Blood of the People

by HerenyaHope

POST TRESPASSER: After discovering Solas' true identity and his plan, Nimwen must contend with the aftermath while taking care of her and Solas' young daughter, Lorien. However, change comes after a encounter with a mysterious elf who claims to know Solas' next move. As Nimwen and him chase down Solas, she finds herself learning more about Solas than she ever could imagine.

5. Chapter 5

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Chapter 5:

"This basement seems secluded enough," Nimwen said to Mahvir as the two descended the stairs. She kept looking back at him, worried his breathing would be hard going down the steps. "I don't think we'll be bothered."

"Good." Mahvir was going slow; he didn't look up at her when he replied. Each step down he used his left leg with the staff and held to the wall with his right hand. He had to focus where he stepped.

Nimwen held onto the railing with her hand, nervous about slipping. After losing her left arm, stairs made her more anxious than they used to. While trying to find a place for them to train in secret, Nimwen had been excited about the prospect of being able to fight again. As they got closer however, her excitement was slowly turning to nervousness. Strapped to her back was her trusty staff, Shockmaw, but now it the staff felt heavier than it ever did. 'I can do this,' she told herself, but even her inner voice was less than convincing.

It took Mahvir a little longer than Nimwen to make it to the bottom. He stopped beside her, sucking on one of the herbs again to ease breathing while his dark gaze inspected the space. "It will do."

He placed his staff against the wall before pulling off his scarf. Nimwen watched as he used his teeth to tie the scarf around his shoulder, right arm, and back. Soon his right arm was bound to his back. He pulled the scarf tight before he picked up his staff.

"We'll start with you learning to balance without the aid of your arm."

"Okay," Nimwen responded. She took Shockmaw off her back, gripping the staff like she had a thousand times. As she held it through, another bout of the phantom feeling in her lost arm surged. She could almost feel her left fingers twitching, waiting to catch her staff as she twirled it. It made her skin itch.

"Don't think on old battles. It'll make this harder." Mahvir moved around the room, lighting the torches so they could see. He then moved to the center of the room and gestured with his head for her join him.

Nimwen obeyed and followed, trying to push away the feelings of her ghost limb and focus on the task at hand. "Just curious, what is your experience in training one-armed mages?" she asked.

"I met a young boy a few centuries back who had no arms and great magical potential. He had run away in order to hide and was at risk of being taken by demons. I taught him to use his magic without gestures. A difficult task considering, but he learned and was a great mage in his time." He paused. "I also had to re-teach myself to fight after my breathing got worse and I got a bad leg from the fire. Though, I am barely a mage."

"Well, if a mage with no arms can learn, there's hope for me yet," Nimwen said. "Alright, what is lesson number one?"

"Learning to still use your staff." Mahvir moved into an odd stance close to the one Nimwen used to take, but the staff hovered a little closer to the ground. "The heavier end needs to be closer to the ground," he told her. "It will leave your 'weaker' side exposed, but once you master using magic without gestures, this will be to your advantage. The staff will allow you to retain balance while in combat."

"Makes sense," she said. She followed his instructions and angled the end of her staff closer to the ground. It felt off, the dragon head of the staff feeling much heavier closer down, but Nimwen trusted Mahvir not to lead her astray.

"Not only will this aid with stationary combat but movement as well." His body moved as he twisted the staff with one hand. Lightning crackled from the tip with each step he took. It struck the wall at the same point, over and over until the end attack. He stopped, back in the same stance. She had noticed through this he had breathed slow, in and out in some sort of pattern he had timed with the use of the staff.

She turned to the wall, determination on her face. She twisted her wrist and sent a bolt of lightning at the wall. She lifted her staff, but out of habit moved her staff to her other hand, only to remember it was gone when her staff clattered to the ground. "Fenhedis," she cursed, her cheeks pink as she bent down to pick up her staff.

"The hardest part is remembering not to fall back on old habits," Mahvir told her. He was leaning on his staff. "I still breath wrong when walking but when in combat I focus on timing my breathing so my airways don't restrict as quickly. For you, it's a matter of disciplining yourself to use one hand. Try the first two steps. We'll move up from there."

Mahvir moved through the first two steps with his staff. The lightning stuck the mark again.

Nimwen breathed in, trying to keep her composure. She tried again, having to consciously remind herself not to transfer her staff to her non-existent hand. Her moves felt clumsy, juvenile, and it was like she was a child again, learning with Keeper Deshanna how to hold a staff.

'Some Inquisitor you are,' a little voice mocked her when she dropped her staff again, coming close to zapping herself. She gritted her teeth and picked her staff up again.

"Better." Mahvir nodded to her. "Don't expect perfection, Lady Nimwen. You have to learn to walk again before you can run."

