Chapter 9:
"Yes, it's a fire rune."
"How many things did Dagna put on that?" Cassandra asked in disbelief.
"I'm fairly sure I'm more armed than an Antivan Crow," Nimwen scoffed. During their journey through the temple she'd been discovering more little features of her prosthetic that Dagna seemed to not mention in her note. So far aside from the hidden silverite blade, Nimwen discovered a secret compartment for emergency lyrium, dispensers that would coat the blade in two types of poison, a cord with a dart at the end that could be shot out on command, and now, a rune Nimwen could only assume would set either her hook or the blade on fire; knowing Dagna, it was probably both.
"It's a wonder that thing does not weigh you down," Cassandra said.
"It's a wonder it hasn't accidentally killed me yet," Nimwen retorted. "The first one almost succeeded, I don't need this one getting any ideas."
"It should concern me that you didn't always have such a dark sense of humor, Inquisitor."
"I've found the best way to survive the grim and fatalistic is with humor."
The room Nimwen entered was spacious. Pillars linded a central pathway which led to a dias where a destroyed eluvian rested. Two golden ravens flanked the eluvian. On either side of the pillars was a slight rise. One side was covered in tomes and shelves upon shelves of books. The other side held a passage which led to what sounded like water. There was stone slab nested into a corner on that side. Gold lined the walls and pillars, though it had faded with countless centuries of neglect.
"Look at all of them," Nimwen said as she eyed the books. Her eyes scanned the tomes, still intact despite being sealed away for centuries. "What subjects do you have? History? Literature? Magic? Are they all written the same or did the ancient elvhen have dialects?" She had never seen so much elven writing in one place. The only other time had been the Vir Dirthara, but so few had been in a condition to read. The books lining the shelves looked like they had been pulled from Skyhold's library. "Can I read one? I've been able to read more since drinking from the Vir Abelasan, but I been wanting to practice more-"
"We need to stay focused," Cassandra reminded her.
Nimwen sighed. "Cassandra, do you not see what is before you? This alone has to be worth more than every book in Val Royeaux."
Mahvir had limped over to the book shelf and pulled out several of the books. "Those you are welcome to take with you." He pointed to the stack he had made. "The rest... " He trailed off. From his bag he pulled out a rune of fire and moved so it was pointed at the bookshelves. The next moment the shelves were lit in flames. "The rest have information Solas could use to access the Fade without an anchor."
Nimwen bit back the urge to cry. It was childish, tearing up over books. But she had grown up with the remainder of the knowledge lost to her people, and to see more burning right in front of her…'There was no other choice,' she reminded herself. It was the only way to keep it from Solas. From Solas. Nimwen forced her eyes away from the flames, towards the small stack of books that were spared. She went to them, cradling them in her hand and hook.
"Ma serannas," she said quietly to Mahvir. She held them to her chest.
"All the information which these books held is here." Mahvir pointed to his head. "This is my research, Nimwen. Before I was known as the Keeper of Secrets, I was the foremost researcher in magical theory, history, politics," he paused, "anything that caught my interest really. The concept behind the magic for the eluvians was my doing. I brought the idea to Solas and June and they made it a reality. The fact remains if Solas got his hands on any of this it could lead him straight to his goals through easier means than the anchor. I don't claim his knowledge of the workings of the Fade. There he knows far more than I ever will."
This helped lift some of the gloom that settled over Nimwen. It also reminded her just how incredible Mahvir was. 'So much knowledge, and he has it all. Solas has no idea what an amazing person he created.' Yes, Mahvir was brilliant, just as Solas was brilliant. A shadow crept in from her subconscious. It wasn't just Solas though, was it? Surely Mahvir's mother had some part to play? After all, one did not have the great Mythal as his mother without some twinge of excellence getting passed on. What an amazing child they had made.
'And you're no Mythal.'
"Where do we go next?" Nimwen asked quickly. "I hear water coming from somewhere."
"That isn't where the last item which needs to be destroyed is." Mahvir limped around the room. He knelt down close to the passage leading into another chamber. A soft grinding of stone followed. When he straightened he held a round, large object wrapped in fine clothes. "Seeker, I will need your aid to destroy this." He limped back towards them as he unwrapped the clothes to reveal a Foci.
