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The Spectral Breath

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Chapter Fifteen: Remorse

Her gaze settled on a distant disturbance in the night, on fireflies twinkling in the depths of the Brecillian. Wolves sung whenever there was disquiet, while owls soured over sparser glade as tranquil in grace as withered crests fallen from gathered trunks of spruce and maidenhair. She hummed to them sometimes, satisfied in the mild hoot they returned. Her father had always mentioned yearning for a time of complacency. The life of a lord prevented much in personal respite. In a way she wished to honour it. Alone, in the quiet, with only nature surrounding her, she had to admit. It was nice.

Though there was a part of her conscience that kept coaxing her back to her Keeper's tent, where a chimney bellowed in the last remaining fumes of a dwindling flame born from an ashen hearth; where soft snores resonated over crimson tapestries and thin timber walls, even through ruptures in the makeshift roof, where spiders softly settled in silken beds.

There had been a gathering outside the Keeper's abode from dawn to dusk. She had been included for a while, before she had been dealt the accursed abuse of the entire clan, forcing her to seek shelter on the ramparts overlooking the forest. She had not dared to set a hair into their boundary since. To do so might have very well called for their bows to be manned and their arrows to puncture where guilt hurt her most.

Lahris glimpsed the sling hugging her right arm in, and softly frowned. An unhealthy shade of brown had caught the inner lining. Most likely dried blood. She sighed, and winced when folding a frayed patch over the wound, concealing the breakage from view. All she could do was lie against a pillar overlooking the Dalish land, hoping to what little of her gods remained that her friend would sleep peacefully through the night.

Soon, the day would rise in fire and smoke, and she would once again have to face the burden she alone had brought to her clan. Fearing what would approach in the coming hours, she twiddled a dry leaf in between her healthy fingers, following the veins with her nails until the surface ripped just a little more.

Her ears pricked at the platform's render. She did not need to peer his way to know whom had come to trouble her. For she smelt an essence of pine and newly inked tampestry carried on the wind. Familiar, alluring yet slightly toxic: a scent that tingled her nose, though not enough to sniffle. Instead she knew that if he had not intended for her to hear him, his naked toes would have been the first to see curling over the rampart's edge, while his pale hand swung to settle on his back.

His shadow dwarfed the closest fireflies. She sighed, knowing what was to come.

"I've always been curious about Dalish medicine. Would their poulstices be inferior to those of their human counterparts? After all, their culture has degraded vastly to what they blindly aspire to be. I suspected little in the way of magical prowess, believed they relied heavily on herbal remedies to cure their ailments."

He continued to face the wooded glade, though she watched his chin rise slightly higher. "I've never met a clan with more than two healers. Most cast them away for fear of losing themselves to the Fade, or their trickster god, Fen'Harel. I once visited a clan who shunned magic altogether, believing it abhorrent to their creators."

Lahris slowly arched her brow. "Why would they do such a thing?"

He sighed, and in doing so, caused his shoulders to lax, as if a long kept tension was briefly dispelled. "Because time breeds a need for simplicity. Why continue to strive for a civilisation already lost? Why continue to value the morals of the latter when chants of another pantheon weigh in from other paths? That's not to say I dismiss the Chantry. All Religion has its faults. Merely the addition of another belief over the centuries would certainly leave an impression, and could easily be absorbed into the old, creating something inherently new altogether. Perhaps, even more disasterous."

"So, what did you do, when they found out you were a mage?"

"I feared if I stayed I might become one of the relics they so greedily horded. I… will not repeat the horrors I had seen, although what I can admit is what the Templars do to mages is a form of mercy compared to their barbarism. Let that be enough, da'len."

Lahris pursed her lips, nodding slowly. "I suppose the Sahlin Dalish are similar, having forgotten the old ways." Her gaze drifted off into the distance, glassed and dazed. Memories of the past easily swam into her mind, like her flittering fireflies gently fawning for her attention. "Nothing was the same when they found me. They lived in straw huts and baked in stone hearths, hacked down trees without a thought to the spirits they harboured. It took… so much control not to simply cry out. It was… like… viewing a painting, with all the detail marred or askew. I-"

Her breathing faltered. Then, she softly smiled, while her lips were gently bitten. "Ir abelas, the evening air has clouded my thoughts. I'm not sure what I'm saying."

Solas gradually descended onto the rampart, seating himself so he could see her closely. Her focus merely returned to glare up into a long, black sky, where even as the Brecilian choked in plains, there were still glades freely opened, as if mourning the beauty of the world at times, desperate to see if the Veil still remained. For the Fade was once the sun to the wooded lands, breathing new life into those decayed, dead stumps. But as she saw many nights past, the bodies of nature were now only husks, for once there was death, it could never be undone.

Her fingers dug deeper into the leaf until it shattered completely. All will turn to dust. I will turn to dust, one day.

"Solas, will you do me a small favour while you stay with the Dalish?" His frown drew taut, curious. He agreed. "Do not dwell in the Fade for these memories. Lock the temptation away. Do not dream near the temple. If you do this for me, I will forever be grateful."

His question presented itself in a frown, in the flinch of a brow, attempting to figure what little pieces of an enigma she had produced. "What binds you here, da'len? Demons only latch onto those most alike to their identity. Despair latched onto you directly. On your despair. It hungered for you. May I inquire as to why?"

"No," she insisted, casting a pleading glance his way. "No."

