Getting close to the end, here. Two more regular chapters, I think? If I remember how I've divided things up correctly. Possibly an epilogue, probably epilogue-ish outtakes exploring more of the memories Solas leaves and Silea's attempt to meet the younger version of him in Nehnadahlen. None of that is fully written, though, so it might come later. I've started on the Nehnadahlen piece about four times already and haven't ever been satisfied, so...we'll see how that comes along.

No translations.

Passing Days

Solas's memory of one of my more reckless moments - retaliation for my memory of the darkspawn incident when he and Dorian ended up reading under an apple tree instead of letting us know they were alive - turned out to be the furthest memory I could currently reach from Cumberland. After watching it, I considered regret for giving him the - what had he called it? - mahn'virelan, but he had also rather unwisely revealed to me what it could do by sharing this memory. If I came across another of the devices, I would know now - and such knowledge might gain me access to the labyrinth he controlled.

If I came across another? No. At my first opportunity, I told Leliana, Fiona, and Dorian about what Solas had disclosed, and gave the Inquisition, Chantry, southern mages, and Dorian's political allies something useful to hunt for. I had no need to search personally or hope that I might stumble across another such device. I had more than one organization at my disposal to do the searching for me. If the mahn'virelanen had once been as common and Solas believed, there was no chance he would ever be able to account for all that might have survived.

Although we would still need access to a suitable eluvian, of course.

I was glad Solas was such a powerful mage. Had he been forced to play the Game - or engage in any other set of high-stakes political maneuvers - I feared he would have ended up very dead. I supposed he might simply be confident that access to the eluvians and inor'alas'enaan would gain us little - but I didn't think that was wise, either. We might not know precisely what we could and could not do with such access, but how many times had I heard him say that believing one knew all the rules of magic was the surest way to unnecessarily limit what one was capable of?

Solas and Vivienne were nearly a matched pair when it came to arrogance, which rather ironically left Dorian as the humblest of the mages who had once served as some of my closest confidants.

As for more comprehensive explorations of the Fade, Enleal assured me that I would be able to range further afield from my physical location as my mastery grew. We even spent a night laying a sort of path that might allow me to return to its garden from as far away as Val Royeaux - places deeper within the Fade were thankfully less tethered to physical reality, so there was some chance I would make it even at my current skill level.

And I fully intended to continue increasing my skill, especially while I had certain access to Enleal's guidance.

Days - and, more importantly, nights - passed as I waited for Fiona to request another visit to Nehnadahlen. She assured me that she was doing more than merely thinking. She spent many of her days closeted in her personal workroom with some of the most senior mages of the College, attempting to recreate pieces of the spellwork she had seen in the ancient city. "The trouble with complicated magic," she told me, "is that points of failure are not always clear until one is attempting to build such an edifice." She smiled wryly. "We are finding many points of failure for me to investigate further next time."

I spent as much of my time in the Fade as I reasonably could, rarely waking for anything other than daily training with weapons and meals. These I took with Harding or Sera - or, less often, Fiona - listening to whatever they had to report. Red lyrium clean-up was proceeding, with Roland, our Tranquil expert, directing teams of dwarves hired in the city and other Tranquil from the College. He had upgraded our chance of entirely cleaning the area by almost a full percentage point, which - was still fairly dire. Even so, Harding was determined to hold out hope for as long as possible, leaving me to oversee our contingency plans.

Sera was, of course, currently working on those contingency plans. She had acquired an impressive and ever-growing collection of documents that would make excellent blackmail material, and was having a grand time breaking into houses to find them. I didn't ask how much money she was making lifting other baubles she might find lying about - in fact, I didn't ask if she was taking things other than the documents at all, though I assumed she was. In return for my restraint, she only told me heartwarming stories of orphans, widows, and abused servants rescued from difficult circumstances by well-timed windfalls of coin, and not about whatever else she was spending her money on.

I wrote letters to Varric regarding some of the pieces of information Sera found that stretched beyond Cumberland's walls, trusting he would make better use of such material than I could. We also discussed a marriage for the Duke's daughter, which he happily passed off to Bran, his seneschal. It's perfect, he wrote me. Arranged marriages that affect Kirkwall's trade and relationships to nearby cities? It's exactly the kind of thing he'll happily drive himself crazy over, and he'll leave me alone while he's doing it. Don't worry, Inquisitor: Bran will find just the right husband for her, and we'll get her away from Cumberland. I replied stipulating that I couldn't wait years, and needed an actual wedding before, say, Wintersend, but otherwise wished Bran well in his deliberations.