Nimwen's eyes widened. "That's what we came for?" she asked. It looked so similar to Corypheus's-no, Solas's Foci. It was so small, simple in design. It didn't look like something that could rip the world asunder.
"What do you need?" asked Cassandra.
"You're ability to nullify magic. There is another artifact there," - he nodded towards the door where an object rested on a pedestal - "which should amplify your abilities. If enough magical nullification is translated into the Foci it will crumble without destroying us or ripping apart the fabric of time."
"Are you certain?" the Seeker questioned as she walked towards the artifact.
"Well, I never had someone to test that particular device. Everyone thought I was insane for even suggesting a form of magical nullification. So there is about a point three percent chance it could backfire and kill everyone in this room. Which is why I would suggest Lady Nimwen, Atisha, and Vir leave the room."
"Oh, no, you two are not going to perform some risky magic experiment and expect me to wait patiently outside," Nimwen objected.
"Inquisitor, according to him the chance is low, and while I am uneasy about using this magic, if it means denying Solas what he seeks we have little choice," said Cassandra. "And no good will come of you dying as well, if it comes to that. Think of Lori."
Nimwen's breath stopped. Of course. Sometimes, when the world's problems swirled around her, she would for a moment forget that her life was no longer hers alone. She nearly hit herself for risking leaving Lori without her. "Of course," she muttered. "I shall leave you two to see this through. Just be careful, please."
"I will take no unneeded risks," Cassandra vowed.
Nimwen looked to Mahvir. "You too."
"No risks are unneeded," he joked. His features straightened. "I assure you, Lady Nimwen, the future this happens to destroy us is dim and is growing dimmer. Even still, if Solas gets a hold of this Foci, he will have access not only to time magic but to what knowledge I stored within it. If it isn't destroyed then destroying the books would have been pointless."
"Very well." Nimwen turned to the other elves. "Let us leave them be."
Atisha and Vir bowed to Mahvir before they turned and left the room. They closed the doors into the room after Nimwen.
"He's never wrong," Vir told Nimwen. "He might deny his sight as true, but he's never wrong."
"I suppose that's a good thing," she said. Yet, the idea of knowing the outcome of every aspect of the world… "I imagine it can't be easy, though."
"To know your theory will fail before you enact on it or to know your fate and have no way out of it? No, I imagine it isn't easy. I imagine such knowledge is a curse; yet, he's always tried to use his knowledge to aid others. Even if he knew the outcomes in doing so." Vir looked towards the door. "We were all children when we were brought here. Slaves who were thrown aside because we were infants or those who were deemed unworthy to make it. He raised us and kept us safe. He might view himself a monster but we know the truth."
Nimwen smiled. "I'm glad there are others who know the truth." So he took slaves into his care? 'Like father like son,' she supposed. "Did you ever meet Solas? Fen'Harel?" she asked.
Atisha looked at Nimwen. "No."
"Most of us have only left this temple once, my lady. When Dirthamen brought us here, we were safe and there was no reason to leave unless it was needed. Only one legless boy left and it was because he would have drawn attention to this. We helped nurse him back to health and Atisha saw him to a band of travelers." Vir glanced at the doors. "We'll leave now, with him."
"I wish I could offer you a place to stay," Nimwen said. "I would have let you come to Skyhold but...it is no longer mine to offer sanctuary." Nimwen's heart ached for her stone fortress. It had become her home away from home, and then her actual home. She longed to return to it, a spot of spring in the middle of the snow, where she was greeted with smiles and thanks and there were friends there who loved her. But her friends were gone now, off on their own adventures. And her beloved Skyhold was once again empty.
"We will work as his eyes and ears," Atisha stated. "There is no need for a place to stay."
"Our thanks for offering, Lady." Vir bowed his head to Nimwen.
A soft sound came from the other room and the next moment Fear leapt down from his perch. He landed on Nimwen's head. "Dirthamen says they're done and it's safe to enter."
Nimwen had tensed upon Fear's landing, but she tried not to startle the creature. Given her last interaction with Deceit, she was thankful Fear at least tolerated her enough to touch her. "Nothing went wrong?" she asked.
