Ch 14 Strange Elves

People whispered of strange elves that had been sighted across Thedas. They were described as tall otherworldly looking elves with scarlet tattoos on their faces. They were associated with bloodied corpses, worship of ancient beings, and ritual sacrifice. They were monsters. They were demons. They were vicious and left no survivors. Some was truth, some just fears and fiction.

The strange elves were strangers to the Dragon Age, leftovers from an age without name. They were taller than modern elves by far. They spoke quietly, their voices a throaty whisper carried on the breeze. They were covert and stealthy, moving in and out of shadows as if they were incorporeal. They seemed able to communicate in complete silence, using the movement of their eyes and hands without needing to speak. Their words were fluid gestures that seemed full of emotion, with body language that spoke depths.

These were the elves of The Tirashan, the forested lands west of Orlais that were walled off by the Hunterhorn Mountains. In these lands, there were no survivors besides the elves that called the forest home. Anyone that strayed into their lands died without question. They kept watch over Thedas, patrolling for signs of the Evanuris's return. They were considered dangerous and bloodthirsty savages by all who encountered them over the thousands of years they'd inhabited these lands. Most of these strange elves proudly wore their blood vallaslin as a testament to their faith, but some did not. Many wanted to be freed of their tattoos, their slave brands.

These strange elves were not a singular people; They had been survivors of the fall of the veil, the lucky and unlucky few who survived and banded together. They shunned the Dalish and the city elves alike. They remembered their history, they remembered their gods. They held the anger of their people, the fury of the elvhen slaves, and the horrors they survived.

Solas pulled his cloak tightly against himself and leaned against his staff with an exhaustion that was more of spirit than body. The journey to the forest was tiresome, more so because of his heavy heart and the plague of doubts that infiltrated his mind. He feared that he was making a terrible mistake, but kept moving forward. He had to rectify his past sins, he had to save his people. It was at the sacrifice of others, and he had grown fond of some of them. He would make the best of their sacrifice, he would remember them. It was the best he could do. There was no other way.

Solas lifted his head to gaze upon the expanse of trees before him. He had arrived at The Tirashan. The forest was mighty and dark and exactly what they wanted the world to image it was, terrifying. Branches hung like outstretched arms with wicked clawed hands, grasping out for anyone that dared enter. The grass looked desolate, the air itself felt wicked and was thin as if he were already standing in the mountains. It was hard to breathe. Solas let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and looked to the trees closest to the edge of the treeline. His eyes flashed a bright blue, illuminating the runes adorning the trunks of the trees. The forest was heavily warded. With a wave of his hand the wards were dispelled and a golden light shined through. The illusion warbled as if it were an image conjured by heat in a desert and a warmth illuminated his form, making his skin feel a tingle of magic.

Solas stepped forward with his hood hiding much of his face. The air flowed around him with a rich scent of flowers and tree pollen. It made his nose tickle a bit. He passed the magical boundary of the Tirashan Forest. The runes glowed briefly before they sputtered and vanished. He felt a suction draw at the fabric of his clothes and heard a quiet pop as the wards flared back to life behind him. The illusion, outside of this protected bubble, would look ominous and dark. He faced the reality of the forest, a safe haven for the surviving Elvhen people.

The Tirashan Forest was glorious.

Golden trees with white bark stood tall and proud. The grasses were hues of reds, oranges, yellows, and patches of green with blossoming flowers. Most species of plant and tree here were unique to their time, and extinct elsewhere in Thedas. The life in this forest would be seen as fantasy, but they were simply left over relics from their age, their time, their world. White halla mulled about in forest, elegantly stepping through flowering brush to find their next meal. Fruit trees grew in abundance, heavy with their ripening produce. They cultivated no orchards, but grafted branches from desired trees to others. With the aid of their efforts and magic, life here prospered.

Solas watched the halla briefly, letting a calmness sink into his very bones. This was the last place he could feel a taste of home, feel like all of the past danger and present pain was just a nightmare and nothing more. The hooved creatures moved with grace and their white pelts seemed to sparkle like coated in crushed diamonds. He smiled despite himself.

One mighty halla towered over the rest, its rack of antlers more impressive than the other males. Its ears flicked and its head turned, its eyes focusing on something unseen.

Solas felt it too. He was not alone.