"Yes, yes I know," Nimwen responded, with a bit more bite than she intended. She started again, training her arms to move how it should. As she moved, her stump waved uselessly beside her, and she angrily wanted to do something, even if that was impossible. When she miscalculated on a turn and ended up smacking her head with the butt of her staff, she let out a frustrated yell and threw it to the ground. "Why can't I do this?! It's such a simple thing!" she snapped.

Mahvir moved over to her. "If that was true, everyone who lost a limb would continue fighting." He leaned his staff against his shoulder and pulled out another scarf from his bag. "Will you let me tie this around your arm? It will help with your balance." He returned the scarf to his bag without moments before she spoke.

"Fine, fine, just do whatever you want," Nimwen growled. She realized she was being rude to Mahvir, especially after all the help he was giving her, but she couldn't help it. Lashing was the only thing keeping her from crying out in frustration.

"Sit down," he ordered her. His eyes were calm and kind despite the sudden sternness in his voice.

"Why?"

"You need to calm down," he stated and settled himself on the ground, his staff placed across his lap. "Learning to work through a new block isn't easy. It is best when frustrated to sit down and remind yourself why you're doing this. If you focus that reason in the center of mind and grasp to it then we can continue. If the reason isn't good enough then go back upstairs." He pulled out his herb and started suck on it.

"I'm trying," Nimwen said. "But, what if it's not enough?"

'You were never enough.'

"How long will it take me to be viable in a fight? Months? Years? Everything I know about magic, I have to learn all over again, and until then I'm as good on a battlefield as a meat shield."

"It depends on the person." Mahvir looked at her. "Each person has their own block they need to overcome. I am not talking about the physical block either." He gestured to her arm. "I am talking about the block in here." He tapped his head. "Minutes, hours, days, months, years; never. It all depends on the individual and if the reasons are good enough to overcome your mental block. For me, I couldn't let go of the past. I thought myself undeserving of life and had lost all will to fight until a friend hit me hard in the head. He told me, 'Sit on that rock there. You're not allowed to leave until you think of something you're good at. I don't mean magic either. SIT or I swear I will tickle to an inch of your life.' So I sat there and sat there until I finally realized what I was good at. I think I was there for several weeks. He would bring me food."

"Your friend reminds me of mine," Nimwen said with a small chuckle. "When Solas first left and I found out I was pregnant, I...grew depressed. I stayed in bed and didn't want to talk to anybody, but my friends wouldn't let me, Dorian especially. He kept bringing me food and would read books to me whether I wanted them or not; obnoxious voices included. I think I managed to survive five days of Swords and Shields before I finally told him to shut up. That was the first I'd spoken in a while. I got better after that." Nimwen smiled, remembering the look on Dorian's face after she'd knocked the book from his hands, and the crushing embrace that followed. It made her miss him all the more.

"Those are the rare friends we should always keep the memory of close." Mahvir nodded. "I do miss him pretending he was a halla chasing me and shouting 'you're letting a legless man out run you! How embarrassing?!'"

Nimwen burst into laughter. "He did what?!" she cackled.

"Oh, he had crafted himself prosthetic legs and taught himself how to run again. But he placed his hands on his head and pretended they were halla horns then charge off through the field. I could never catch up to him. It earned me no end of being teased by him."

"He seems like an interesting person," Nimwen said. "What was his name?"

At this Mahvir laughed. "You're going to find this silly, but the group we were with at the time had named me Sahlin for being unable to live in the moment and him Mahvir for only living in the moment. He used to say 'You get my name when you learn to live. Then I get to be called Mahviramen! Get it, I keep tomorrow!' He had that kind of personality though. I suppose a part of me took his name not only for the future of our People, but to remember him."

"It's a nice sentiment," Nimwen said. "I wish I could have met him."

"I do as well. Then again, perhaps not. He would have been hitting you right now rather than talking."

Nimwen chuckled. "Would he be deterred if I showed him my missing arm and my two-year old?"

"He would have been hitting you because of your missing arm, Lady Nimwen. He believed a disability was no excuse to not do something. He would say 'I have no legs, what of it? I can beat any of you lot in a race! I'll prove it here and now.' For him, a disability was something which could only make someone stronger. He used to tell me to turn my physical frailty and weak lungs to my advantage. That I could still do whatever I put my mind to as long as stood up on my own two feet and just tried."

"What about the two year-old then?" Nimwen asked.

"He'd take her and cuddle her, calling her too cute to be real."

"Oh my," Nimwen chuckled. She then remembered something he brought up earlier. "Wait, did you say you were physically frail?"

"Yes, what about it?" he asked, looking at her evenly.

"Nothing, I just assumed it was a side effect of the experiment you talked about."

"I was born frail. It worsened and I started to have bad lungs because of the experiment, but I have always been weaker than everyone around me. It's just a fact of life. I will never use it at as a reason why I can't do something because I was showed it was an excuse and one I used as crutch."