"Not unless you count a stupid request on his part as 'going wrong,'" the bird snapped his beak in annoyance at whatever Mahvir had requested of Cassandra.
"Okay." Nimwen decided to find out for herself and re-entered the chamber. "Everyone alive in here?"
"We live, Lady Nimwen." Mahvir and Cassandra stood a part. Both devices had been reduced to dust on the floor alongside the smoldering remains of the books. "We can depart when you're ready."
"Alright. But what should we do about Solas's people still in the temple? Shouldn't they be dealt with?"
"Not unless we all have a death wish and I was unaware others shared that wish with me," Mahvir joked. He smiled at Nimwen.
Fear snapped his beak several times and launched into the air. He landed on Mahvir's shoulder. "You will never die," Fear huffed. "Unless you keep standing in this smoke filled room. Your lungs can't handle it."
"Fine, fine." Mahvir limped passed Nimwen and out to the top of the stairs.
"But it can't be good for them to roam the temple, what if they find something?" Nimwen pressed as she followed Mahvir.
Mahvir looked at her. "Outside of what was held in this room, there is nothing of use or power left here."
"Unless you count you. In that case there is something he can use here," Fear snapped.
"Oh, yes, they could use a limping old elfy," Deceit cawed with laughter. "I can see it now. Fenny tells him to give up all secrets and-" Deceit gagged on her words from the slightest gesture from Mahvir.
"Enough, Deceit, Fear." Mahvir started down the steps. "There is nothing left here."
"It is done, Inquisitor," said Cassandra. "We have done what we came here for, what should be done now is to return to Val Royeaux."
'Yes, because Val Royeaux was so terribly missed.' Nimwen sighed. "Alright, let's go."
Mahvir was being helped down the stairs by Vir with Atisha close behind them. Vir held to his arm while it looked like Atisha was watching incase he fell. Both cast a look back at Cassandra as if telling her not to pick up Mahvir again.
"Do you need help carrying those?" Cassandra asked Nimwen, regarding her books.
"I got it." Carrying books when one of your hands was a hook was not the easiest thing to do. Still, Nimwen felt she needed more practice with her new prosthetic. "So, what do you plan to do once we get back to the city?" Nimwen asked Mahvir.
"Help plan for the next step in stopping Solas," he replied. The words were quick and he sounded a little of breath. Most of his focus was on placing his bad leg on the next step. It appeared he wasn't too happy with relying on Vir for help.
"Do have any ideas?"
"At the moment, not tripping." Mahvar moved his staff down to the step below before he followed with his bad leg then his good.
"A noble goal," Nimwen replied with a smirk.
Mahvir managed to make it down the steps without tripping. He stopped to catch his breath. "They're most likely in the temple proper by now. We might be able to make it to the passage we used to get down here without notice if we move with caution."
"Let's go. I'd rather we avoid another fight," Nimwen said.
"Agreed." Mahvir led them back to where the Keeper and hunter stood waiting.
"What happened? Did you learn anything about Dirthamen we didn't know? Ohhh, I wish I could have gone." The hunter pelted Nimwen with questions. "What was it like? Was it amazing? I bet it was. Are those books on our history? Have you looked through them yet?"
"Not yet," Nimwen said. "They are written in elvish, so it will take time to translate them." At least that wasn't a lie.
"Oh," the girl blinked.
"I hope those hold some clue to our past," the Keeper stated as he fell in beside Nimwen.
Somehow Nimwen had ended up in the middle of the now larger group. The eight sentinels had spread themselves out around them. Atisha and Vir followed close behind Mahvir and Cassandra was behind Nimwen.
"I'm sure they will," she replied. She intentionally left out the part about burning the majority of the library. "Too bad so little of written elvish is remembered."
Mahvir had stopped just in the door leading from the first trial to the second. He stood rooted to the spot.
"Back!" Fear whispered at the others. "Don't come in sight of the door."
"What's going on?" Cassandra whispered, hand on her sword.
