them both. He felt a melancholy at this bittersweet memory. After a deep breath, he felt himself merge into his Fade body and relive the moments as if they had never been the past, but the present.
They were in a tent together. Lavellan sat in his lap, a layer of sweat on her skin. He had his hands on her waist and they were quite intimately linked. He marveled at her, his fingers tracing bits of skin. He was very aware of her breath on his skin and the smirk on her lips, even in the darkness.
It had been difficult to see so he let his hand flicker with magic, mimicking her anchor, to give them just enough light to work with. She intertwined her fingers in his. Their hands were like sparking blue and green flares trapped between bodies. He thought he was clever. She seemed to agree and brushed her forehead against his own before kissing his hand. He could still feel her, smell her.
He took her face in his hands and wanted to stare into her eyes, but instead she pushed his hands down to the bedroll and pinned him. He remembered and wanted to laugh. A chuckle escaped his lips and she looked at him with mock outrage.
"You are awfully affectionate for someone who did not want to share my bed…", she had said with a quirking smile. He wanted to reply, truly, but she always managed to steal his breath away. He could tell her how masterful she was but didn't need to inflate her ego. He let her have her fun as she moved a little, rocking her hips against him. The things she could make him feel, make him want to do, it was a wonderful torture. He groaned.
Lavellan ran her teeth over his ear. He would have to compliment her some time. She could unravel him; He had prided himself on his own skills. It was a little embarrassing, but she seemed quite pleased at his stamina. What would take days in the past, she could make him fall apart in well, considerably less time. Mortals had less time to work with, so it made sense that the act itself would not last for days or weeks… but she still made him rethink his own pride.
He intended to show her how to truly enjoy such an experience with a lover, unrushed. There would be time. There was time. There might be. A hint of his pained heart flickered and he clung to the memory, desperately. He could not let her go right now, not here. All he had left were his memories. He would not dare let his present interrupt this past. He needed her.
Solas was breathless, staring at her with love that he wanted to declare for the rest of his immortal life. His aching heart was nearly shredding into bits and pieces in his desire to have this life and forgo his plans. The people had their chance. He should have his chance to live now.
He felt her lips brush his and it pulled him back into the flesh that clung to hers. "Mm..", he laid back on the bedroll with a lazy smile.
Lavellan huffed when he didn't return her eagerness. He closed his eyes and let his head tilt back and a chuckle escaped him. "Ah, well I did not want you to think I was easy to get.", he said quietly with a gravelly voice, thick with growing need and a longing that may have grown since the true memory.
"Oh, well if you don't want to –"
He moved quickly. He rolled her under him and held her hands to the bedroll with a wicked smile. His eyes flickered with a burning blue light and his mana surged. He rocked his hips into hers and she let out a muffled noise into the skin of his neck. Her fingers dug into his hands.
"You were saying?", he said with a growl in his throat that had made her shiver.
Lavellan liked to think herself clever. He had to agree, she was. She also knew how to push his buttons, for better or for ill.
"I was saying you look much too tired…", she said with a snicker of laughter.
"Too tired?", he hissed it. Another thrust had her squirming. Her thighs clenched around his waist. He loved that. A ragged breath escaped his lips and he felt an urge to bite her. He knew that would make her squeal. He hoped the storm was loud enough to cover up the noise, but honestly he didn't care that much. Their friends were understanding and usually discreet, or completely oblivious.
Our friends.
He felt another pang of guilt. Lavellan's teasing voice pulled him back up, like a life preserver to save him from drowning in his own misery.
"I meant too old", she said with a little mockery. Then, he had laughed. Now, it made his heart squeeze and writhe in his chest. She was so young and he couldn't fathom watching her age and –
She stared at him with a wry grin and he felt his cheeks flush with heat. If she was going to give him sass, he'd just have to accept her challenge and sass her right back. He smiled and leaned up to whisper in her ear.
"Then I'll have to prove you wrong. See if you can keep up." He challenged her with a grin that seemed practically predatory.
"You're on-"
He wanted her to regret doubting him. He was not too old, he was not too tired, he was not bored with her – he would never tire of her. If he could keep her for eternity by his side, he would. If only…
They didn't need to be as quiet as usual, the weather outside was a torrent of wind and water. The tent wasn't completely protecting them from the elements, but the warmth of flesh kept them comfortable. As time seemed fly by, they had to call their little competition a draw. Lavellan sprawled out with a satisfied groan and yawned.
