"Solas?"

E, fenedhis. Not again. And here I thought I had lost him for good. But as he well knows, the Fade is ever-shifting, ever-changing. Just because it has been many months since Leas last stumbled across him, that does not mean Leas is now incapable of finding him. In the end, all it seems to come down to is luck and his ability to sense somebody coming before they arrive. Sadly, every time Leas has found him, he has been so lost in thought and focused on his plans that he may as well have been blind to everything else. Tonight is the first time when Leas' greeting does not cause him to jump out of his skin.

"Hahren? Solas?" The words are close at hand, too close for him to get away, and so Solas squares his shoulders and turns, a faint grimace on his face. Leas emerges from the fog of the raw Fade a moment later, descending a flight of stairs hewn in the rock. He approaches with a small, tentative smile on his face. His steps, too, are hesitant—not his usual confident stride, but slow, considered, and measured. He stops when he is just within speaking distance, allowing a much larger gap between them than he would have in the olden days.

"An'daran atish'an, arani," Leas says now. "Nuvenan ma son."

Despite himself, Solas' face falls. He swallows, and it is some moments before he can speak. When he does so, he forces himself to hold Leas' gaze. "Mar enaste lan em lath'in'iseth. Tel'ame, y emma serannas." No need to lie to Leas in this, at least, though his heart clenches at the sight of Leas' smile vanishing. "Nuvenan ma tas son," he adds.

"Ame, emma serannas," Leas says, though even from here, Solas can see the worry in his eyes. He looks away from it after only a few seconds. For the thousandth time, he tells himself he should not have let himself become so close to the man. Far better to have kept his distance, so that Leas' concern now would not rend at his heart so. And more than that, he should not have taught him what he did… but then, it is pointless engaging in 'what-ifs', isn't it?

A brief silence ensues, then Leas sighs and steps closer. He says, "I wish we did not need to speak to each other in the Ha'raj'vi'dirth, arani. I'm aware many months have passed, but we are still friends, are we not?"

Solas sighs and bows his head. "We are, lethal'lin. I said to you that last day that you would always have my respect. That has not changed."

Leas nods, but he does not look at all reassured. He takes another few cautious steps forward. "Then I shall take your use of the formal tongue as a sign that you have not changed your mind and still do not intend to return?"

That, needless to say, had been one of the very first things Leas had asked of him the first time they had met in the Fade after Solas' departure. It has come up in every encounter they've had since, and that it comes up again now hardly surprises him. "No. I am sorry, but no," he says. "I know you said there will always be a place for me at Skyhold, and I believe you. But after what happened, I am not sure I can return."

"So you have said," Leas responds, his brow creasing. He pouts, just a little, though the action seems unconscious. "I will respect your wishes, of course, though I do miss you so. I only wish you would tell me what keeps you away, or if the orb can be repaired. The pieces are still at Skyhold. I could get Dagna to look at it if that's what you need." His eyes widen as he speaks, puppy-like as ever, and Solas' heart clenches all the more. He grimaces and shakes his head.

"I thank you for the offer," he says, well aware that his words are stiff but unable to come up with any other way in which to phrase them. "But I am not certain that even Dagna could repair the orb. And, to tell the truth…" He lets out another sigh. "I suspect I would have left even if the orb had not been broken. I cannot give you the details, but I have… things I need to do that require me to be away from Skyhold. And they do not allow me the time to visit, I am afraid," he adds, remembering Leas' inevitable objection.

Leas stares at him for a moment, then he nods, looking downcast. "As you say. I will not ask you to elaborate," he says, and the guilt twists Solas' insides even as the relief loosens them. "Still, I miss you. Much that has happened since you left that I wish you could have seen. Solasan in the Forbidden Oasis, the Frostback Basin, and now what happened in the Deep Roads…" He trails off, an unfocused expression coming into his eyes. For a moment, Solas allows himself to wonder about these things. He has seen Solasan in the Fade, and from there, he observed a few of the events in the Frostback Basin too. But it is not the same as viewing it in person with friends. The things they could have done together, the things they could have discussed… all lost. Because of his choice.

You can still abandon it all now, he reminds himself, and the temptation is almost enough to strangle him. Why not? Let the Inquisition change things. It would be so much a kinder way than tearing down the Veil. And it would keep the Evanuris locked away…

But he dismisses the idea as quickly as it comes. He has already taken what he needed to from Mythal, and despite what Leas has to say about loving the world as it is while trying to make it better, he cannot accept anything less than the return of Elvhenan. Equals with the humans though the elves may one day be, if they still have none of their magic, none of their immortality, none of what made them elves, then the real injustice will remain unaddressed. There is no other option.