Within the Fade, Enleal set me exercises to increase my understanding and expand my control. Some of them had to do with observing work Solas had done, as he was the unparalleled mortal - or semi-mortal - master of shaping the Fade to his will. These exercises often involved the memories he had left, since they were both rather complex and easy for me to access. Because of these tasks, I eventually did learn what had become of Terys, the former clanmate who had attempted to court me: he had been put to work crafting the bows he was so good at making, but working beside craftsmen from other clans who were charged with watching him and detailing everything he said and did to an agent reporting directly to Abelas. I still wasn't certain what Abelas had to do with anything, especially me. He was in charge of Terys, though, and seemed to take my future safety seriously - more seriously than I likely would have in his place. Terys was not and never had been a physical threat to me, and now that I had social ties outside of my clan, he wasn't any other kind of threat, either.

Besides learning how Solas shaped the Fade and how to manipulate what he had already done for my own purposes, Enleal also sent me often to Nehnadahlen to observe the spirits as spirits, rather than as reflections of the people who had once lived there. "Have you attempted an extended conversation with any of the citizens?" the wisdom spirit asked me.

"They usually notice I'm missing an arm, and then things become uncomfortable," I told it.

It laughed. "Ignore the discomfort - none of it is real anyway - and make the attempt. You will soon see how shallowly most of the population is remembered. They did not, individually, leave enough of an impression on the denizens of the Fade to be sketched in any detail. Approach the spirit inhabiting the role of Falon'Din - or Dirthamen, if you don't wish to be openly sneered at. These two roles are the most fully-formed of any in the city. Speak to members of Falon'Din's court. Meditate on the differences in your experiences."

Though I didn't understand why, I did as Enleal instructed. It took many conversations over the course of several nights, but eventually I began to trace patterns or rhythms in the way spirits chose which roles to inhabit. Those that were less certain of what they were took the roles of the common people - and often lost themselves in those roles, entirely forgetting they were spirits. This surprised me. Enleal was right: once I began speaking to these spirits with the intent of getting to know the people they reflected, it became clear how much depth was lacking. But once I had given it further thought, it began to make sense. Most spirits were only barely conscious. The ones that flocked to Nehnadahlen might desire something more durable for themselves, but that didn't mean they were ready to take on the nuance of true consciousness. They aped the mannerisms and attitudes of physical beings as children might do the same for adults - without understanding any of the whys, and perhaps not even realizing that mimicry did not make the fantasy into reality.

At the other end of the complexity spectrum were Falon'Din and Dirthamen. These spirits, too, seemed largely unaware they were playing a role, but this, I thought, was because they had become so complex and nuanced, identified so thoroughly with characters they played, and had been playing them for such a long time. They were intelligent enough that they might have been brought to an awareness of their own unreality - but I saw no reason to force such knowledge on them. As reprehensible as the men they reflected might have been, remembering their deeds harmed no one and preserved a great deal of important history. If the spirits needed to believe themselves the actual Falon'Din and Dirthamen to maintain the pretense, then I might as well leave them to it.

In between the extremes were many of the members of Falon'Din's court and most of Dirthamen's agents. These people had been powerful and influential enough to leave a mark on the Fade, but rarely as clear-cut in the memories of the spirits as the lord of the city or his nas'falon. Many of the spirits playing these roles were aware of what and where they were, fascinated by the inner workings of the people they reflected, but not identifying closely enough with them to fully inhabit the parts. Indeed, many of them traded parts with some regularity, apparently enjoying the novelty of differing thought patterns and motivations.

Spending so much time in Nehnadahlen, I also began to observe other details about the workings of the city, most particularly as it related to time. "How does one day come to be reflected in Nehnadahlen rather than some other?" I asked Enleal as we walked through its garden. I had just come from the city, and was thinking on the way time moved there - in skips, fits and starts, with one day sometimes repeating several times before the city moved forward, at which point days or weeks might simply be passed over. Once, the city had even moved backward by an entire season.

