Chapter 3: Revisiting the Truth

Solas wondered if they would have to redo every conversation they had previously had. Everything was different now. The truth, while freeing, still filled his stomach with regret and guilt. He had never wanted to hurt her. But he also hadn't expected to fall in love with her. And explaining why he had acted as he did was harder still. But she was patient and understanding, even if she did not like what he had to say.

She listened to him, remembering all the moments they had shared together as they strolled through the lush gardens surrounding the castle. The subjects started off light, reviewing small idiosyncrasies that poked like thorns at the back of her mind after he had disappeared. But the conversation evolved, delving deeper into a more emotionally vulnerable place. "When did you start to have feelings for me?" she asked him.

He considered for a moment, thinking back along the timeline since they first met. When they had first met, she hadn't even been conscious. He had tried to remove the anchor from her, but it had branded itself to her. In his panic and despair, he had felt betrayed by his own weakness. The anchor, bound to this Dalish elf who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, had intercepted the power instead. He had feared all hope lost then. But she had proved him wrong. She closed the Breach and countless Rifts, fought against numerous enemies, and protected the innocent from the strife that followed. And along the way he stayed at her side, fighting along with her, despair and fear giving way to hope. It had been so gradual, so inconspicuous that when they kissed in the Fade in Haven, he was surprised to find all manner of suppressed feelings flooding forth. "I cannot really say. I was determined to keep myself at a distance. But then you came to me with questions, wanting to know not just about me or my life, but the Fade, spirits, and history long forgotten. Your curiosity and passion for learning was… surprising. I had not thought someone like you lived in this time. You impressed me. Your nature was… inspiring. It gave me hope. I suppose I thought that it was merely admiration of your character that I felt at first, but it was more. I just couldn't see it at the time," he admitted. "Was there a moment that you remember feeling something for me?"

She chuckled and nodded, feeling a bit more like a lovestruck heroine in a terrible play. "Oh yes. I remember it quite well. I met this elven apostate in a fight and he grabbed my hand and showed me how to close the Rift there. And he was tall, handsome, and very mysterious. He also saved my life and had a rather dashing smile, which added to his charm." Solas gave a small laugh and she shrugged helplessly. "What can I say? I was utterly smitten."

"I had no idea I had such an effect," he grinned.

"Oh please. You must have had some idea. I was always stopping by the apothecary just to see if you were there so that I might get the chance to talk to you."

"And here I assumed you were just in need of more potion ingredients."

"Please. How many times did I annoy you and our companions by stopping to pick elfroot on our journeys? Did you really think I needed more ingredients?"

"Perhaps you were simply selling what you had collected? Besides, I never minded the occasional stop when you would bend down to pick elfroot or something else. It provided a wonderful view."

She opened her mouth in mock indignation and playfully elbowed him. "You sly fox. I would never have guessed." Although she certainly had noticed his gaze after their first kiss and the rather particular placement of his hands. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she bent down to sniff a spotted lily and caught his gaze lingering on her ass.

Solas darted his eyes away, feigning innocence and she laughed.

"So," she said, brushing her hair back behind her. "Was there a moment when you realized you were in love?"

He knew the question had been coming, yet he still felt ill-prepared when it reached his ears. Unlike the question about feelings, he had a very distinct memory when he realized he was in love with her. "Do you remember that battle in the Emerald Graves when we fought the dragon?"

She nodded.

"At one point, the dragon smashed a stone column with its tail and hit Sera in the process. She was unconscious and the dragon turned on her, bearing down with the threat of fangs and fire, and you ran up to it and shouted at it, cursing it with some funny Dalish phrase. You hit it with a spell and kept shouting to draw its attention away from Sera and back to you. And it worked. The dragon turned and focused on attacking you instead, giving me time to get to Sera. I couldn't believe you taunted a dragon."

"I have to admit, that's not the answer I thought you were going to give. I'd expect it from Bull, but not you," she frowned, somewhat confused and surprised.