"True," he says when he remembers that Leas is waiting for an answer. "I would have liked to have been there. I will simply have to content myself with watching what the spirits show me in the Fade."

"I would have liked to hear what you had to say," Leas tells him, resting a hand on his hip and leaning into it, more relaxed now. "I mean—Ameridan was alive after eight centuries!" At that, Solas manages a tight smile. "And he was so much like me. And the Avvar bound a spirit to a dragon. And the Deep Roads, Creators! The things we found! It was like nothing I could ever have imagined…"

Solas hesitates for a long moment, then he bites. "What did you find, lethal'lin? I know there have been earthquakes in the Deep Roads, but I have heard nothing of how the situation was resolved."

Leas blows out a breath and steps close enough to Solas to be standing at his usual distance from him. After a moment, however, he seems to reconsider, and he beckons Solas to walk with him. Solas does so, and they set off in a direction perpendicular to the one Solas had been walking in before they met. "Well, we found this creature called a Titan," he begins, and Solas' blood freezes. That name, he knows well. "It was disturbed by the Breach… somehow… even though the Breach opened two years ago and I closed it almost a year ago. Anyway, it was… colossal. We were walking around inside it, and it had a whole cavern full of fauna and rock formations and a sky. And it hit our dwarven companion, Valta, with a blast of raw lyrium. But she survived, and she gained something like magic. Which should be impossible. And its blood! Remember how I said once that I'd found out lyrium is alive?"

Solas nods, though he need not listen to Leas to know the answer. Fear builds a terrible pressure in his chest as he remembers the Evanuris, their war with a Titan. That had been where it had all began, hadn't it?

"Its blood is lyrium. The thing that Orzammar's entire economy relies on, that every nation buys, that's used by mages and templars alike… it's the blood of living creatures. I don't even want to think about what that means, Solas! Do you?"

Solas shakes his head and feigns surprise. "That is remarkable," he says. "I have always wondered where lyrium came from, how it could have such multifarious uses. That it is the blood of these Titans… even I never expected such a thing. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"I'm afraid not," Leas says. "I left the Deep Roads with far more questions than answers. We passed what little we knew on to Orzammar, but I fear what will happen if we find out anything more. Valta said that the Titans were the first children of the Stone and that the connection she now has with that Titan was like a parent recognising a child. But the dwarves honour the Stone… I can hardly imagine what this will mean for them. Worry creeps into his voice, and despite himself, Solas can't help but offer a wry smile.

"You are concerned for them," he says, almost teases. "Do you intend to help them through the shock when this information gets out?"

Leas laughs, recognising the jest. "I'm not going to go that far," he says, grinning at Solas. "Sure, part of me would like to… but I'm not a dwarf, and I know little about their religion or their history. It's not my place to interfere. Besides, even if I knew enough to help, I'm tied up with surface issues. As are most surfacers, I guess, but there's still much the Inquisition needs to do."

That gets him a curious look. "What are you planning? Do you have a new purpose in mind for the Inquisition?" It would be a miracle if the Inquisition can somehow not descend into the corruption and complacency that come to plague all organisations. It is not one that Solas believes even Leas, miracle-worker though he may be, can pull off. While they had a purpose, they were fine, though their internal security was always laughable. But now that Corypheus is dead, they will search for something new to do, and in this search, they will fall. It is as the tides are: predictable.

"There are still some rifts that need closing, and we need to mop up the remnants of the Venatori and the red templars," Leas says. "We can also lend our engineers and construction workers to rebuilding efforts and organise the delivery of provisions, medical supplies, and other aid to the Dales. We did that before, yes, but now we can really focus on it. I'm also having people working on cleaning up the red lyrium, especially in the Emprise. I'm not sure if the land can ever be fully healed, but I need to try. Apart from that…" He blows out a breath while Solas nods, satisfied. Multifarious goals, but solid ones. They will delay the onset of corruption and complacency, at least for a while.

A brief pause, then Leas continues, "Apart from that, I'm not so sure. I think I will have more time to dedicate to my personal goals now, but I've told you about them. They require diplomats, lawmakers, politicians—not spies and soldiers. Not the way I envision them. There may come a day when I can find no more purpose for our army… in which case we may want to downsize. Orlais and Ferelden won't like us being in their territory for no good reason, and I can't blame them."

Very astute of him. "It sounds like you have a good handle on things for now," Solas says, smiling. "I feared what might happen once the Inquisition had fulfilled its purpose, but you seem to have taken steps to avert it."