A dozen figures moved through the forest and thick undergrowth. They moved silently and were nearly impossible for him to see amongst the shadows, blending in effortlessly. He could feel their auras, sense their mana. He looked like a weary traveler, a harmless wanderer, except for the staff that was no walking stick. Weapons were trained on him; He knew they were to shoot first and ask questions second.

Solas stood still and waited, watching the shadows. They would make the first move.

An arrow was loosed at least 50 yards away and flew for his head. He was surprised at the speed of it, the accuracy – based on the distance of the archer, was impressive indeed. His eyes glowed and the arrow froze in the air before him. He drew his eyes away from the shadows to the arrow itself. The fletching was made by hand and expertly crafted, the arrowhead itself poisoned and sharp as could be. He plucked the arrow from the air and noticed movement ahead. Out of the shadows stepped a cloaked figure with crimson vallaslin on their copper skin. The tattoos swirled, moving as if alive.

"Greetings", Solas said with a slight nod as he drew his hood down. The other elf smiled and blinked their eyes with a cat like stare.

"Welcome back, Fen'Harel", said the elf. Their voice was soft spoken, but so smooth and silky it would put most at ease. It was the sort of liquid-like silken voice that would help someone drift off to sleep. Solas knew better, they'd be more likely to slit someone's throat than read them a bed time story.

The elf stood quite tall, taller than he did in his current form, with a graceful and thin athletic build. Solas did not smirk, though he thought it amusing that he had to look up to his subordinate. They removed their own hood and gave a slight bow. The elf was covered with faint crisscrossing scars. Their scalp was shaved on the sides with long hair draped over the side of their face like an inky black waterfall.

Solas nodded and approached them, aware that the eyes of the hidden elves were still trained on him.

"Quite the welcome, Sylvae", he said with a slight smirk on the edge of his lips. He expected no less security from them. Nothing could stand in their way, his way.

The other elf smirked, lips pulling upwards on their beautiful face. Their vallaslin were not normal. They swirled on their skin, a ripple of scarlet, looking like three pairs of stylized eyes one moment and then claws the next. It was off-putting and hypnotic to watch. He drew his attention back to their eyes, trying to ignore the tattoos that seemed to thrum with blood magic.

"Would you have it any other way? We have kept watch and prepared for your return." They said with orange-hued eyes that sparkled with secrets.

Solas tilted his head and gave them a questioning look, enough that it spurred them to continue speaking. Sylvae turned to walk into the forest, pausing briefly. Solas strolled forward and joined them at their side.

"I have placed agents within the Inquisition, as you requested." They had a cheshire like grin that revealed their canines, which were a little too long for comfort. "Even you did not notice them."

He quirked a brow and looked to Sylvae at his side, not at all surprised by their attitude. He was reproachful when he spoke, "So you think. You need to focus on slipping past the notice of their spymaster, not myself."

They seemed to take his comments in stride as they chuckled before turning to walk beside him, leading him through the forest. The other elves seemed to melt away, though Solas was sure they still watched from afar.

"Ah, yes. The heroic bard of the Fifth Blight turned spymaster for the Chantry's Divine Justinia, before taking up the mantle for the Inquisition. The one called Leliana. She has a fondness for nugs…" They said as if they'd studied her for years. It was possible they had done just that.

"Do not discount her skills, which are considerable." Solas said with a serious expression as he looked at them, disapproval flitting across his face. Sylvae simply smiled placidly and continued to walk in step with him.

"One must give her credit for helping the Inquisitor…", They said as their eyes met his. Their orange eyes narrowed ever so slightly at his. Solas said nothing, but he immediately knew they were revealing that they kept more secrets than they would share, even with him.

Solas felt the hairs on his neck stand as a fear trickled down his spine. Did they know of their relationship? Of him and the Inquisitor? He had been careful, but had he not been careful enough? Hopefully, his spymaster would only imagine it to be a casual dalliance. He did not need Sylvae to reveal his doubts to their cause, his weakness for the woman who had just saved the world. Lavellan needed to live out the remainder of her life without his agents hunting her, killing her. It pained him to think of harm coming to her, of them facing one another as enemies.

Sylvae was immensely dangerous, incredibly skilled, and an excellent spymaster, his spymaster. That did not mean that he trusted them implicitly, he refused to trust anyone anymore.

And yet I gave her my heart on a platter.

Solas kept his eyes trained on Sylvae, showing nothing in his body language to give away his doubts, his fears, his love.

Sylvae smiled at his nonplussed response.

