Non-Linear

I hated not sharing a tent with Solas, and leaving him the next morning was even worse. He wasn't awake - it was well before dawn. I slipped into his tent, ignoring Cassandra's stifled sound of protest, and kissed his face gently, offering one more surge of healing before I left. The fever remained. His skin was pallid with it, seeming to cling too tightly to his already rather harsh features, giving him an uncomfortably grim aspect. "Please be well, ma vhenan," I whispered. He roused enough to squeeze my hand, and then I had to leave.

I had left instructions with both Cole and the group of Harding's scouts who had arrived the night before, and I tried to make myself believe it would be enough. I knew my extensive list was likely more than enough, I just couldn't seem to believe it. Between the plague that I knew had ravaged the region and having to leave Solas behind, I couldn't seem to stop myself from worrying.

I still felt awful that it hadn't occurred to me to mention the use of preventive fevers. If I had, Solas would likely be perfectly fine, or at least much, much less sick. But that was hindsight, and there was nothing I could do about it now beyond resolving not to make such mistakes in the future.

It was a quiet march all that morning, interrupted only when one of us - usually me - accidentally stepped in the water and disturbed the undead, and of course when we found another of the pillar-topped hills. We encountered the first one of the day another two hours beyond where we had found and closed the rift the day before. There were more demons and another Veilfire rune containing a string of coded words and the impression of someone who was sinking further into madness. For a while, we stopped having to worry about disturbing the undead.

Which was good. The next section of road consisted of a rotting series of platforms raised above the water, some of which would simply not bear Iron Bull's weight, and some of which had holes that the rest of the team had to maneuver me around with care. It took us nearly two hours just to reach the boundary beyond which the undead became a threat again, and we were still in the midst of traversing the platforms.

We fought a lot of undead and moved very, very slowly.

I had no real way to judge, but I suspected that the section we spent six hours crossing was more like three or four hours in terms of distance. "How did anyone with carts or horses use that?" I demanded once we were on solid - if not dry - ground again. In the distance, the others said they could see another hill with another pillar.

"There was probably once a lower road," Blackwall told me, "and the upper one was only used seasonally, when the lower flooded, and just for the locals. No traders using it, probably. Water's risen since then, I guess. Lower road is lost. Or we're in the wrong season to use it."

"I hate this place," I informed them. I hated it, and I missed Solas, and the light was beginning to dim. "I hate it and we're going to have to camp."

We had brought the large tent that we had used in the mountains, aware that we probably wouldn't make it to the fort in a single day.

"Are you thinking of settling on the hill for the night?" Dorian asked.

"I'd...rather not," Bull said. "Really. Rather not."

"Same," Blackwall agreed, "but we need a defensible location where we won't get flooded out. The hill is the highest spot around, and, if it's like the others, probably reasonably defensible."

"But...demons," Bull protested.

"They can't hurt us if they're dead, right?" Sera offered philosophically. "We'll just kill 'em extra good. Arrows to their creepy-ass faces!"

"If you would rather not sleep, I trust you to know your own limits," I told Bull. "We'll keep watch in pairs, that way no one will be alone."

There was some uncomfortable shifting - perhaps a few glances were exchanged, though I couldn't tell for certain - and I suspected that Blackwall and Cassandra, at least, were considering the wisdom of telling me that they weren't afraid of the dark.

I also suspected it would have been a lie if they had.

"Come on," I sighed. "We just need a few hours - just enough to refresh ourselves before battle, and to keep going after. We'll have wounded to escort back. Let's look at the hill, see how defensible it's going to be, and then clear it."

We trudged up to the top of the hill, freed and fought the demons and undead, and confirmed that Widris was still about three wheels short of a working aravel. The top of the hill was the best spot within view for camp, and so we pitched our tent, lit a fire, ate a small meal, and assigned watches. Everyone else decided that I shouldn't have to take a watch unless it was absolutely necessary, and so I was only to wake in the event that Bull found he needed more sleep than he thought, and there was a gap in the rotation. I found their concern a little smothering, but considering the lives at stake, I didn't protest.

As long as I was sleeping, I might as well see if I could reach Solas through the Fade - a long shot, considering how ill he was, but one I couldn't help taking.

It was almost a surprise when I actually did find him, at least until I realized I wasn't seeing present-him, but some echo of him from the past. Present-Solas didn't have piercings halfway up both ears, filled with gold hoops and studs. "Savhalla, da'len," was also not the fashion in which he typically greeted me.

I supposed a dream was better than nothing. "Savhalla, Solas."

We were on a mountainside at night, though the breeze was warm. Below, the valleys were filled with fog, leaving only a handful of other mountain peaks visible in the moonlight. It was both eerie and beautiful, and must have been drawn from Solas's memories. I had never seen anywhere like it - and wouldn't have been able to see it even if I had - and it certainly wasn't a location anywhere within the Fallow Mire. He was seated in the grass, while I had come to a stop standing a little behind him. Neither the angle nor the light was ideal for judging, but I thought his face looked particularly haggard, its lines drawn as deeply as I had ever seen them.

He looked at me sidelong when I used his name. "Are we acquainted?" he asked.

"From your perspective or mine?" I muttered, maybe not quite quietly enough to avoid being overheard, given his rueful smile, but I tried to give him a real answer, as well: "I think so, though you often don't remember."