"I'm not finished. The dragon swiped at you and cut you across the ribs. Even though we won the fight, the cuts were deep…"

She let out a groan, remembering what happened next. "And I looked down and saw all the blood and passed out. Yes, Sera teased me for weeks after that with her fainting impression."

"You did. The adrenaline from the fight had worn off and you looked down at the wounds and shock set in and you fell unconscious. I tended to your wounds and healed the damage, but you were in rough shape for a while and by that point we had used nearly every last healing potion. I remember feeling this terror that I wasn't going to be able to save you in time. It was a long, difficult night after that, and I held your hand while you slept, terrified I might lose you." He recalled it vividly, her face pale from blood loss, beads of sweat glistening on her forehead, each breath pained from the wound. It was her right hand he had held too, not the one with the anchor, for his fear was not in losing its power, but in losing her. For all his feelings and telling himself it was only an infatuation, he could not deny it then. "And that was when I knew for certain that I was in love with you."

She bit her lip and smiled to herself. "I remember waking up after that. The sun was shining down through the leaves overhead and then your face came into view with that worried brow of yours. I remember thinking, it was a nice face to wake up to. I promptly decided then and there that I should make a habit of it, but under less dire circumstances."

He laughed. "You were exceptionally flirtatious that morning. If I hadn't known it was due to blood loss, I would have thought you slightly inebriated."

"Oof. How dare you. I am a master seductress. It only took several months of flirting and near death experiences to finally get you to notice."

A smile tugged at his lip. "Oh, I certainly noticed."

She put her hand over her heart as if wounded. "Ouch. You wound my pride. Was I so unappealing to you?"

"On the contrary. Nothing appealed to me more." That had been the problem. He took her hand in his, tracing her delicate fingers. "I found when I closed my eyes, it was not the Fade that drew me, but thoughts of you instead. But wanting you was… complicated."

She said nothing, but her gaze was gentle and kind.

"You made it harder to do what I must. I knew too, that one day all your good deeds might be forgotten simply because of your association with me. The traitor in your midst. And it was true. The Viddasala believed the Inquisition was involved in my plans. They blamed you, when you knew nothing of it."

"Is that why you always wanted to keep things between us private?"

"Yes. I did not want to hurt you. Or your reputation. Even as an elven apostate, I was not worthy enough to be with the Inquisitor. What would your court and supporters think?"

"I thought you were ashamed of me," she admitted, hanging her head as the familiar pain cut under her ribs.

He touched her cheek and ran his thumb across her skin. "No. I was never ashamed of you. I was ashamed of myself. And what I am. Look at the damage my reputation alone has cost you. Just the thought of how your own people treated you because of your connection to me…" he swallowed, hot shame rising in his stomach. "You did not deserve that."

The reminder left a bitter taste on the back of her tongue. "We do not get to control what others believe. Look at Ameridan. It felt like a blow to the stomach. A Dalish elf who risked his life as Inquisitor, yet his race and heritage was washed from history, like who he was didn't even matter. Did I ever tell you that my Keeper threatened to exile me when they called me 'The Herald of Andraste' at Haven? It's true. My denial meant little to them. But they were not foolish enough to exile me officially when I had an army at my disposal. It sickens me." She shook her head. "And then they did the same to you. My people have feared Fen'Harel and worshipped false gods for centuries. Taking the vallaslin is a right of passage in my culture. How can we have fallen so far away from the truth?"

"History is told by many voices. Rarely is it told by those who were there."

She looked up at him, a note of sorrow in her eyes. "You deserved better. I am sorry history did not remember your sacrifice and all that you gave." She touched his face, but he took her hand and pulled it away.

"No. I did not deserve better. History is not wrong about me. I was a traitor. I was a liar. I was a betrayer. And I am those things now. I hid the truth from you. I made mistakes in the past and decisions that tore apart the world and ruined the natural balance. The consequences are far reaching even now. And you must know, I do not intend to stop. I will go through with my plans. I have to see this through."

"I know," she said softly. "I know that asking you to tell me more is foolish. But over the past few months, I've heard and seen things. And the more that I start to piece them together, the more I wonder if it is all connected."