An odd feeling raced through the room. Mahvir turned to them. "Atisha, take them through the other passages. Fear will go with you to help guide the way back to the surface." His voice shook and he spoke in normal tones. "I must remain here or they will know something is wrong." He looked at Cassandra. "I will join you as soon as I can. You have my word they won't follow you out."
"What are you doing, Mahvir?" Nimwen demanded. "We are not leaving you here."
Sweat coated his face. His skin had lost color. "I couldn't move from this position even if I wanted to. It's taking most of my focus to keep time still and you lot unaffected by it."
"We'll see them to safety," Atisha vowed as she bowed at the waist to Mahvir.
"We're not leaving you," Vir protested.
"You must, Vir." Mahvir turned his dark gaze on Vir.
Nimwen was torn. She knew they had to leave, but she couldn't just abandon Mahvir, not when it looked like he was about to keel over. "What are you going to do? How are you going to get out?"
Mahvir gave her a weak smile. "I will buy all of you enough time to get to the surface then enter another passage and rejoin you. Please, trust me when I say I will rejoin you still breathing. I might be barely breathing but I will be breathing. I promise."
Nimwen felt a tightness in her chest. This still didn't feel right. She could just sense something was going to happen. She felt an armored hand on her shoulder.
"Inquisitor, we must go," Cassandra said.
Nimwen turned back to Mahvir. "Come back safe, alright? Lori told me she wanted to show you her bugs."
"I look forward to seeing them." Mahvir turned. "Go with haste, Atisha."
Atisha nodded and turned to them. "This way." She led them back into the chamber where they had first met them. She touched a piece of the wall and an opening appeared before her. "In, quickly."
Nimwen ducked inside, Cassandra following.
"I know you are worried about him," the Seeker said. "But he is stronger than you think."
"I hope you're right," Nimwen replied.
A soft fluttering of wings and the feeling of a feather brushing Nimwen's cheek was followed by a weight on her shoulder. "I will feel if any harm comes to him," Fear's voice was in her ear. "Even if wounded Deceit will ensure he lives. For if he dies, we die and we will never let him die. Even if we must exhaust every last scrap of energy in our bodies to heal his, he will live and thus we will."
"Thanks...I guess?" Despite it being obvious the demons' reasons for keeping Mahvir alive were less-than selfless, it still helped knowing they were looking out for him, regardless of their motivation.
"Ah, I remember these passages." Fear settled himself further onto Nimwen's shoulder. "Tricky ones that anyone else would get lost in. It's a maze. I will guide you through it."
"Guide away," Nimwen said.
So Fear set to work telling Nimwen which passage to lead the group down. He didn't move from her shoulder to actually "guide" them and instead seemed to content himself with his new perch.
"You're shoulder is soft," he commented after a time of going down a straight passage.
"I'm glad you're pleased," Nimwen chuckled.
"Mavhir's shoulder is nothing but cloth covered bone," Fear grumbled and shifted on her shoulder. "It was better centuries ago when people reminded him to actually eat something."
"He doesn't eat?" That caught Nimwen's attention. She'd noticed Mahvir was a bit on the skinny side, but she'd assumed he was naturally lanky.
"He eats enough to keep Deceit and I from shoving food down his throat to keep him alive." Fear's eyes were lidded. "He's never been big on food. He, one, doesn't like the taste of most foods and, two, forgets food is necessary when working."
'For the love of-' That's it. When they all returned to Val Royeaux, Nimwen was going to make sure he ate. She was going to make as many things as she knew how to cook and she would make certain he eat at least half a plate. She would even make the ravens their own plate, so he would have no excuse. 'I'll even tell Lori that Mahvir needs to eat. She'll guilt trip him into it,' she thought mischievously.
"Just don't let him read or write or do anything but eat," Fear muttered. "He will forgot the food is there." It was as if the raven could read her thoughts.
"Good to know," Nimwen replied. She was already compiling a list of things she was going to cook once they returned to the city. It was the only thing keeping her from worrying about Mahvir.
"If you're cooking for us too, sweet foods are my favorite." Fear blinked open his eyes.
"Pie or cake?"