"Ah." He breathed out the syllable in a single puff of air. "Memories of what occurs in the Fade can be difficult to hold for an extended period," he allowed. "Sit with me, if you would. It isn't a good night to be alone with one's thoughts."

I seated myself next to him, but far enough away that we weren't in danger of accidentally touching. It was hard to say whether I did it because I wanted to touch him so much, or whether it was because I was aware that this Solas wasn't the one I desperately wanted to touch. Maybe I didn't want to take any comfort that my present-Solas was denied. He was the one who was ill, after all.

"And how does your world fare, da'len?"

The question pulled me from my thoughts and made me exhale a sharp bark of despairing laughter. I felt Solas looking at me again, and shook my head. "I'm concerned for several people, but one more particularly than all the rest. And - I miss him."

"That feeling is one I know well," he said quietly. "Perhaps our mutual grief is what drew us together."

"Maybe this time," I allowed, "but I think, in general, it's something stronger than that drawing us together." I knew it was, in fact, but it probably wasn't information I should give to someone living in my past, or in an alternate timeline, or however these things worked. "Would you like to talk about your grief?" I asked.

He hesitated. "Someone I loved died for something I am no longer certain was worth pursuing," he said at last. "The sacrifice weighs heavy on me now, after...an unhappy series of interactions with others."

Interesting. It was more about the past than my Solas had ever told me, even if it was so vague as to be useless. "Sul'numan nar'laimasha, lethallin. That sounds like a terrible place to be in."

He turned and faced me more fully at my use of the Elvish words of condolence. "You are of the People," he said.

"Oh, yes - Inana of Clan Lavellan. Ir abelas - I forgot you wouldn't remember my name," I told him.

"What have we spoken of, when we met previously?" he asked.

I heaved a breathless laugh. "Many, many things." I paused, thinking over his earlier words. An unhappy series of interactions with others . Maybe this was the time during which he was trying to offer information and wisdom to the Dalish. Well - that argued that either he wasn't going to remember this conversation, or that I was speaking to a Solas whose existence intersected with my own only during this brief moment. Even so, I chose to comfort him as much as I could. "Some of my favorite conversations have centered around old memories you showed me, or spirits we met and talked to. You showed me long ago how to interact with them without undue fear of corrupting them."

"Long ago," he repeated, amused. "It seems to me we must count the years differently - I'm unconvinced you have a 'long ago' to refer to."

I made a face at him, and he snorted a laugh. "I was a child," I elaborated.

"Surprising," he murmured. "I have had few interactions with children."

"You treated me a great deal like one of the more delicate spirits," I told him. "Sometimes I think you initially believed I was a spirit."

"Unlikely," he replied.

I didn't respond, though I thought it was more likely than he believed. My first conscious steps into the Fade had happened at such a young age - and young children were a great deal like spirits sometimes. It seemed possible to me that he hadn't looked beyond that resemblance, but I couldn't say for certain. He might be right, too, in believing he wouldn't ever mistake a physical person for a spirit.

"Are you happy among your people?" he asked after a long moment of silence.

"I was," I told him truthfully, "and then I wasn't, and then I was pulled away by terrible circumstances that left me either better or worse off - I still haven't decided. Maybe it's too early to decide. I won't ever return to my clan, I know that - but I miss them, and I find myself trying, usually in vain, to build something like a clan around myself. It's...hard with humans. Hard to put aside history and expectations, even though I really believe that they mean well - or that the ones around me do, anyway."

He grunted. "I should not have assumed. Ir abelas, da'len."

I shrugged. "The assumption doesn't hurt - leaving was too complicated to be either all bad or all good - and I don't mind talking about it with you, Solas."

"May I ask what changed to make you unhappy? I won't be offended if you say no," he assured me.

After another moment of thought, I gestured to my face. "You might note that my vallaslin is unfinished?"

"I - oh, so it is," he said, scrutinizing me.

"The spell binding me to my clan and our gods didn't take, and no one knows why. It left me as a functional child. Which," I added with a reluctant sigh, remembering what Cole had said to me, "might have been the best outcome our Keeper could see - because the only other obvious one would have been to expel me from the clan."

"Perhaps you were dedicated to a - a member of the pantheon at or even before your birth, and your Keeper wasn't told?" he offered. "If the dedication were serious enough, it would create a bond that your clan's simpler spell would be unable to usurp or disrupt."

I stared at him. Why hadn't he - why hadn't my Solas - said so before? Although...maybe it wasn't the answer. "My Keeper sought to learn which god I was suited for, of course," I told him. "Wouldn't a bond like that have been reflected in the Fade? She couldn't find any signs, which was why she attempted to dedicate me to Dirthamen, keeper of secrets."

"Couldn't find any signs, or didn't recognize any signs?" Solas asked mildly.

Well, I couldn't say that wasn't a fair question. Maela had missed the shivas'lath that bound me to Solas himself, after all. It was unfamiliar to my people, and had been dormant, but even so - she had been searching and had overlooked or disregarded it. "I don't suppose there would be a way to find out if I'm dedicated to a god?"

"There are ways, certainly," he allowed. "Nothing simple, I fear, or I would seek the answer for you right now. But I'm curious: you already said that you wouldn't return to your clan. What would you do with such knowledge?"

That was another good question. "I don't know," I admitted. "I'll have to think about it, I suppose." If this Solas knew how to learn such a thing, my Solas had to know, as well.

Which left only one more good question: why hadn't he told me?

Savhalla: Greetings

Sul'numan nar'laimasha: I weep for your loss