They walked in silence for ten minutes before the trees broke for a clearing and a small outpost. Elves worked at fletching arrows, sharpening blades, and preparing for war. Solas hoped it would be unnecessary preparations, but he was cautious and careful with his plans. The area was mostly barren dirt, disturbed by many feet and hooves. There were structures that resembled small cabins and a stable, crafted using wood that was notched together without the need for nails or metal of any kind. A group of harts were tethered to the stables, huffing and puffing with nerves.

These strange elves, they were the agents of Fen'Harel.

Some had been following him for lifetimes. Some had newly joined, but many had known of him for millennia. There were a few Dalish and city elves mixed in with his agents, but they stood out as tiny contributors to their cause in comparison to the true elvhen.

Of those who lived and worked in the Tirashan, those that were immortal elvhen were enemies of the Evanuris, made up of former slaves and the servants of the Forgotten Ones. They had been from different walks of life, but all of them had joined his efforts in the end of their age and served as a dangerous militia, giving him the chance to seal the Evanuris away for good.

They had provided the support he needed so he could cast his spell. They had protected his temple while he slept. One would suppose they would move on in the thousands of years since the fall of the Elvhen empire, but they did not. The elves of The Tirashan were angry and practically devout in patrolling what was left of Thedas, preventing the possibility of the Evanuris returning. They considered themselves the last defense against the angry gods. They were immortal and ever vigilant.

They were also dedicated.

Now, they froze in place as if bespelled. The elves had been working, but when they saw Sylvae and more importantly the Dread Wolf, they stopped. A single small elf ducked into one of the buildings as quick as a rabbit.

"You didn't tell them?", Solas asked as he took in the spectacle of dozens of elves staring at him with fear, wonder, excitement, joy, and pride on their faces.

Sylvae smiled as a show to the other elves, but it was a mask as their words were a whispered growl in response.

"No. You know how Ivun gets…"

As if summoned, a heavy door slammed open and a giant man ducked out from under the doorframe. He stormed towards them – toward him.

"Fen'Harel, my friend!", a familiar voice boomed.

Solas grimaced internally, his shoulders immediately rising.

No, please no.

Who does a god pray to when in need? The elf had to be one of the largest to ever grace the world, a massive man with short blonde cropped hair and vibrant blue eyes. His skin was so pale that he looked like a sculpture carved out of marble.

He charged forward and scooped up Solas in a mighty bear hug.

Solas felt the air knocked from his lungs.

Fenhedis.

Mouths dropped aghast, gasps and whispers permeating the air.

The strength of the large elf's grasp was like being carried off by a stampede of druffalo. Ivun had been young at the fall of Arlathan but he was strong, dependable, and loyal. He was tasked with protecting Solas while he slept for millennia. Ivun had made sure that Solas survived the ages while he slept, undisturbed. He was dedicated and practically embodied faith. He was also overly affectionate and passionate. That could be a good thing except-

Solas was squished against far too much armor and it stabbed him in too many places. He let his body go slack while he was squeezed by arms the size of tree limbs. His lungs screamed for air, and he flinched visibly.

Sylvae rubbed the bridge of their nose sigh an exasperated sigh, "As I was saying…", they said before putting their hands on their hips. They shook their head.

"Hello, Ivun" Solas said with difficulty, his voice barely a croak. He felt like he was being crushed by collapsing boulders in a cave in down in the deep roads.

Another elf, a shorter stocky well-built woman in bright silver armor, growled audibly and approached like an incoming storm.

Her voice was loud and firm; It made the elves nearly jump out of their skin. "There's nothing to see here! You have jobs to do!", she barked and they averted their eyes quickly, resuming their tasks.

"Ivun!" Scolded the commanding woman. She glared at the massive elf and by the look in her eyes, she wanted to smack him upside the head. It was likely that she would do just that behind closed doors. Solas appreciated her aid immensely because Ivun's grip immediately loosened enough to allow him to fill his lungs with precious air. He put Solas down carefully and withdrew his embrace

"Thank you, Haleira", Solas said with a breathy whisper. She gave him a curt nod before she crossed her arms. Haleira narrowed her eyes at Ivun, who towered over her but shrank under her stony gaze.

Ivun looked more and more regretful, his eyes darting down to the ground. "I'm sorry. I just-"

Ivun flushed, his face filling with shame. The man realized his faux-pas and looked truly apologetic. Ivun rubbed the back of his neck nervously, but a small grin still graced his rugged features.