"What pieces?" he asked.

She gave him a look as if to say "If you aren't going to tell me what you know, I am certainly not going to share with you."

Biting her lip, she tilted her head. "You said before that you awoke a year before we met after having slept for millennia. I can't help but wonder, within all that time, why you awoke then and not at another point in time. Was it intentional? Did you have control over it?"

He shook his head carefully. "No. I could not control when I awoke."

"I didn't think so. But I have a theory. Or maybe a few. I can't help but feel like there's a reason why you awoke now and not ages before during a Blight or some other catastrophe. It seems like Thedas is always experiencing one of some form or another. I think…" she paused, choosing her words carefully. "I think there's a reason you woke up now. And I think there's something on the horizon that will threaten the world again. What it will be, I can't say, but it feels like something in the balance has shifted. Perhaps restoring the Fade and the physical world will help restabilize the balance."

His face darkened. "Or perhaps it will destroy this world entirely."

She shook her head. "No. It may change everything, but I will not believe it will destroy this world."

"How can you believe that?"

"Because I believe that you are a good man. You would not choose to create the Veil to save the world only to destroy it. You would not bother saving the world with me when Corypheus or Hakkon or some other threat rises if you did not think the world and its people worth saving. I have no doubt the world will fall into chaos after the Veil falls, but I do not believe it will be to ruin. Change always brings chaos. Chaos brings fear. You know the rest."

"You do not know the Evanuris as I do. Or the other powers that may be at play once the Fade comes back to this world. You say you believe me to be a good man, but my actions have resulted in devastation. Why should this time be any different? Could you live with that? If you lost all you loved because of me?"

"It will be different this time. Because you will not be doing this alone. You will have help. You will have support. If we can secure an alliance and convince the Dalish the Evanuris are a threat, you will have an army to help you. I still have considerable resources and support across Ferelden and Orlais. They will provide aid if called upon. And you will have me. I may not be as strong as I once was, but I like to think I can still help put the world back to rights if you'll have me."

He shook his head at her, smiling despite himself. "Must you always be full of hope and determination? I can practically feel a glimmer of optimism."

"Yes. I must. That is my role. You will stand there and wax poetic in some grim and fatalistic manner, and I will remind you that no matter the obstacle we can find a way to overcome it. And then I am right and we start all over again."

He winced and looked down at her sorrowfully. "Can you not understand why I would not have you involved in this? I would not risk your life. I would not have you see what I become. It will be worse. You may lose all you love."

"You are who I love. Can you not see that is why I must stay? Why I cannot stand to be apart from you or watch you go down this path alone? I am not a woman built for peace. My hands are bloodied by war. I will not let you walk this path alone. I am not afraid of you or who you may become. We change, we fight, we grow, but we do it together. We battle what comes next, together."

"Vhenan…" he took her hand in his, staring down at it, fighting with himself. He should send her away. He had wanted her to go, to live far away in comfort and peace. He did not want her to see him become the Dread Wolf in truth. He did not want her to become enmeshed in the turmoil of the fallout once the Veil fell. He did not want her to walk down the Din'anshiral with him. But if he could not stop her... If this was her choice... Wasn't there truth to her words? To have her at his side, to right the wrongs of the past with someone from this future. He needed her. He needed her strength and her hope. If there was anyone who could help him restore the world to rights, it must be her; for she had proven herself capable of it already. If he was destruction she would be restoration. If he was the shadow, let her be the light.

He bent down to kiss her, his resolve crumbling away. When he broke the kiss, he whispered the desire of his heart to her. "Stay."

The word was soft and warm against her lips, washing over her like a welcome breeze. "I will. I promise," she said, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes as relief washed over her. She had done it. She had convinced him. She would not have to fight the man she loved.

Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him again.