Solas scowled that far more resembled a pout; He was confident that he was the victor. It was something he felt the need to prove. He looked at her and she flashed him a dazzling smile. He was impressed by her each and every day. She was practically perfect in her imperfection. He wouldn't tell her though, it would give her an ego, or maybe she'd be angry.
I love how absurd you are. You are truly an awful Dalish elf but I will have you. You are wasted on them.
No, a draw was no good. He smiled as he watched her move with a slow languidness, she was woman ready to sleep. The tent smelled of ozone, sex, and her evening tea. She stretched an arm for her cup. His smile turned up a bit more than it should. Sometimes, he could not hide his feelings from her. Solas hoped to get a reaction from her, but the one he got wasn't what he expected. He loved that she surprised him.
Solas ran a finger up her arm.
She squealed at his unexpected touch and dropped her cup of tea; The contents spilled all over the ground, luckily missing their bedrolls. Each of them froze for a moment, before she laughed. He took the opportunity to pounce, he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her back into the covers.
"But the tea!", she'd giggled.
"It can wait", he'd rumbled as his mouth found her neck.
When she admitted he was the victor he finally felt satisfied. He threw covers over her and she'd laughed, "Do not think I will be satisfied with second place…"
He chuckled and knelt beside her, warming the water and grabbing her pouch of teas. She smiled at him with heavy eyelids. Solas smirked a little. Lavellan was his heart, without a doubt. For her, he would do anything. Almost anything. He made her tea, as loathe as he was to smell it in the air. His chest ached.
Tonight, he could be what she needed. He could be the man that deserved her, though he knew he didn't. The Inquisitor, his woman, his heart tried to keep her head up, but her eyes kept closing. It amused him to no end. The woman seemed to fight every battle ever placed in her path. She was remarkable and stubborn and wonderful.
He whispered in her ear when the tea was finished steeping, but her eyes did not open. She breathed the steady slow breaths of a dreamer.
"Vhenan…", he brushed his lips against her cheek.
He let her rest and he just took in the sight of her, the scent of her, the feel of her. When his own senses flagged and his head dipped one too many times, he begrudgingly got out of the warmth of the covers. He took the tea and poured it outside the tent flaps and climbed back into the bedroll with her. Her hair tickled against his nose. Her feet were cold as ice against his warm legs, as if she purposefully tried to steal all of his warmth like some sort of sleeping demon. His arms wrapped around her and he felt her settle against him. He smiled and held her until sleep claimed him.
He hadn't deserved her then. Now, he deserved her even less.
The memories were bittersweet. He could practically feel her, touch her, smell her – but it was all he could ever have of her again. His eyes blinked back tears and the smile on his lips faltered.
A figure approached Solas from behind. He froze initially, heart skipping a beat. He didn't want to share her, his memories of her, with anyone. He forced the Fade to shape to his will and cleared the area. It stood as simply rocks and ground, nothing more.
"Reminiscing?", they asked as they drew closer still.
Solas said nothing as they put a hand on his shoulder. He knew their voice and touch. He relaxed just a little bit. It was firm, strong, and immediately calming. He felt reassured. He was on the right path. Everything he was doing was necessary. It might be painful, but it would work.
"Sulevin", he breathed out as if their name were a comfort in and of itself.
His friend smiled at him with a familiarity from their companionship through the ages. Sulevin had been by his side for most of his long, long life. They knew the true man behind the blue-grey eyes. Solas was a friend and had grown much, but he needed spirits like them, like Wisdom. They understood him. They had affection for him. They were ancient and Solas was comparably, just a child under their care. To them, Solas was just a little one, often lost to his overflowing emotions. He let out a weary sigh as he turned toward them.
"I wasn't expecting you so soon…", he said to the spirit.
"You had need. I am here." They said plainly, bowing their forehead to his.
The spirit was both beautiful and powerful with a stature that would tower over modern elves.
He'd only woken a scant few years earlier, but already he was letting this world sink into his bones and change him. When he saw a modern elf before him, he had been stunned. They were so small. He had seen them in the Fade, but the reality of it was startling. He had not expected them to be a good two heads shorter than he was. It made him feel the distance between them, the years. Solas had changed his shape enough to fit in with these people instead of standing out. Even after his efforts to be smaller, he was still taller than most elves in this new world. He frowned at the size difference between them. He stayed small because it would reassure those he still need The world seemed larger when he was smaller. He was so used to being their size that he didn't bother to return to his true height in the Fade or in the waking world. It was a waste of magic. He didn't have enough to waste on vanity. But still, it irked him.
They were not his people, they were something else, something lesser. Sometimes it was hard to hold onto that. It was his people that mattered. The mortals were just a flicker in time, a mistake to correct. They suffered because of their short lives – and he would bring an end to the suffering. It was more humane to return the world to the way it was.