The commander was unmoved and stepped closer to the loveable giant. "One does not just hug the Dread Wolf!", Haleira hissed. The two soldiers were close and acted more like siblings than anything else.

Solas took a moment to regain his composure. These elves were his subjects, and yet they were so much more. They could have been family, if he would allow himself to feel such closeness to others again. Not since Mythal's fall had he dared trust someone so implicitly. He swallowed at the memories that dared to make his eyes moist and cleared his mind.

"Forgive him, my lord." Haleira spoke with irritation in her tone, but she stayed calm. She was broad shouldered, and her body was a well-honed tool for warfare. She had long blue-black hair braided atop her head and wrapped tightly into a bun. Her face was bare of vallaslin with skin that was a deep brown with flecks of dark freckles. She was the same height as Solas stood now, so still fairly tall. She wore silverite armor similar to those who had protected the Vir Abelasan. Solas remembered that he needed to know if Sylvae had found them, the guardians of Mythal's temple. Perhaps they could be swayed to join their cause, as it was a just one.

Solas respected Haleira immensely, but they had not always seen eye to eye. They had been enemies once. Now they were allies and she served him with all the dedication one would wish for in someone trying to keep the world safe from harm. The woman was a commander, a tactician, and not one for pleasantries or small talk. He appreciated her blunt honesty and her thoughtful opinions. She was strong, powerful, and armed with a sharp intellect behind her keen brown eyes.

She bowed to Solas, before shooting Ivun a glare to do the same. The man coughed and bowed as well. The elves in the outpost were eyeing them and it was important for decorum to be respected.

"Well, that went splendidly." Sylvae breathed out with dripping sarcasm, yet amusement shimmered in their eyes.

"I need updates", Solas said as he drew to his full height. The three met his eyes and turned as one to lead him toward a building on the edge of the outpost. He followed and his eyes were drawn to the beauty of the mountain range lining the horizon. The Hunterhorn mountains stood in the distance, icy peaks reaching high into the sky. The view reminded him of Skyhold, of her.

He furrowed his brows as his eyes became distant, his heart aching. It would be easy to get lost in memories, and that could drive a man insane.

Enough, it's over. It was a mistake, and it's done with. Get your head on straight and focus. The world cares not for such weakness.

The inside of the building was simply made and decorated, with a map pinned onto the large table that sat in the center of the largest room. Solas noted that the table had five seats, one for each of them. There were only four of them now.

Solas swallowed at the loss gnawing on his heart. The youngest of their group, the friendly and outgoing Felassan was his organization's face to the outside world. He was a charming diplomat and valuable asset, his ambassador to the Dalish and city elves. Felassan had been an integral part of their plans, and a passionate and loyal follower. He had been his friend.

Felassan was dead.

Fen'Harel had killed him with little hesitation. Solas grieved.

Was he heartless? Could he have not heard out the young man's concerns?

He had killed him because he couldn't allow another person close to him to betray him, and he was doubting their purpose. They were here to save the world. The elves that Felassan met seemed to impart the idea of personhood, that they were more than their miniscule and dim auras showed them to be. Felassan thought they were people.

As Fen'Harel, he was furious at Felassan. The elf had betrayed their mission, his mission, to save the people and the world.

Felassan had become too comfortable in this world of monsters and cruel jokes. He'd spent too much time with these toys that paraded around and called themselves elves. It was dangerous to think of them as people. The youth had let some half-spirited thing, an elf named Briala, possess the pass key to the eluvians. It had appeared evident at the time that the boy was losing his drive; His spirit was corrupted by these things. These mortals.

The young elf had closed his eyes and met him in the Fade. Fen'Harel had towered over him, dark wisps of spirit with too many eyes. Felassan spoke of his failure and dared to compare this Briala to him. Fen'Harel had killed him.

After he killed his friend, he was cold and unmoved, unphased. It was as if someone else had done the deed. Fen'Harel thought that it was a pity, that it was humane to end him before this way of thinking spread as an unchecked corruption. He was a protector of his people and their legacy. This corruption, this way of thinking, ended then and there.

Solas's eyes darkened as if storm clouds roiled within. He stared at the map and took a slow breath.

Solas remembered Cole's words with sharpened clarity.

"His friend had to die. Because he thought they were people. A slow arrow breaks in the sad wolf's jaws"

The spirit of compassion had been right, but that didn't make it hurt less.