Nimwen felt a pang of guilt. Here she was complaining about her condition, when Mahvir had been suffering much worse for much longer. She was being childish, and petulant. "I wanted to say, ir abelas for my behavior," she apologized. "It is still a bit difficult adjusting."

"Lady Nimwen, don't apologize. I was born this way, you're arm's been gone for only a month. No one expects you to hit the ground running." He gave her a warm smile, one that felt like a father would give his daughter. "No one, but you it seems."

"I guess, after being on top for so long, I don't know how to feel like a student again. The Inquisitor should know how to do something as simple as hold her staff, no?"

"Then, while in this room, you're not the Inquisitor. You're a mother, learning to stand again for your daughter's and her own future. Strip away how others define you and look on how you define yourself. As long as that hasn't been lost in the grand title 'Inquisitor,' you can learn to fight again."

His words truly hit home for Nimwen. She felt something stir in her, a spark that had long since been extinguished finally come back to light. "You're right," she nodded. She stood, more determined than she had been before. "Come on, I want to try again."

"Then try again." Mahvir pulled himself to his feet. "And again and again until you are running, Lady Nimwen."

The mage breathed in, steeling herself. She tightened her grip on Shockmaw, pointing it downward. Then, she moved. She counted the steps of in her head as she sent bolts at the wall. When before she would have used her other hand to twist the staff, she used her elbow to brace the staff against as she turned it. 'Come on.' She adjusted her grip just as she slammed the end of her staff down, sending electricity through the ground.

"I...I did it." A grin broke out onto her face. "I did it!"

"You did," Mahvir agreed. "It seems your mental block was your standing outside this room. Well done on overcoming it."

Nimwen put Shockmaw back on her back and then reached over to pull Mahvir into a hug. "Ma serannas, lethallin," she said.

He chuckled and awkwardly returned the hug with his untied arm. "You've overcome the first step. I believe you will be ready by the time your soldiers head for the temple."

"I think so too," Nimwen said, still smiling.

"Inquisitor?"

Immediately Nimwen frowned. "Shit."

"Who is down here?" Footsteps echoed as someone descended the stairs.

Nimwen groaned. "Just as I got it together."

The footsteps stopped. Cassandra stood by the stairs, looking at the two elves. "What is going on?" she asked. Her eyes widened when she saw Shockmaw strapped to Nimwen's back. "Your staff?"

"Well, I am a mage, Cassandra. We tend to keep staffs with us," Nimwen joked, trying to avoid the inevitable.

"What are you doing down here, Inquisitor?" the Seeker asked as as she approached them. "And who is this?"

"She is simply Nimwen in this room, if you would, Seeker." Mahvir gave Cassandra an awkward bow. "As for who I am, that is a far more interesting question than one might believe. If you seek a name, you may call me Mahvir."

"You are the informant that Leliana spoke of?" Cassandra asked with a raised brow. "What are you doing in a basement, alone, with the Inquisitor?"

"He's helping me train," Nimwen said. "I can't just sit around and be useless, Cassandra. I need to learn how to fight again so that I can help. I'm going to Dirthamen's Temple and I don't care what anyone says. I know what you're going to say, but-"

"Hold on, what do you think I was going to say?" asked Cassandra.

Nimwen paused. "W-well, you were going to say that I mustn't rush things and that going to the Temple would be dangerous, but that isn't going to stop me-"

"I would have said no such thing," Cassandra denied.

Nimwen gave her an incredulous look. "Seriously?"

The Seeker looked almost offended. "Of course not. I applaud you for wanting to get back to your former strength, though I'd be concerned if you were taking it too far. She isn't, is she?" she asked Mahvir.

"Not at all, we are going at her pace." He smiled. "In fact, you're being here presents a marvelous opportunity." He moved behind Cassandra and tapped her in between the shoulder blades with his staff. "You can help." He used the staff to partially push Cassandra into the center of the room. Though, it looked more like he was tapping her in the back and she would then moved because it was annoying.

"Well I, I may not be a mage, but if I could help," Cassandra said.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Nimwen said.

"No, this is important. If I can assist in you getting back on your feet, my time is yours."

"Thanks, Cass," Nimwen said. Her eyes widened. "Wait, you were supposed to be watching Lori."

"She is napping right now, and I grew worried when you did not return," Cassandra explained. "I left her with one of the sisters, however, and she would inform me if anything went wrong-"

"Hi, mama!"

Everyone but Mahvir jumped and Nimwen's eyes went to the stairs, where a little pair of blue eyes was poking out mischievously. "Lori, what are you doing?" Nimwen asked.

"Aunt Cass leave, so I go," Lori replied.

"But-but I left you with Sister Ann," Cassandra sputtered.

Lori giggled. "She slow, I fast, like a wolf!"

"More like you are sneaky like a wolf," Mahvir stated, laughter in eyes and a smile starting on his thin lips.

Nimwen sighed. "Do you promise to behave, Lori?"

The little girl nodded.