The spirit kept their hand on his shoulder. It was firm and made him feel smaller. After a few moments, Solas's muscles released some of the tension he had coiled up inside.
The spirit embodied the essence of Purpose; They took the name Sulevin in the Elvhen language, using it interchangeably with Purpose over the millennia. They had a long head of hair, braided in a sophisticated display that seemed to speak of rank and status. They wore armor that had fine and decorative embellishments. Their face was long, with high cheek bones and full lips. They had been beautiful and terrible when Solas had first met them, but they helped direct him since then. Both Purpose and Wisdom had been there since almost the very beginning of his life. They could seem overwhelming, as if their very existence pulled at something deep within him. Sometimes they were his confidantes, and sometimes they helped him see the error of his ways or see the deeds of others through objective lenses.
Shortly after the attack on Haven, only days before Wisdom's death, Solas met with his friend in the Fade. She had been intrigued when Solas spoke of the Inquisitor.
"She reminds me of someone…", Wisdom said with a stifled chuckle.
She thoughtfully guided him to navigate around the social cues of the Inquisition, of modern people. Wisdom had a knowing smirk when he seemed impressed by Lavellan. He had thought of the woman often in the Fade, enough so to share some bits of the life he was living with Wisdom herself.
"Let's hope not", Solas said stiffly, crossing his arms. He saw the comparison and it worried him. Lavellan had accrued power and she could use it for better or ill. He would not want to see her travel dark paths, to watch the world fall at her feet and burn, possibly from her good intentions.
Wisdom moved closer to him, standing by his side. Wisdom had found him when his recklessness of youth and fury would have led to his death and the death of many others. Wisdom's death, her demise, it broke something in him. She was a friend but she was also his family. She didn't judge him, she just listened and gave insight.
She saw him for what he was, someone scared of what he felt compelled to do. She saw that he might lose himself along the way. She did not always agree with Purpose, or Solas. She did not like to see her friend suffer, and he had been suffering for so long. They two were the only companions he had over the thousands of years he slept, walking the Fade and seeing the world he once loved turned to something nearly unrecognizable. A lesser man would have gone insane. Solas, he held onto his hope because of them.
Wisdom looked at him. She let him talk, let him share what he felt he could, what he was willing to. She saw how his views were changing. How much was from the Inquisitor? The woman seemed to have a dramatic impact on Solas and rejuvenated his spirit.
Wisdom saw potential. She counseled him, "Paths are not always to be walked alone. They can be shared. We should learn from the mortals, as their time is precious. One must seize happiness when they can."
Her words didn't seem to move him at the time. She wouldn't live to see if he would take such words to heart.
"Are you asking me to just forget the past, what I've done?" Solas asked, looking at Wisdom incredulously.
She shook her head, "No, remember but do not punish yourself. Guilt is a glutton and will consume you if you let it."
Solas was a wonderful friend, but he had so much bitterness in his heart. He had felt so much loss, it was staggering. She helped him become wise when he could be reckless and foolish; She hoped gentle guidance would be enough to help him stay true to himself.
Solas had only considered the Inquisitor a lovely distraction, at best. Wisdom had encouraged him to try to see her differently. It was a hard thing to do, considering he had killed a loyal subject, a friend even, for thinking the mortals were worth saving. When Wisdom fell, his direction seemed scattered.
Purpose was the larger of the two. They were a head taller than Solas, even when he was his proper height. Wisdom was more reserved and thoughtful. Purpose was her counterbalance, with more passion and spontaneity. He felt so small beside them, as if they towered over him much like strict parents might stand over their wayward children. He wouldn't be alive without them; He certainly wouldn't have survived in the ancient times without them.
Following Wisdom's death, Solas sought out Sulevin for comfort, to grieve.
He was filled with fury and wanted to act. Living in Skyhold had brought back a wash of emotions that he struggled to suffocate under his placid façade. After the loss of Wisdom, Solas's tenuous hold on his darker impulses were slipping. It would not help matters that Purpose would have no one to keep them in check. Solas tried to push his pain down deep, deeper than his other hurts. He thought he could be the supportive one, to help Purpose process their own grief. Maybe this way, they could grieve together.
Instead, Sulevin doubled down, pushing him to act as if driven by Wisdom's demise.
"The people cannot wait. Each day makes them that much weaker, the culture that much more lost to time. Would you let them all die so the mortals can have another day to war, another day to enslave, another day to suffer?"