He held her tight, gripping the fabric of her tunic in his fingers, clinging to her as if she was life itself. It was a terrifying prospect: having someone he held so dear involved in his life when there was risk at every turn. But she was not adverse to risk. Coming here had been a gamble. But she chose him. Him. Despite everything, she believed what he was doing would help the world. A twinge of regret pulled at his heart for not revealing the truth to her back when he had first wanted. He had broken her heart. Yet even with that pain, she still believed he was a good man. She still loved him. And now they could make up for lost time.

Taking her hand, he pulled her deeper into the garden, to a remote and private spot under a large willow tree, enclosed by hanging branches and vines. He parted the curtain of branches for her and drew her inside the enclosed space where he kissed her again. She pressed herself closer, seeking the warm comfort of his body against hers. It felt good to touch him again. To let her fingers roam with reckless abandon. She traced his collarbone, up his neck, touching his jawline up to the point of his ear before her fingers wrapped around the back of his smooth head, pulling herself closer to him.

His hands slowly released their grip from the fabric of her shirt, wandering down to cup her ass, pulling her flush to him. Her hips ground against his arousal and he let out a groan of anticipation. It felt so good to have her back in his arms. She pulled away to kiss his neck and he didn't try to suppress the moan that rumbled in his throat.

Touching her lightly, he trailed his fingers up her waist. The movement sent a shiver up her body and she gasped when they reached her chest and traveled slowly up her breasts, smoothing over the fabric, brushing over her nipples. Tucking her hair aside with one hand to kiss and nibble at her neck, he left the other hand along the curve of her, running his thumb in a circular motion. A soft moan sounded deep in her chest. Capturing her lips once more, he slid his hands under the edge of her tunic, traveling up over her skin and exposing her stomach to the elements. The gentle breeze chilled her skin, but his hands were warm as one snaked around her back and the other moved up to her breast.

She wanted to touch more of him. To feel his skin against hers. It had been so long, yet the familiar comfort of his touch was there. He knew just how to tease a reaction of sensation across her skin. Her body remembered him. Eager and wanting, it ached to touch and be touched by him. And that was the problem. She wanted to reach out and touch him with her hand: her left hand. The one that wasn't there, but ached with the memory of the motions that kissing entailed. Her arm rose, but the senseless wood of the prosthesis bumped into the tree behind him, awkward and jarring.

When his hands slid up her chest they touched the leather strap to her prosthesis she leapt back, yanking the tunic back down. She didn't want him to see her like this. Her body was not the same as it once was. She was not the same as she once was. No one had touched her in this way since the amputation and she wasn't used to it. Hot, angry, bitter tears of frustration burned at the corners of her eyes. She hated the prosthesis. It looked like an arm, but it wasn't an arm. It was wood and bulky and horribly clumsy and she hated all that it was and represented. And she hated it more now when she wanted it back. Blinking back her tears, still trying to catch her breath from the kiss, she covered her mouth and shook her head, feeling sick. "I can't-" she tried to explain before she clamped her hand over her mouth again to prevent the sob choking at her throat. "I'm-I'm not ready-I can't-" was all she could manage to explain before she turned and fled the garden.

An hour passed and she had cried herself out, lying flat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling stupid and ashamed. How embarrassing, to run away like a child. She hadn't wanted him to see her like that, choked with frustration. These days, it was far too common an occurrence. Months of recovery and therapy and dealing with Dagna's infernal cheery curiosity as she prodded and poked her had severely cut down the fuse on her temper. And because she had no one to blame but herself for the difficulties of trying to adjust to the fake arm, the frustration only compounded over time. Until, inevitably, something would cause the dam to burst and all her anger and frustration would pour forth.

A knock sounded at the door. For a moment she considered ignoring it, then decided against it and got up. Sighing and briefly checking her face in the mirror, she opened the door a little ways to see Solas standing there. He held a steaming cup in one hand. "I brought you a cup of tea. And I wanted to apologize-"

"No, you don't need to apologize. You did nothing wrong. I just-" she sighed again and looked down at the floor. "I should explain. Come in." She opened the door wide and he entered the room. Besides the mussed covers on the bed, which she clearly just vacated, everything in the room was neat and orderly. She accepted the cup of tea from him and set it down on the bedside table before she sat down on the bed. With a gesture, she patted the bed beside her and he joined her. Running her hand through her hair, she took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. Or, not intentionally, anyway. It's me. And this," she said, lifting her arm and the prosthesis.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, wondering if he had done something to cause her pain.