"Either as long as it's extra sweet." Fear straightened. "Ah, there's the exit, there," he pointed to a staircase. "I believe it will lead a mile or two from that other entrance we used to get down into the temple in the first place."
"We should hurry," Cassandra urged.
"Right," Nimwen replied.
"For what reason? To get to the horses faster?" Fear hunked back down on Nimwen's shoulder. "You mortals are always in such a hurry. Hurry there, hurry here, hurry this way and that. One would think everything is crumbling around your ears."
"Just wait a few minutes, knowing me something is sure to go awry," Nimwen said, sardonic.
"Humph, you've not spent the past seventy centuries with an immortal elf who knows everything will go wrong and still walks straight into the chaos. Beat that and I will be impressed, Little Mortal."
'Little mortal indeed.'
"How much longer?" Nimwen asked.
The stairs led them to an opening with just enough room for each of them the squeeze through. Fear took off from her shoulder and went first.
Nimwen side-stepped her way through. She had to be careful lest she got Shockmaw caught on something. She managed to squeeze her way out on the other side. "Come on, Cassandra."
"It's a bit...more difficult," the warrior grunted.
Cassandra was pushed through the gape and Atisha appeared, dusting off her hands. Without a word she moved a little into the field and looked around. Vir followed after Atisha then the keeper, the hunter, and the other six sentinels followed one by one.
"Took all of you long enough." Fear landed on Nimwen's shoulder. "Think you can find your horses?" he asked sounding more than half asleep.
"I think so," Nimwen said. She turned to look back where they came from.
"He will be fine," Cassandra assured her.
The soft breathing from Fear sounded in the next heartbeat.
"That bird will wake shrieking his head off if Mahvir is injured," Vir told Nimwen. "If he's sleeping then I wouldn't be worrying any."
"Alright," Nimwen sighed. "Let's go get the horses."
* ~ x ~ *
Solas led the way into the temple, Melda at his side. The air was lit in the soft green glow of the veil fire he had taken from the entrance. The light fell over the remains of stone guardians and undead alike. His eyes narrowed as they fell over the main guardian of this temple. It would have taken a great force to destroy it and it lay shattered in small pieces through the waterlogged temple.
"Stay on alert," he told Melda.
"Yes, my lord," she responded, daggers in hand.
Water moved around Solas's feet as he led the group deeper into the temple. The battle which had taken place here pointed to at least two mages, a warrior, and a rogue being present. Burns could be seen on some of the stone while the remains of ice walls stood melting and shattered. Arrows were broken in the stone or embedded deep into rotten flesh of the undead. Some of the wounds appeared to have been made by a sword. At least four had ventured down here and made it passed the guardians.
Solas stepped out of the water and into the passage which led to the main part of the temple. His eyes cut through the darkness with ease. The doors were already open, this much he could tell through all of the gloom. His hand moved to his staff. The sharp metal clicked against stone with each step he took. The feeling of the staff in his hand made his heart flutter with the brief memory of who had made it for him. He shoved it back in the presence of this situation.
There was a faint feeling of the magical wards which had been placed on the large doors into the main temple. Solas frowned. "Have a few people remain here," he instructed Melda.
"You two, stay here," Melda said to a pair of the elves accompanying them.
The two elves saluted and took positions on either side of the doors.
"Do you think they managed to get to the Foci?" Melda asked as they passed through.
"That depends entirely on who it is here," Solas replied. Dirthamen's trials weren't easy especially for normal people to get through. If -
His thought was cut off as his eyes locked on a familiar figure standing in the entrance from the first trial to the second. Shock swept through Solas. It could not be.
The elf who stood in their way was stooped, his pale skin almost sickly from exhaustion. Long black hair fell around his narrow face and down his back in a matted mess. Dried blood was tangled into the strands Solas remembered being clean and sleek. Dark, tattered remains of robes which appeared to have been little better than rags stitched together hung off a form which looked too small for the cloths.
"You," Solas breathed.
"Who are you?" Melda demanded. She stepped in front of Solas, daggers raised. "Identify yourself."
"My, what company you keep in this century, Solas." The man gave the girl a tired smile. "She seems full energy. Da'len, I'm not here to fight you or Solas. I am simply standing in this door."