"It depends on what the spirits are thinking of," Enleal told me. "The weight of their memories dictates which of those memories play out."

"But most of them have few memories," I replied. "The normal, everyday people have little more than broad patterns of thought and behavior prescribing what they do and where they go, and the courtiers and agents have spirits slipping in and out of the roles, seemingly based on whatever is happening in those minds in the time period already set. So is it all imposed by Falon'Din and Dirthamen?"

Enleal smiled at me. "You are becoming more observant. The spirits representing the court often become stuck on particular moods or memories that nudge time one way or another - but, yes, the roles of Falon'Din and Dirthamen carry the most weight."

"Are they trying to shape time, or does it simply happen in accordance with thoughts their minds fasten onto for a period?" I asked.

"The latter," my instructor answered. "They are largely unaware of their abilities as spirits, and strive to experience time as a physical creature would in its own mind. Though you live in a linear fashion, your memories are not tied together so simply. Nehnadahlen reflects patterns of thought and memory rather than strict reality - as does all the Fade."

"Then could I impose my will on the city and direct it to a particular time?" I asked.

"Likely not yet," Enleal told me after studying me a moment. "But as you gain mastery - yes. And...there is one time you might direct the city toward more easily than any other."

"The time Solas spent there," I said, already certain I was correct.

"Yes," the spirit laughed, "but not for the reason you are likely thinking. Your desire means something, but not as much as it will when you better understand how to manipulate the Fade. No - it has little to do with you and your particular passion. Together, Falon'Din and Dirthamen direct the city when they want it to go, but Fen'Harel is a powerful memory, with a powerful spirit reflecting it. The memory and the spirit both want to be expressed, and are rarely given the opportunity. Falon'Din, in particular, is loathe to remember the mistake he made in tossing aside the Wolf and his loyalty. Your will might be enough to tip the balance simply because that balance is already precarious."

"Oh. And - is there any pressing reason I shouldn't?" I asked Enleal.

"Only, perhaps, personal ones," the spirit answered, compassion in its voice. "It makes no difference to the Fade how you manipulate Nehnadahlen or what hypotheticals you stage there. You must only ask yourself: what difference will it make to you?"

I nodded. "I will think before I act, though I will need to decide before too long."

"And there is the truest difference between the Lioness and the Wolf," my instructor laughed. "When she takes a moment to think before acting, she is disinclined to become mired in indecision - which no doubt explains why she does it so much more often than her mate."

"Well," I replied with a shrug, "perhaps I cannot see as many possibilities as Solas can, lacking his extensive experience and capacious memory."

"If that were true," Enleal retorted, "it would be good evidence for the worthlessness of experience and a clear memory. Thankfully, it isn't true. Fen'Harel's problem appears to be two contradictory yet simultaneously-held beliefs: that with enough thought, he can force the future to conform to his vision of what it ought to be, and that no one can ever accurately predict the outcome of an action. Thus: eternal indecision wars with impulsivity. I am uncertain it has ever occurred to him that the truth may lie somewhere between, or that the consequences of decisions may vary in their predictability."

"He's a very black-and-white sort of person," I agreed with a sigh.

I decided not to manipulate Nehnadahlen's timeline right away, but instead to save the attempt for just before my departure from Cumberland, though that wasn't yet firmly decided. My reasoning was twofold: first, there was no guarantee I would be able to tip the balance, no matter how precarious, and I was more than a little afraid of what failure would do to my emotional state. Saving the attempt would prevent any failures from preying on me, and allow me to focus on more important matters - such as learning to control the Fade, which would not incidentally also give me a better chance of success.

Second, whatever the precise parameters of the hypothetical I tried out, I wanted it to be one, singular hypothetical: that of meeting a young Solas to see what he was like and how we got on. I didn't want to give myself time to revisit the question, to wonder what would happen if I approached him differently, to tailor myself to what I thought he might want. I didn't, in short, want to entirely lose myself in a fantasy.