"Very well, you can stay. Just make sure you don't get in the way."

"I won't, I won't," Lori said as she toddled over to Mahvir. She hugged the elven man by his legs. "Hi, brother."

"Hello, Lorien." He reached into his bag and pulled out a carved raven. "I made this for you." He winked. "Now, you have a raven you can pet, safely, all you want."

"Yaay!" Lori squealed as she snatched the raven from his hand. She tugged on his robe. "Down," she ordered sweetly.

"By your command, Princess Lorien." He knelt, used the staff to aid him to ground.

The toddler stood up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Ma serannas, big brother."

"You're quite welcome, Lorien." He leaned his staff against his shoulder and rubbed her head. "Now, will you play with your raven by the wall, sister?"

Lori nodded. "Let go, Burton," she said to the raven as she waddled over to the wall.

"Why does she call him brother?" Cassandra asked Nimwen.

"If you think about, Seeker, all elvhen are related in one way or another." Mahvir pulled himself up with his staff. "We can each trace our blood back to at least one of the original nine first elvhen or evanuris if you would rather. Though, from what I got from Mythal two of the nine never had children thus you have say you're related to them through their brothers. Many elvhen can clam blood ties to Mythal and Elgar'nan especially. I swear those two had at least two kids every century or so. Uh, according to what I have heard at least."

"I...see," Cassandra replied, unconvinced.

"I think she's just grown attached to him," Nimwen added. "Honestly, there are worse things than her calling him 'brother.' She might have mistaken him for her-" Nimwen stopped herself before the word left her mouth. "N-nevermind. So let's get started, shall we?" she asked quickly.

"All right. I think it was good thing I brought along a wooden shield and sword for if we got that far." He picked up the items and with his one hand and held them out to Cassandra. "A real warrior will be far better than me tripping over my feet trying to act like one." He gave her a charming smile.

"How resourceful of you," Cassandra said, eyeing Mahvir with a hint of suspicion as she took the sword and shield. "So, how much have you gotten done so far?"

"Lady Nimwen can use her staff just fine. I now wish to show her a real combat situation since you're here, Seeker. Don't worry I won't be shooting you with lightning." He moved so he stood across from Cassandra, his staff held in the position he had shown Nimwen. "Attack me like you mean to kill me, Seeker."

"Very well," Cassandra replied. With sword and shield in hand, she charged at Mahvir.

He ducked below her sword. The staff pressed to his back for balance. Then he launched up faster than a snake and head butted Cassandra in the face.

"Argh!" The Seeker hissed.

Nimwen tried holding back her snickers.

Cassandra whirled on him. In the blink of an eye Mahvir was behind her the staff spread across his back further than it should've been with two arms for balance. It appeared as if he had Fade stepped to being behind her, not using any gestures at all to do so. He turned.

"Enough, Solas!" Cassandra snapped.

The air seemed to drop in temperature. Nimwen's eyes widened just as Cassandra's did when she realized her mistake.

Mahvir tilted his head to one side. "So, I am a mage bent on destroying this world. Good, at least you'll attack me next time as if you mean it. Though, hold back tiny bit, I am nowhere near the same level as he is."

Cassandra blinked, a redness to her cheeks as she looked to Nimwen in apology. The elf barely noticed though, because she was still looking at Mahvir. Ever since she'd met him, there had been a part of her that felt like he reminded her of Solas. It wasn't until Cassandra's slip up that Nimwen finally acknowledged how he physically reminded her of Solas. It wasn't much, they were the same height, though many could say the same. No, Nimwen saw Solas in his jaw line, in the noticeable dimple on his chin. The same one Solas had passed onto Lori.

"I think I'm done for today," Nimwen said quietly.

Mahvir blinked. He looked at her, his dark purple eyes almost sad. "Very well, Lady Nimwen." The staff slid so he could lean against it. He turned to the binding on his arm and tugged the knot with his teeth until it loosened and he could free his arm. With that hand now free, he pulled out a few of his herbs. His breathing, though not as tight as it had been the day before, was strained.

"Cass, could you take Lori to her room, and see that she stays there?" Nimwen asked.

"Of course, Inquisitor," the Seeker replied quietly. She walked over and lifted the toddler into her arms. "Come on, little one."

"'Kay Aunt Cass," Lori said, still holding Burton in her hand. "Bye, mama, bye, brother!" she said, waving her toy at them.

"I'll see you later, da'len," Nimwen replied, forcing herself to smile. When the two left up the stairs, she dropped her facade. "Tell me the truth," she said, turning to Mahvir. "Who are you? Who are you really? What is your connection to Solas?"

"What truths you seek," he started. "The knowledge you wish for. It will only lead you to darker understanding, Lady Nimwen. Things best left buried in the blackness of the city deep in the Fade."

"I don't care," she said. She stepped towards him. "I want to- no, I need to know. Who are you to him? Why do you sound like him, look like him?"