Leas smiles back at him. "'Ma serannas," he says. "It means a great deal to me that I still have your approval, hahren. The Inquisition might still lose its purpose yet… but that's tomorrow's problem, I think."

May he have many tomorrows. As inevitable as corruption and complacency are, it would be tragic if the Inquisition succumbed to such a fate after everything they have done. "Then I wish you luck, lethal'lin," he says, with another small smile. "You have been a good friend and a finer champion for the elves than anyone else I can think of, and you deserve success and ease in all of your future endeavours."

"You too, Solas," Leas says, and Solas bites his lip to keep from letting out a shocked laugh. Oh, if the man knew what he was wishing for… "I am sorry you don't feel you can come back, but I wish you well all the same. I hope we might meet again one day, after all is over, and enjoy the fruits of our labours together."

Solas smiles again, though he knows it is pained. "Likewise," he murmurs. "And before you ask, I do not require any assistance from the Inquisition in my travels. The path I am taking is one that I must take alone."

Leas stares at him for a moment, his brow furrowing as he examines him. Then he nods, though he looks dissatisfied. "If you insist. But the offer's on the table if you ever want to take it up."

Oh, I will. Just not in the way you expect. I am sorry to deceive you, my friend.

"Thank you, I will remember that," he says blandly. As they walk, he shifts on his feet. It might be time to redirect the subject. "Now, if I may ask, how have you fared with regards to your magic since my departure?"

Leas evidently recognises what Solas is doing, but he only grins as they fall back into step again—a familiar habit that he has long missed. "Oh, I've been doing well. I've been training myself to Fade-walk further and further. So far, I've managed to make it to Nevarra."

"That is good progress. You sound as if you have an end goal in mind."

"I do," Leas says, nodding. His cheeks flush pink. "I'm hoping to make it all the way to Minrathous. Dorian will be going back to Tevinter eventually, and I, er…" His blush deepens, and he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck and chuckling weakly.

Solas only smiles at him. "You want to surprise him by meeting up with him in his dreams."

"Correct. And I really would like to surprise him. Just imagining the look on his face…" Leas' smile widens into an affectionate grin. There is silence for a moment as he contemplates the idea. Then he adds, "There is much we could do. He could show me Tevinter—in our dreams. All the fascination, none of the risk, no need for him to worry about me being in danger—from magisters and slavers, anyway. I should thank you again for teaching me all this, Solas. I wouldn't be capable of this if you hadn't."

"And I am as pleased as ever that it has been so beneficial to you," Solas says, and he means it, even as his heart sinks. "As I have said, you have a rare gift, and it is one that should be enjoyed. Perhaps you might use it for peaceful or intellectual purposes, rather than for war alone, now that Corypheus is dead."

Leas nods vigorously. "I hope so," he says. "I'm aware there are many other offensive applications for this gift that I have yet to discover, but I've killed enough people in their dreams. I would much rather spend my time now learning more about walking in and shaping the Fade and watching spirits re-enact history—the way you do. Things like that."

"Worthy goals, indeed," Solas tells him, smiling wider. The pause that follows is comfortable, much the way it was in the old days, and that alone is enough for him to sink back into melancholy and doubt. Again he wonders if this was necessary, and again he tells himself that there can be no other path.

That he has to keep asking himself this is telling.

To distract himself, Solas looks back at Leas and asks, "What of the Well of Sorrows? How much have you gleaned from it?"

"Quite a lot," Leas responds. "Most of it to do with the language. I've learnt enough by now that I've started working on a dictionary. Iselen's been helping me with it. Dorian too—he wasn't sure, but I told him there's a certain fitness in a Tevinter aristocrat helping reconstruct what his people helped destroy." He laughs, and Solas can't help but chuckle too. "I'm getting the hang of the syntax, too, the grammar… things like that. It's… amazing, just finally being able to understand…" He lets out a dreamy sigh. "My people will love this. I can't wait for the next Arlathvhen."

"Yes, I imagine it'll be quite the event," Solas admits. "What else have you learnt?"

Leas blows out a long breath. "Some magic. Old spells from Arlathan, techniques for making my current spells even better. I've tried them out—they're fascinating. The voices say they're not what they used to be, but most of them are glad they're being used at all. They've also let me in on a few old stories, like the one about Falon'Din you mentioned in the Temple of Mythal. And a couple of… enlightening ones about Elgar'nan. I know he was the god of vengeance and all that, but I had never suspected he was so… brutal." He shakes his head, and Solas grimaces.

"His title alone implies it," he says, and he clenches his fist as he remembers Elgar'nan's tyranny. In many ways, he had been the very worst of the Evanuris. "For what little it is worth, I am sorry you had to find out that way."