Solas shook his head and the Fade changed around them to a familiar place, Skyhold. It was the Skyhold of old, his castle, his home. Sometimes it was so difficult to think in the Fade, too many memories, too many whispers of the past. Ancient flags made of magic, instead of cloth, waved in a multitude of colors. Everything shimmered and felt warm. The aravels floated as a group of traveling elves used magic to unload their belongings onto the grounds of his keep. The people here had been driven. They had purpose. They had been happy and looked forward to a glorious future. This was a fond memory, before the fall. Before Mythal's murder. Before everything went to shit.
He stepped out onto a parapet and gazed at the courtyard below; Beautiful ironbark trees lined the walkways, and the garden was densely covered in a canopy, overflowing with richly colored plants, plants that now no longer existed. He could practically smell the scent on the breeze.
Sulevin wanted him to act, but he needed to stay with the Inquisition until they defeated Corypheus. He needed his foci. He needed that power back to do what must be done. It had nothing to do with his growing feelings for the Inquisitor. He couldn't stop himself, his eyes glancing again and again to a familiar balcony. His heart lurched. It had been his room. It was her room
Solas ached for his friend and felt lost. She had always given him guidance, tempered him. Purpose had always been the one to push him when he needed to be pushed. Purpose helped him make the hard choices. Wisdom helped him consider his options.
Wisdom is gone.
"Imagine what could be done…", Sulevin said with a voice that impressed upon Solas's thoughts.
He furrowed his brow and his heart felt strangled. True, soon he could bring back the people, but what about her? She had given everything for this world, and he'd just destroy it and her with it. Was she not worth saving?
"I didn't think I could be drawn away, but-", He started to explain.
"-But your purpose has been clear for ages." Said the spirit before they removed their hand from his shoulder.
She changed me.
Solas smiled pitifully. He would give anything just to see her again, one last time. He had lost so many people in his long life. Every one of them put a scar on his heart. He thought he had grown enough to be cold and uncaring, to shield himself from feeling so strongly.
He was wrong. He still had the passion of his youth, though he tempered it as much as possible.
Purpose stood over him and spoke clearly, firmly. "The world is at stake. The people need you more now, than ever."
"And I failed them once! Look at what happened!" The Fade shifted like liquid across glass, showing an elven alienage. There were hungry children and gaunt adults with naked faces. They lived in tiny hovels, stacked upon each other, fire racing through and claiming many lives. Their sacred tree burned, as did their hopes. Then the Fade shimmered and shifted again, to angry elves with slave markings on their faces, warring with humans over scraps. Others still lived in chains and submit to the Qun, or were subjected to horrors at the hands of Tevinter slavers and magisters.
His eyebrows knit together. His eyes flickered with a shadow of his pain, his loss.
Purpose shook their head and their braids jostled delicately against their fine skin. Solas had been broken after the horrible discovery that sealing away the Evanuris had destroyed the delicate balance between the waking world and the Fade. He'd been too weak to even rise for thousands of years. It had been torture. He had been in agony, terrorized by his failures and this new world that was brewing and growing like a cancer. He'd slept and dreamt through battlefields and watched familiar places fall to ruin.
Surely, Solas would have gone mad if not for the friends had been there with him the entire time. They consoled him, held him, let him weep for the people long since dead, the people he had inadvertently doomed. It was a tragedy. Solas was a man that had not been dealt a good set of cards in his young life. Somehow, he survived. Faced with impossible odds and a situation that was out of control, he had done his best, and his best wasn't good enough. Purpose did feel pity for their friend. The elf needed their gentle guidance more now than ever. Solas needed reassurance. He needed to be confident in his goals.
"You had to. It was the only way. You know that. What other choice was there? Annihilation."
Solas turned to his friend with reddened eyes, "What happens if I fail again?"
"You cannot fail. There is nothing stopping you now." They said calmly, juxtaposed with Solas, the smaller elf, who breathed heavily and stared up at them. He nearly shook with the efforts of containing his emotions. He felt like a dam might just burst. His control was the one thing he had left.
And if I can't do it?
Solas felt the words die before they reached his lips. Instead, he let out a ragged sigh.
Sulevin looked at their friend with genuine concern, bending slightly so they could be face to face. The smaller elf stared at them, looking so much younger for a moment. Solas always had such a fire to him, that even with age hadn't completely snuffed out. Purpose knew he was possible of great feats, but the world was in chaos and needed him to get make sense of it all.
The spirit took his hands in their own and squeezed them firmly but gently.
"You will do what is needed, not because it is easy, but because it is right."
It didn't feel right.