"Wow, I sound like him. I am uncertain if I should take that as a compliment or insult. I must have grown chattier too then."

Nimwen bit her lip, frustrated. "Don't make me ask again."

"Lady Nimwen, the man I was twenty centuries ago died months before Mythal did. Solas never knew any of what Mythal did back then, the secret she kept from the others and what happened between twin brothers because of it. I am Shartan, Sahlin, Mahvir, but the name I was given at birth was Dirth. I was Mythal's secret mistake."

"Dirth, as in…" Nimwen's eyes widened. "Dirthamen."

He bowed his head. "What's left of him," he stated. "What you must understand was I lived for my brother, Lady Nimwen. He protected me from the moment we were born from who we both believed was our father: Elgar'nan. Elgar'nan was strict, stern, and commanding man. He was the perfect material for a general to lead our People to victory during a dark time, but he was a terrible father. Solas was one of the first three of our People. He was, he is Elgar'nan's younger, twin brother."

"You said who you believed to be your father." Nimwen's mind was trying to deny what she was hearing, but the facts were right in front of her. "Elgar'nan wasn't your father was he?"

'No, and we both know who it really is.'

"Solas is your father, isn't he?"

Mahvir bowed his head. "He is. But Elgar'nan was still Falon'Din's father. We were born on the same day but weren't conceived at the same time. You see Mythal learned she was pregnant through magical means. She saw the child and told Elgar'nan. We were then slaves, looking to break free of a great darkness. Elgar'nan was enraged by this and, for the first time, he turned his rage on her. Mythal, frightened and needing comfort, ran to her closest friend, her lover's brother: Solas. It was the first time they lay together.

"Nine months later she gave birth. Both my brother and I born early into the world. I earlier than him, which made me frail and weak. Mythal named my brother Falon and me Dirth. She never told any of us I wasn't Elgar'nan's son and thus I grew up believing my father was Elgar'nan and my uncle, Solas."

Nimwen was silent. She held onto Shockmaw like it was a lifeline. The air felt chill, and Nimwen realized she was making the temperature drop. She bowed her head, feeling herself tremble. Something in her seemed to break, like the snap of an icicle. It caused a dam to crumble and she began to weep.

"Dirthamen died twenty-centuries ago," he repeated. "He died the day Falon'Din tried to kill him. The day he learned that his life had been a lie woven by his mother. That if he had looked like his blood father she would have killed him in a heartbeat to keep her secret. The fact that to his mother he was a mistake, to his brother he was less than an instinct, and to his blood father one of the corrupt evanuris. I am not saying I didn't deserve the fate, but it shattered me. And I ran, I ran from everything."

"Shut up," Nimwen said as she pulled him into an embrace. "You didn't deserve it, you didn't deserve any of it," she sobbed. She buried her face in his shoulder. "I'm so sorry. Ir abelas, Mahvir." Soon her cries turned to hollow laughter. "T-two, he has two," she laughed. It was a sad broken laughter. "Two children, and he knows nothing about either of them! Why, we must be cursed, all of us!" she cackled. In her mind she felt horrified that she was laughing. It was like watching somebody else take over her body. She wanted to stop, but she couldn't. She broke away from Mahvir and started to run her hand through her hair. "We must be cursed to suffer, you, me, Solas, Lori, we're all cursed. That has to be it, right? Why else would the universe hate us so much?" she asked, raising her tear-stricken face to look at Mahvir. Her eyes were wide and she had a twisted smile. "Right? That's right isn't it, Mahvir?" Her fist tightened and she began pulling at her hair.

"Enough, Lady Nimwen." He unwound her fingers from her hair. His eyes were soft for a moment then turned sharp, almost desperate. "You are not cursed and neither is Lorien. Both of you have a chance to get him back. She has a chance to know her father. And you have chance to at great happiness. Never say you're cursed."

Nimwen wanted to scream at him, to hit him. But one look in his eyes, and Nimwen felt all fight leave her. She was left feeling empty, and sad. "What chance is there?" she asked quietly. "We may not even be able to convince him not to kill the world. How am I supposed to convince him to stay?"

"He loves you more than anything," Mahvir told her. "As long as it is you, he will listen. You might have to force him to stay and force the words into his ears, but you alone can convince him this world is his home."

"What about you?" Nimwen asked. "Would he not listen if you told him the truth?"

"He would never listen to one of the evanuris, Nimwen. The moment he sees me he would think his trapping of the other six didn't work. It would only enforce his desire to destroy this world. To him, I am not his son. I am the son of his brother. It is for the best he never knows what Mythal did."

"No," Nimwen shook her head. "You can't think like that. If Solas is to learn about Lori he needs to learn about you too. You're his son."

Mahvir looked at the ground. Then his gaze was locked on Nimwen's, intense and full of pain. "Nimwen, if you're willing, I will show you something."