"It's all right," Leas says, chuckling. "It was surprising, yes, but given what Elgar'nan did to his father and how Mythal had to calm his rage afterwards—well, it wasn't exactly out of left field. In any event, I'm hoping my people will be open to hearing these stories even if they don't paint such a pretty picture. It's more than we used to have. As for the rest of it, I've had a few scraps here and there, but nothing worth commenting on. I'm fine with that. Makes it all easier to handle."

"Well, I am glad you are profiting from this," Solas tells him, reluctantly. "Do you still stand by your decision?"

"I do. I am concerned about what Mythal—Asha'bellanar—is planning and how she might use me for it. But that's a bridge I'll have to cross when I come to it. For now, I think it'd have to be something horrific to make me regret drinking from the Well. I've learnt far too much." When he mentions Mythal, Solas looks away, and he has only just schooled his face back into a neutral expression by the time Leas has finished talking.

"I understand," he says after a long moment. "I still do not agree, but I understand."

"It'll be all right, Solas, I'm sure," Leas says. He reaches out as if to pat his shoulder, but at the last moment, he evidently thinks better of it and retracts his hand. "I just need to—ahhh!"

At his sudden cry, Solas jumps, and when he looks down, his blood chills and his heart sinks even further. The Anchor is glowing, sending out furious sparks in every direction, and it seems to distort the surrounding area. Leas gasps and grasps his wrist, almost doubling up with his pain while the glow builds up to nearly the size of his hand.

"Fenedhis," Solas murmurs. He bends down so that his head is level with Leas' and touches his hand. "Leas, let me…"

At once, Leas lets go of his wrist and holds out his marked hand for Solas to take. Even here, the power of the Anchor is sharp and stabbing like an obsidian dagger, and Solas winces as he gingerly grasps the hand it scars. The guilt wrenches his stomach into so many knots as he waves his hand over the Anchor and works what magic he can. Almost immediately, the glowing and sparking die down, but not as much as Solas had hoped. His stomach plummets as he realises what that means.

"This is deteriorating," he murmurs. "I'm sorry, lethal'lin. These episodes will come with increasing frequency over time. I think you will be fine for the time being, but give it another year, and it may be beyond control. In which case…" He trails off, not liking to consider the possibilities.

Leas nods, not seeming disturbed or surprised. "I suspected that might be the case." He sighs. "Another problem for the days to come. Is there anything I can do for the time being? Can you show me that spell you just did?"

Solas gives him an apologetic look. "I would, but I fear the magic involved is beyond even your skill level. In the waking world, it requires a very precise manipulation of the Veil, and that would take years to master. Longer than you have. I am afraid you will simply have to content yourself with healing spells and whatever Vivienne and Dorian can provide."

For half a moment, Leas looks suspicious, but then he nods, disappointment overtaking the momentary flicker of incredulity on his face. "As you say. Thank you anyway, Solas," he says. He looks back down at the Anchor, which is still sparking. "I think I had better go. It will be easier to deal with this back in the waking world."

"I understand. I should probably get on my way myself," Solas admits, nodding. "Good luck, my friend. I am sorry that this pains you so." Sorrier than Leas can ever know.

Despite his pain, Leas manages a smile. "I will be fine. I always am," he says airily. "Good luck to you too, Solas. Dar'eth shiral. Sule tael tasalal."

Solas bows his head, heart clenching again with the guilt. So much better it would be if they did not meet again, and he can only hope that this meeting satisfied Leas enough that he'll stop trying to seek him out in the Fade. But for the time being, the deception must continue. "Ethas na, i'ea son."

Leas manages another smile, and then he fades, vanishing within seconds as he returns to the waking world. The Anchor is the last of him to disappear, and even afterwards, its spark remains visible, glowing greener and brighter than it should. Solas watches, hating again what his magic did, dreading what it will do. Again the temptation to abandon it all rises to choke him, and again he pushes it away.

Then he turns back around and continues further into the Fade.

Translations

"An'daran atish'an, arani. Nuvenan ma son.": "The place you go is a place of peace, my friend. I hope you are well."

"Mar enaste lan em lath'in'iseth. Tel'ame, y emma serannas.": "Your grace warms my heart. I am not, but thank you."

"Nuvenan ma tas son.": "I hope you are also well."

"Ame, emma serannas.": "I am, thank you."

"Ha'raj'vi'dirth.": lit. "King Language", formal variant of elvhen.

"Dar'eth shiral. Sule tael tasalal.": "Go safely on your journey. Until we meet again."

"Ethas na, i'ea son.": "Be safe, and be well."

All translations taken from FenxShiral's Project Elvhen.