"May I ask what you uncovered by ignoring my advice, then? I forbided you from listening to Despair, yet you unheeded my advice and sought its council anyway. You were fortunate it willingly released you, or else you might not be here." He cast his elbows across his knees, causing course woollen flaps to drape his thighs. He reached up to hold the bridge of his nose tight, before finally releasing tension from his shoulders. "He could have possessed you. Worse, he could've-"

A hand cupped his shoulder, small and frailly pale. Her cheek soon replaced it, nuzzling the soft wolf fur of his pouldron, to then finally peck his cheek with a kiss. The apostate stilled beneath her, either due to concern, surprise, a chill in the night air or even due to the distant howl, she knew not. Only that it drew her closer to him, as she tucked her maimed arm into his waist and squoze into his free-shoulder for more comfort.

Lahris held her breath, for she secretly longed for the embrace of another, even if it was a simple pat on the brow or a warm sigh across her cold ear. Instead, she was rewarded by his chin resting over her hair. His breath fogged the night sky above her.

She hesitated a moment longer before finally elaborating. "Ma melava halani," she whispered, and briefly wondered if he could truly understand her elder speech. "Even when you had no cause to. Truth…. my truth… maybe you deserve to know some of it. Despair told me of the presence in my shard. It's a spirit."

Solas shuffled, his feet caught in old, evergreen moss. He caught her chin with a finger and raised it. "A spirit?"

"Yes."

He released her, thoughtfully scratching his jaw. "Interesting. So it is a binding stone. A powerful charm created for the sole purpose of drawing the energy from the ether. Matter born with resonance, adaptability. Thoughts, feelings. In other meanings, a spirit. This is old dark magic. I never thought to see it's like again."

"Again?"

"In the Fade, da'len. I have visited many places, seen more than many would care to share. I happened upon a binding ritual once, one that included such a stone. The spirit captured was forced to abuse its power until it was all together broken. Once the spirit exhausted all that could be drained, it simply vanished, allowing the stone to be reused on another."

"Like a cycle?"

"Unfortunately so. If memory serves me correctly you have previously mentioned another possessing several of your artifacts, have you not? Which could only mean they are similar devices, used perhaps for an identical purpose. But… for what purpose? Power? Fealty? Fear? There are other methods far simpler in achieving those ends. To ensnare a spirit is no easy feat. Demons, yes, but something tells me your shard would not work on a spirit deviated from its purpose. It would take far more power to bind it if it were first trapped unwillingly… but if it were trapped and suspended in a dormant state…"

"the spirit would be completely vulnerable…"

"… to any manipulation," he finished.

A light, twinkling in the joy of a shared debate, glistened in the eyes of the elvhen mage, while she looked upon her mentor with a warm tingling sensation fluttering in waves across her chest. She smiled, kindly, only to find that the joy so briefly mirrored in his own had begun to diminish, until he stared into an open glade as a flowing river caught his very glazed interest.

She sensed the cogs turning in his mind, and realised the severity, as well as sadness, that came with such a turning point in their shared conversation. The Inquisition no longer faced a foe they initially believed to be feeble. Not only that, but he was to be the barer of bad news. He would bare the frontal assault of the Inquisitor, in addition to his unkindly appreciation of elven kind.

Lahris lowered her gaze. Would it not be simply best to leave the Inquisiton while it stood? she wondered, nibbling on her lower lip. Or would my master knock the castle to the ice anyway, just to show his strength and dominance to this new world?

"Care to share your thoughts, da'len?"

"Hmm?" she muttered, slowly shaking her head. "Oh, your, um, shoulder. Your shoulder, Solas. How do you feel? Has it mended well?"

Had he pondered on her swift change in subject, he did not admit to it. Instead he flexed his shoulder, only to wince at a sudden sharp pain. "I shall endure. Perhaps I should be asking the same of you. We all suffered at the hands of Despair, but you, I believe suffered far worse. Perhaps not psychically, but mentally, most likely, for I suspect the impression of it still lingers."

An impression did linger. Lahris could feel it in the very darkness of her mind, abiding its time while her thoughts drifted in and out of coherency. Its baring lingered on every syllable like a haunting, every sad roll of the tongue, every despairing memory. She attempted to shake them away, though she doubted it's influence could ever truly be eradicated. "If I have nightmares I know who to tell."

He smiled, nodding once.

They must have been a comical sight, twin slings cast on opposite arms together. An odd pair, an even odder couple. She frowned, having never truly thought of comparing them to such before. But yes… couple. That could be them, had things been different; had circumstances changed.

Would an apostate even truly yearn for a relationship? He had most likely spent the majority of his life alone, taking pleasure in public baths or luring maidens to his arms by a way of tales of wars and heroes. He most likely had no use for pleasure derived from courtship, only dalliances and trysts.

Lahris once wondered what it was like to be such a woman, free from the expectations of authority. To have the confidence to grasp the wiles of any man that found her appealing. Yet the bearings of tradition, high society privalleges and decorum prevented it from ever surfacing.

He was fortunate in that regard, to never know the restraints of a dove immured. Her wings had been clipped since birth.

"Solas?"

"Hmm?"

She hesitated. "I hope you grow to value the Dalish here. They may be difficult to understand at times, but they have a heart for their own. Mas seranas, for healing Jaras and bringing us back to this place in one piece, and for helping me so far in my journey. For teaching me. For everything. There might be times to come that I might seem not myself. I want you to know that I value all you've done, while we're alone."

His lips pursed against her, while his body for a time drew incredibly still. The only motion he made was a light kiss to her brow, though she feared she mistook it for a stir in the wind. "And… to you, da'len. For being an amicable student, and for allowing me to share in what I know."

"I'm sure you have had plenty of students in the past, hahren."

"A few," he admitted, gazing up into the stars. "A few… though none like you."

Because you change, everything.