"No. I mean, yes, but not because of anything you did. It's just… It's a fake arm. And sometimes I forget that and then I'll try to do something with it and remember it doesn't work like a real arm. And I…" Her words died on her lips and she shook her head.

Solas was patient. He did not rush her. His own sense of guilt pained him, for he knew that he was the reason for both the anchor and destroying the arm. He wished he could have done more to help, but by the time she reached him the damage was too deep and sealing it away in stone was the only way he could manage to save her life. But he also had left her there, no longer in any immediate danger, but injured and in considerable pain. And he hated himself for it.

"I haven't been with anyone in a romantic way since I lost my arm. Actually, I haven't been with anyone since you," she admitted, feeling strange. "But I never really considered what it would be like to kiss or hold someone with only the one hand. It feels… wrong. Like I should be able to touch you and feel your skin, but I can't. I can poke you with a chunk of wood attached to the end of my arm, but it's not like it was. It won't ever be. Even if I can get it to move more, eventually, it won't feel like a real arm."

He nodded solemnly. But then something about what she said struck him as peculiar. "What do you mean, by 'getting the arm to move more'?"

"It's enchanted. Dagna helped me with that. Dorian helped a little bit too. Here, I can show you." She stood and crossed to the bowl of fruit on top of a dresser, picking up an apple and tossing it to him with her right hand. Then she situated herself by a blank stretch of wall. "Throw the apple at me. Not to me, but at me, like it's a jar of bees."

"I don't want to hurt you-"

"Yes, yes, I know. Just trust me. Throw the apple." She turned to the side and put her right hand on her hip.

Feeling a little strange about this whole process, he threw the apple at her. The wooden arm reacted, flying up, catching the apple with ease. Using her right hand, she plucked the apple out of it, wedging the fingers apart to do so. "See? I can still play catch at least. Oh, and I can do this." Grabbing two more apples from the bowl, she carefully opened the fingers up and placed all three apples inside it. Then with the right hand she bumped the bottom of her left hand and one by one the apples went sailing up into the air in a circle. "See? I can juggle with it too. Sera said I needed a party trick with it."

Solas stared, impressed and slightly dumbfounded. He had never seen such an enchantment before. "How does it work?"

She caught the apples one by one with her right hand and put them back in the bowl. The hand stilled, stiff as solid wood once more. "I told you. It's enchanted. Dagna knows what she's doing, I'll give her that. But her excitement at getting to poke and prod me like one of her experiments is quite draining."

"But how does it react like that? You weren't even looking when I threw the apple at you."

"Ah, yes. That's because the enchantment is for instinctual reactions. Anything faster than a fly coming in my direction sets it off. It's a nice defensive reflex. I just wish some of the other enchantments worked as well."

"What about other things? Like writing or holding a staff or-"

She shook her head, frowning. "No. Nothing that takes advanced coordination. Simple movements work best. The dexterity bit is trickiest, according to Dagna. She compared it to an infant using an eyeliner brush. I still have to get used to it and learn how to get it to do what I want. And over time, we add on little bits and the enchantments are supposed to work together. Like a puppet show with its many strings. Or so I'm told. It doesn't do much of anything besides help me stay on my hart most of the time. Don't worry, I wasn't making you cut my food last night as some sort of power play. Last time I tried, I cut through the wooden plate at the tavern."

"May I…?" he asked, gesturing with his hand.

She nodded, stepping closer for him to see. He rose from the bed, taking the wooden hand in his own and inspecting it with care. "Remarkable. Will-bound, is it?"

"Yes. Oh, and I can do this," she said, concentrating. Slowly, the thumb and middle finger met, pressing together.

Solas tilted his head, confused. "I don't understand."