"All right," Nimwen nodded.

"Sit down and close your eyes." Mahvir had already slid to the floor. "If I showed you standing you would wake in pain, because you will have fallen to the ground," he explained.

"That's not very encouraging, Mahvir," Nimwen said as she sat down, Shockmaw across her lap.

Mahvir placed two fingers on her temple. When Nimwen next opened her eyes they were no longer in the basement but rather in a field of mist and stars. The lights close to them had sound coming from, images of places, battles, and more. Even the scents drifted out.

Next to her, Mahvir was now standing. "I had to translate this so it was less chaotic for your mind to understand." He held out his hand. "But this what the experimentations did to me. It locked away my abilities as a mage in exchange to bring out my other ability to see events throughout time. It's why the People called me Dirthamen. I can literally know everything if I so wish."

"This is…" Incredible. That was the only thing she could think of. The last time she had witnessed such an extraordinary sight was when she was in the Fade, and even then the experienced was tainted by fear, and corruption. Not here, though. Here she was surrounded by the beauty and wonder of whatever this place was.

"To explain what this is, it's basically a less chaotic view of what I can see at any given time." Mahvir frowned. "Okay, that doesn't help. It's -Imagine all these panels around us as images, sounds, touch, taste, that I can have flash before me at any given moment."

"And you see this all the time?" Nimwen asked, gazing out at the images around her.

"When I was little I saw brief movements, shadows of what was about to happen. It allowed me dodge whatever attacks my brother made when Elgar'nan was training us. After a time he decided to enhance the ability in me, so yes, I see events: past, present; future, all the time."

"It was him? He experimented on you?" Nimwen asked.

"He would never win the best father award, but, yes, he later enlisted Ghilan'nain in order to enhance and bring out the abilities in me. Elgar'nan was focused on winning the war with the original false gods. To that end he would do anything to get results. And I had wanted to help. Granted asking a seven-year-old, 'do you want to help win this war?' isn't really fair way to ask a kid for permission to experiment on them. In the end, I did get what I had wanted, a brief moment where Elgar'nan didn't think I was useless."

"That's horrible," Nimwen said, a mix of disbelief and disgust. She became even more conscious of the vallaslin, Ghilan'nain's vallaslin, on her head and she wanted to rip them from her face. "So what is it you wanted to show me?" she asked.

"I'm sorry." Mahvir touched her hand. "I know Ghilan'nain means a lot to you."

"She shouldn't, not anymore," Nimwen grumbled.

"Lady Nimwen, the vision of them the Dalish hold to isn't something to be ashamed of. It's like the vision of the Maker now. It's unlikely they will ever know I was Dirthamen if they spoke with me or Solas is Fen'Harel or Flemeth Mythal. We did great things as well terrible. But that's not why I brought you here. Pick a moment from the People's past and I will show it to you, any moment." He smiled at her. "Just not one of the future, that's cheating," he teased.

Nimwen's eyes widened. Anything she wanted? What did she want to see? "I...I don't know," she admitted. "There are so many things from the past. Where would I begin?"

"I can't show everything, it would leave you in a comatose sadly. That much information even I can't bare all at once. If you would like I could show you Solas when he was younger."

"Yes, I would like that," Nimwen said. "When was Solas at his happiest, if you can remember?"

"I don't know his personal feelings, but what I've seen of him, his happiest was with you."

Nimwen blinked. "R-really?"

"Yes, you are his heart. It's hard to explain without actually being him," Mahvir sighed. "I can tell you when he was at his second happiest from what I can see, if you would like?"

"Sure." Nimwen was still focused on the fact that Mahvir said that she was the one who made Solas the most happy? Certainly, Nimwen felt that for her she felt the most content when she was with Solas, but she'd never assumed, even knowing that Solas cared for her, that out of all the centuries he'd lived, their short time together could top all of that. "Show me," she asked.

The mist rushed up around them. Trees grew before Nimwen's eyes until they stood deep in a forest. Color rushed around them in the next moment. The sky was tinted with green and the world seemed lush, lively and felt real.

"What is this?" she asked as she craned her neck to see the tops of the trees.

"A few years after the original false gods were defeated." Mahvir pointed. "There."

In the direction pointed a lone figure was walking towards them. Soon Solas came into view. He looked almost exactly the same, the only difference between the Solas Nimwen knew and this one was he looked younger and wore finer furs than she was used to.

"Yahoooooooooo!" the next moment a figure dropped from the trees and landed on top of Solas. "Got you, Uncle!" The two collapsed into a tangle of legs and arms.

The man who had attacked Solas looked like Mahvir.

"Is that you?" Nimwen asked.

Mahvir chuckled. "Oh, Maker, no."

"Falon!" Solas growled. The next moment the two of them were rolling on the ground.

"I can beat you this time, Uncle." Falon laughed.

"You can't," stated a calm voice from the tree above the two.