Cole had tried to help him with his pain but could never do anything more than skim the surface of his hurt.

Solas would miss the spirit greatly and had to swallow his pain, his grief, and hide it all away until it was nearly silent. It would help no one for him to succumb to his past pains, his memories, his heart.

Cole spoke plainly, "You are quiet, Solas."

"Unless I have something to say, yes."

"No, inside. I don't hear your hurt as much. Your song is softer, subtler, not silent but still."

Solas had smiled with a sadness in the depths of his spirit, speaking in earnest, "How small the pain of one man seems when weighed against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence. That ocean carries everyone. And those of us who learn to see its currents move through life with their fewer ripples."

Cole knew who he was but never told the Inquisitor. He never betrayed his trust. He only wanted to help.

Could I have done something differently?

It seemed like a lifetime ago that Cole spoke besides him, besides her.

"He hurts, an old pain from before, when everything sang the same. You're real, and it means everyone could be real. It changes everything, but it can't."

His words had made Solas's heart race. A part of him thought that he would be found out and felt relieved that the charade would end, and he could just be.

He intended to tell her everything.

She was real.

It took him weeks to build up the courage. Him - a god, former general, leader of a rebellion that freed the world from the rule of gods and monsters, afraid of a small mortal woman who held his heart in the palm of her hands.

He had taken her hands, worn and callused with her efforts. He had swallowed and when his confession had almost left his lips he froze. His heart ached painfully with foolish thoughts.

Would his mother have liked her?

Was she proud of him, with the blood on his hands?

It was then that he lost his courage. He could not be that false man, could not be Solas. He had to be Fen'Harel. Instead of confessing to the truth, he took away her vallaslin and ended it. It nearly broke him.

She was real.

…and I killed him for nothing.

They were people. Solas even saw it now because he loved her – and he shouldn't, didn't deserve to feel it. He was a hypocrite.

If he could do it all again, he'd make different choices. He would tell her who he was. He would stay. He would spare the violet-eyed youth of Arlathan. He would not hurt his friend. He would not kill him. He would find another way to right his wrongs.

Ir abelas, lethallin. (I'm sorry, friend.)

They took their seats and he leaned over the table, his hands crossing in front of his face. To them, he looked stoic and calm. He knew better. He felt like crying, like confessing to his brave allies to the reality of it, the truth of it all.

They didn't know how Felassan had died. They didn't know who killed him. He had lied to them, telling them that the last he had spoken with Felassan, he was still on his mission to get the pass phrase to the eluvians.

Ivun's chair creaked as he sat on it, his leg bouncing on the floor with his anxious energy. The man struggled to sit still when he was excited. Perhaps it was a good sign.

Haleira kept her eyes busy with the map of Thedas and the pieces on the table indicating the movement of their forces. They had sizeable groups headed east to Ferelden and north to Tevinter. Markers indicated they had built up a force in Halamshiral, and there were agents in Skyhold, Redcliffe, and other less important but still strategic locations.

They thought Felassan's killer was still at large. To his allies, his friends, it was a mystery. He would not admit to his cowardice or confess, even if at the time he was well within his right. He could not stomach the looks in their eyes when they found his body. He could only imagine their fury and grief to find that he, the one they served and trusted most, had killed the violet-eyed youth. Even their calm and cold spymaster had shed tears at the news of his death. They had searched in vain for answers and were still bitter at the idea of an unseen enemy having killed one of them without leaving a trace.

They could not afford to be divided, to doubt. Solas had to die so that the people could live.

Fen'Harel was who he had to be from now on, and Solas was who he could never be again.

He needed to remember that.

His people couldn't afford for him to keep living a lie. Solas was not needed; Solas was soft and weak. Solas was a spirit in crisis, wracked with turmoil and grief, desperate to cling to hope. Solas was a fool. He loved. He knew the mortals were people and he wanted to turn back. He wanted to run.

He would not damn them all for the sake of these mortals, would he? Solas was a vulnerability they could not afford.

"Our agents successfully recovered the artifact", Sylvae said, interrupting his dark reverie.

Solas sat back and looked to them, his pupils focusing on theirs.

"And?", he asked – afraid to have hope.

"We were able to unlock it", they said with a small smile.

It was the first good news he'd heard in a while. Solas let his shoulders drop a little and blinked slowly.

"Good. The others are still necessary, but this will make everything possible."

There was hope again. He didn't have enough power, but soon he would.

He would take down the veil and restore their world.