She held up her hand, beaming. "It's a halla. Look as it prances majestically about." She moved her arm up and down with her shadow puppet and he laughed. His smile made her feel better, if only momentarily. "See? It's not so terrible, I suppose. It just takes time." That had been her mantra for the past several months. By now she despised the phrase, but it was also a reminder that she had made some progress and that was not nothing.

"I am sorry for the arm. If I could have saved it, I would have," he told her, meaning every word.

"I know," she whispered. "The anchor was already killing me. Between my life and my hand, this is a small price to pay."

He was quiet, hating himself for his weakness and letting this happen to her. "You said it pains you. Is there anything I can do to relieve the pain?"

"No, it's not necessary. Just a bit of discomfort. Nothing I can't-"

"Please. Let me help."

She had been about to reject the offer, but the tone of his voice and the look of regret and guilt in his eyes made her change her mind. This was a hurt he needed to heal. "Okay."

Taking a deep breath, she stepped back and unbuttoned the shirt, carefully slipping the buttons from the holes. With one hand it was not the easiest task, but she could manage. Ties were impossible to do back up on her own, but buttons were manageable. When the last one opened, revealing a hint of her small clothes and a leather strap, she looked up nervously at Solas for a reaction, but he gave none and she continued. Carefully, she pulled back the neckline and her collar and shrugged off the sleeve of her right arm. Then it was only a small matter of extracting the other arm from the shirt. It fell to the ground and she paused, feeling his eyes travel over the visible portion of the stump and the leather straps that kept the arm harnessed in place. It was not dissimilar from that used with armor, but the straps were thinner and meant to be more easily concealed beneath clothing. Biting her lip, she slipped the end of the leather piece belting it across her chest and undid the buckle in a practiced motion. She winced as it tugged and pinched her skin from the action. But then the straps fell away and she gripped the upper part of the arm and in a twisting and pulling motion, wrenched it from around the stump. Placing the arm on the dresser, she unwound the bandaging that buffered the skin of what was left of her arm. Rolling it carefully back up along her stomach, she set it next to the prosthetic arm. The last piece was a small sleeve that covered the end of the stump to add another layer, softer than bandaging, to make wearing the arm more comfortable. And then it was done and she turned to look at him, offering up a small shrug as if to say "This is what I look like now. This is what's left."

He kept his face controlled and mask-like as he looked at the redness and bruising under her arm and across her chest where the straps cut in. The arm itself had started to atrophy. Strangely shaped green scars shot up and into the shoulder, like it had been zapped by lightning: another lingering piece of the damage from the anchor. The arm must have been healed by a mage, for there was minimal scarring leftover from the amputation, shining against the rest of her skin.

Solas stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back. She avoided his gaze. "Where does it hurt, vhenan?"

Her fingers brushed under her right arm, traveling across her chest to the end of her stump.

He stepped closer, lifting a glowing hand to her skin. Following the path her finger had traced, he healed the area, touching her skin gently. His left hand slipped around to her back, passing over the path of the strap as his other hand drifted over her heart to the left arm. A shiver passed through her and she rested her head against his chest as his spell soothed like a healing balm.

When the healing spell had done its work, he held her there in his arms, gently massaging the muscles in her arm and back to relieve the strain. He wished he had words to offer for comfort, but they rang hollow in his head. He was responsible for this hurt. And nothing could change that. An apology would never be enough. He could not replace what had been taken. But he could hold her and ease the discomfort. This he could do.

"You will tell me when it hurts?" he requested, his voice gentle.

"Yes," she nodded against his chest. Then, raising her eyes to look at him, she promised. "I will." Letting out a deep breath, she touched her forehead back to his chest. "Thank you."

"No. Do not thank me for this. Never for this." He shook his head, hating himself.

She said nothing, though her hand fisted into the fabric of his shirt, keeping him there.

They stayed for some time, locked together in a shared pain that did not need to be discussed. Both of them lingered in the solace of that moment, in touch and gentle comfort of one another's presence until weariness overtook them and Solas took his leave, letting her rest in peace.