"Get down here and help me, Dirth!" Falon shouted. "We can beat, Uncle."

"I just got up here."

"Get down then."

"But I just got up."

Nimwen chuckled. "He looks helpless," she said as she watched the scene unfold.

"Wait for it," Mahvir told her.

Within moments the distracted Falon was flipped and tossed like a ragdoll into a pile of fallen leaves. The leaves flew up over Falon and buried him.

"See, I told you," Dirth muttered from the tree. "It's better to-!" He yelped when Solas pulled Dirth down from the tree.

"What are you two doing here?" Solas asked them, smiling and eyes shining with laughter.

"Dirth was wanting to learn tree climbing." Falon struggled out of leaves. He spat a few out. "Then you came along and pounce!"

Nimwen eyed Solas. There was a liveliness to him that she had never seen before. He looked younger, not just in appearance, but in the way he carried himself. The way he interacted with the young boys had her envisioning him doing the same, but with a little girl instead.

"Pounce was it?" Solas cocked an eyebrow.

Falon had just picked himself out of the leaves.

The next moment, Solas was charging.

"Uncle, mercy, mercy!" Falon backed away. He dodged Solas before running away. "Dirth, help me!"

Dirth was seated on the ground still looking dazed from when Solas had pulled from the tree. "There's a tree."

"What?" Falon glanced at him then ran smack into a tree.

"I warned you about the tree."

Solas let a howl of laughter. "You're your own worst enemy, Falon."

"You were so cute," Nimwen said to Mahvir, smiling.

"I suppose a few centuries of life would make me 'cute,'" he joked in reply.

"Then shout 'Tree!' next time," Falon muttered as he rubbed his head. It was easier to see the difference between Dirth and Falon now. While Dirth had purple eyes, Falon had Mythal's yellow-gold eyes. His black hair was cropped short while Dirth's was long, falling passed his shoulders. Outside of this they did look like they would have been identical twins.

"He looks so happy," Nimwen said, her eyes on Solas. "I can't remember ever seeing him like this."

"Looking happy and being happy aren't the same thing. He learned to hide much of his emotion so those around him would never see his pain. It goes both ways. It becomes harder to see when someone is truly happy or sad." Mahvir placed his hand on Nimwen's shoulder.

Solas was now seated on a boulder. "Do you two want a tent?" he asked the younger men.

"No!" Falon had gone bright red.

Dirth laughed.

"Really? You seemed ready to argue with Dirth like you were his lover, Falon," Solas poked fun at Falon.

Falon's enter face had gone bright red.

Dirth fell back into the leaves, hand over his mouth as he snickered.

Nimwen raised a brow. "Did he really just say that?" she chuckled.

Mahvir didn't reply. His eyes were locked on Falon. The next moment the images around them shattered and Mahvir screamed, his hands clapped over his ears. Images flashed by. Falon stood before Dirth, both now in finery. Dirth had his back pressed against wall, blood pooling around and eyes wide as he stared up at his brother.

"Falon'Din," the sound was weak, catching as Dirth whispered the name. "Why?"

"It's nothing personal, brother," Falon'Din spat. "It's high time I ruled alone." Falon'Din lifted the bloodied dagger so it pointed at Dirth's throat. "You've always taken half of everything since the day we were born! I am sick of it. Sick knowing that you, you were never even my full blooded twin!"

Beside Nimwen Mahvir had curled on the floor his hands gripping his ears.

"Mahvir!" Nimwen cried, crouching beside him. She grabbed at one of his hands, trying to pry it away so that he could hear her. "Mahvir listen to me. This isn't real, this is the past! You're here with my, in the basement of the Grand Cathedral, none of this is happening." She glanced a look at the scene playing out in front of her, and her stomach twisted. She shook her head and kept her focus on Mahvir. "Listen to me, lethallin, don't let the past control you. You are here, in the present. Remember that." She took his hand in hers and gripped it tight. "Look at me, please."

Mahvir seemed frozen.

A scream of agony made Nimwen look back at the past. Falon'Din was over Dirthamen. The dagger was now embedded into Dirthamen's shoulder.

"Brother," Dirthamen gasped the word, sounding as if he were struggling through pain and being unable to breath.

Falon'Din gripped Dirthamen's face with his free hand. "I can have all of it." His hand moved as he started to draw something on Dirthamen's face with Dirthamen's own blood. A smile was curling Falon'Din's face. "Without you, all that was ours is mine, All the territory you held, the slaves; the magical knowledge, mine."

Dirthamen was staring at his brother, tear slid down his face.

Falon'Din seemed not notice as he continued to draw with Dirthamen's blood. "Or instead of killing you, I could make you serve me." His voice had softened. The image he was painting on Dirthamen's face was starting to become clear. It was the interaciate vallaslin of Falon'Din. "No one would question your fall from power, nor if you signed your life to me. How about it? Become nameless, be the insect you really are."