I dedicated myself to the tasks Enleal set me, studying spirits and constructs of the Fade, and occasionally attempting to duplicate some of the tricks I was beginning to recognize in Solas's work. A week passed, and Fiona asked to return to Nehnadahlen, where we spent a full night. This time, more familiar with both spirits and now accustomed to the way the remembered residents of the city reacted to my missing arm, I saw what she meant about the spirits looking past her, and I wondered whether they would see a human at all. Enleal couldn't answer the question: "I have little experience with humans," it told me. "In all human history, not one has ever ventured into my garden. I have encountered their thoughts and emotions only from behind the Veil, or third-hand from other spirits, and even that only rarely. I no longer venture near the Veil, and few spirits from that region ever find their way here. The Grand Enchanter is the nearest thing to a human I have ever met, for her mind has been formed by human society more than by her own people - and yet she, too, is unmistakably of the Elvhen."

Enleal could clarify no more, telling me that there weren't adequate words to explain how spirits understood the ways in which mortals shaped the Fade.

Fiona once again retreated into the inspiration Nehnadahlen had offered after our second visit, leaving me to my own pursuits, and several more days passed - including the one on which my courses ought to have started. They did not. Nor did they begin the next day.

I tried not to think of it, because they weren't always regular, and hadn't been even before I became Inquisitor, with all the disruptions and stresses the role entailed. At some point soon, magic would be able to provide me a definitive answer, but even my Keeper, widely hailed as particularly skilled at magic involving the rhythms of the body, would need another week or two before changes due to pregnancy would be clear enough to read. I would ask Fiona to check in a week, but she might not be able to say even then.

It was easier to put the question from my mind in the Fade, and so I continued to spend most of my time there, simply exploring when Enleal wasn't available or had no specific tasks to offer me. I found the spirit of reason I had met before, and spent a mealtime working through Lennan's letter before returning to it for a very satisfying conversation about mathematics. Sometimes one or more of the lesser spirits from Enleal's garden shadowed me, offering commentary and guiding me away from areas that might be dangerous. I followed along after wisps, who showed me old, often faded or fragmented memories tucked away in odd corners that I might otherwise have missed.

One night I found myself playing a game of tag with a wisp in an area that had once been cultivated by a spirit specializing in melody. Though the spirit had apparently left or been pulled away, snatches of old songs remained in decaying memories. The wisp led me through the most complete, laughing softly as it danced ahead of me, humming a counterpoint for each of the melodies I touched.

I was enjoying myself thoroughly when, in an instant, everything changed subtly. The Fade seemed to brighten around me, and yet I felt strangely weighed down, as though I were moving through water. The wisp hummed a final note of alarm and disappeared. Though I sensed no demons nearby, I decided caution was called for, and woke with the mental twist that had become so familiar.

Or, rather, I tried wake - and found myself mentally slamming against a barrier I quickly identified as the Veil, but not the Veil as I had ever experienced it. For a moment all was chaos before my mind managed to make sense of the change and give me a vista I could comprehend.

The Veil often appeared within the Fade as a body of water with the waking world shining on the other side. Though the water was always quite deep, it was never so broad - at least for me - that I couldn't simply will myself across without needing even to go through the motions of wading or swimming. Now, however, I saw it as the spirits must: a vast sea, with the waking world a mere hazy impression on the horizon.

As I stood, mouth agape, trying to make sense of what was happening, I became conscious of a press of spirits surrounding me. I wasn't certain I had seen so many - and particularly so many who clearly held so much power - gathered in one place before. It was as though they were visiting some pivotal point in history, or as though they expected history to turn on this moment, in this place that I knew must correspond with my bedchamber at the College of Enchanters. Looking beyond the boundaries of the assembled throng, I realized that other spirits seemed to be standing guard, warding off demons with a righteous zeal that gave me impressions of the names I might put to them: Honor, likely, and perhaps Justice or some concept related to security.

One of the spirits touched my arm, and I turned to look at it. "Fenes'saota," it said softly, "if you wish to see through the Veil, direct your attention to the water, as we do, and allow the emotions that filter through from the world beyond to draw you in."

"Who are you?" I asked it.

"I am unimportant," the spirit said with an apologetic smile, declining to answer the question, "but your growing awareness was not entirely unforeseen by some of us. I cannot say he left direction - he so rarely dares to hope, even if he blames himself afterward for underestimating you. I know - we all know - he would not want you left in doubt and confusion."

He? There could be only one he who would draw so many spirits to one place, who shunned hope, and who felt himself culpable of some unnamed transgression merely because I sometimes surprised him.

Solas.