Dirthamen reached up and took hold of Falon'Din's wrist, stopping him from finishing the marks. "You are my brother," while the words were weak it seemed Dirthamen was trying to cling to them as a lifeline. "I won't serve you." More tears slid down his face, smearing the fresh blood marks. "I stayed by you because you were my brother. Because I loved you more than anything in this world."

"You were never my brother. Your existence is a mistake."

"No more," Mahvir whispered. "No more!" The images snapped. The next moment Nimwen was back in the basement, still seated across from Mahvir. He had moved his hand from her temple. "Ir abelas," he whispered. "I should have better control."

"Are you alright?" Nimwen asked, concern etched into her features. She placed her hand on his shoulder. "Talk to me."

"I sometimes struggle with that moment," he whispered. "It's my darkest place. Even worse than when I couldn't save Andraste." He gave a bitter laugh. "Stupid thing to hold as worse than losing the woman you loved." He shook his head. "It's in the past."

"That doesn't mean it shouldn't hurt," Nimwen said. She wrapped her arm around him and pulled him into a hug. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that," she said to him. "He was wrong, you're not a mistake. Never believe that."

Mahvir chuckled. "I stopped believing I was mistake a long time ago, Nimwen. The moment is simply one I can sometimes forget happened and other times I know it is why I am here now. If Falon'Din had never learned I was Solas's son, I would have stayed with him until they killed Mythal. In one reality I would have left then and in another I would have stayed. If I had stayed this world would have been destroyed. If I had left, Solas would have still won and the veil would have been created. The only difference is Shartan wouldn't have existed, the Dales wouldn't have been ours, and so much more Shartan accomplished."

"How did he find out you were Solas's son?" she asked. "I thought nobody knew?"

"I knew from the moment I had first gotten these full powers that Elgar'nan wasn't my blood father. I shoved the images away and ran from them because I didn't want know who my blood father was. I feared losing Falon'Din. I knew, from the time was fifteen, I knew my brother one day would hate me, but I thought I could change his mind. If I just stayed with him, was there for him that it would mean something in the end. And I ran again from those images, discarded them as time went by as not being true. Until they came true. I learned Solas was my father from Mythal that very day. I don't really know how Falon'Din learned who my father was."

"Why did Mythal decide to tell you after all that time?" Nimwen asked.

"She let it slip," he stated. "You see, I had come to her in such a state that it caused a break in my powers again. I saw flashes of the past where I put it together piece by piece. In my state Mythal tried to calm me and finally let slip she slept with her closest friend. She never outright said his name. I left after that and ran again. This time I ran from myself. I didn't confront Solas and tell him because I knew he wouldn't accept me. I was like the others, an evunaris. And he was doing everything in his power to stop us."

"You don't know that," Nimwen said. "I saw how he was with you and Falon'Din. He loved you. I'm sure he still does."

"Oh, yes, he loves us, all seven of us, and in the same moment, hates us more than anything in this world and the Fade." Mahvir stood and leaned against his staff. "You saw what Falon'Din was like near the end of our time. The others were no better than him by then. All they cared about was power, territory, and their image to the People. Making sure they were always seen as Gods." Mahvir had his back to her. "I only cared about staying by my brother. I never uttered a word against anything though I could see where our greed would lead us. Though I knew we would destroy everything. What kind of person sacrifices the world just remain by their brother even knowing that brother would betray them?"

"A person who loves his family," Nimwen said gently. "I'm not saying I agree with what happened, but you didn't do what you did out of greed and power-lust. You did it because you loved your brother and didn't want to become his enemy. You are a good person, Mahvir, the world just has a habit of taking advantage of good people."

Mahvir smiled at her. "To answer your original question, I do know what would have happened if I told Solas back then. I do know he wouldn't have accepted me because of what Elgar'nan did, I know. It would take a lot for Solas to look at me and see a son rather than Dirthamen, one of the evunaris. That is why I never want to tell him I am his son. I can handle seeing the rejection in possible futures and possible pasts, but not in this reality."

"But you're a part of his family, you're my family now too," Nimwen insisted. "You said it yourself that you can only see possible futures, so why not try? If it's any consolation, I'm sure Lori will be thrilled to learn she actually has a brother," Nimwen smirked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Because a possible future simply means a decision point to make that future into the present," Mahvir explained. "For now, let's focus on getting you ready to leave in a week. We have a long while until we're ready to face Solas."

Nimwen sighed. "Very well," she conceded. She supposed she had to pick her battles, and while she was not done with this one, she could hold off until later. "How about we practice some more before calling it a day? You're invited to dinner with Lori and I by the way."

"More free food, you're going to spoil me and the birds." Then he winced. "You'll be able to actually hear them now you know of my past. Ir abelas, Nimwen."

"I'm sure they will be most interesting to hear," Nimwen chuckled.

"Oh, yes, their constant arguing, fun to hear."