"Can we eat her?" a raven asked from the top of his staff. "She looks like she might taste good."
"No, you can't eat her."
"It-it talked," Melda stammered eyes wide. She turned to Solas. "My lord, who is he?"
Solas could barely hear Melda. He wasn't certain if he could believe his eyes. "Dirthamen? How is this possible? How did you escape?"
"Better question would be: was I ever captured?" Dirthamen asked.
"So, I can't eat her eyes at the very least?" it asked Dirthamen, blue eyes pleading.
"No, Deceit, you can't eat any of her." Dirthamen shook his head. "Honestly, what's with you and suddenly wanting to eat somebody?"
Deceit cocked her head. "Well, it means I might get to meet Vair-Vair, but only if we get out of this mess alive. I want to meet Vair-Vair."
Who the heck was Vair-Vair? Solas frowned. He then shook his head and lifted his staff. "I take it you have your Foci?"
"Me? No. It's now dust though. Neither of us will be using it, at all."
There was a lightness to the way Dirthamen spoke. It was joking and yet filled with pain and sorrow.
Solas scowled.
"Why would you destroy it?" Melda questioned. "Lord Fen'Harel he cannot be trusted. This must be a trap."
"And such a trap it is, one crippled man with a talking bird against two armed, healthy members of the People. One of which is a mage of unequal power. I think I have better odds trying to fly, wouldn't you?" his tone was straight now despite the words.
"Are you trying to get them to attack us?" Deceit demanded. "I thought you were more clever than that, Dirthy. What about the romance you promised I could read? And meeting Vair-Vair?"
"Can we discuss this later, Deceit?" Dirthamen asked.
Deceit huff, her beak clicking together in annoyance.
Solas moved forward a step. He kept facing Dirthamen but made a quick check for any sign of Fear. There was no sight of the second bird or anyone close to Dirthamen. What was his nephew thinking? If it came down to a battle between them, in the exhausted state Dirthamen was in, Solas would win no matter how long his nephew had been awake for.
"If you were never with the others then where were you?" Solas asked his voice calm despite the questions running through his mind. "I saw you there."
"Ah, now that is a far more interesting question and one, I fear, you must discover the answer to without my meddling." Dirthamen looked at Solas with his dark eyes filled with sorrow.
Solas felt the rage he had been keeping in check start to come out. He remembered seeing Dirthamen there. This wasn't the boy Solas had known, it was a cold blooded murderer, a man who would kill his own mother for his own ends. An eternity of torment with the others was the only sentence Dirthamen should have been paying. Along with his father and brother.
"You're angry," Dirthamen stated. "I can see the attack coming. You remember my… gift, Solas. You know how to beat me, but I don't wish to involve the child in this."
"Don't underestimate me," Melda warned him. She looked to Solas. "Give me the word, my lord."
Solas glanced at her. She was a good fighter but against Dirthamen- no, she wouldn't stand a chance. "Stand down, Melda. This is between Dirthamen and I." Solas twisted the staff around him. His eyes burned as he looked towards Dirthamen. The power to turn him to stone.
In the blink of an eye, Dirthamen was gone from where he had been standing. He stood only a few paces from where he had moments before. His breathing uneven and face damp.
Solas frowned. Something was different about Dirthamen. He knew his nephew had bad lungs and a frail body but that little movement had never taken that much out of him.
"How did he do that?" Melda gasped.
"I have no desire to fight you, Solas." Dirthamen moved so both his hands were on the simple staff he held. It looked as if he was placing all of his weight on it. "You don't need to undo what happened twenty centuries ago," Dirthamen stated. "This world is a wonder. The people deserve life just as surely as those from our time did."
"Tell that to those enslaved," Solas managed to keep his voice even. "The countless millions you killed or helped Falon'Din kill. You, not I, destroyed this world."
Dirthamen flinched. "I don't deny my crimes, Solas. I know I will be forever atoning for what I did back then. But you can't undo your crime by repeating it or placing blame on me. Yes, we were corrupt and, yes, we would have awoken something which would have destroyed the world, but how does that justify your actions now?"
Solas moved towards Dirthamen. Lightning crackled off the staff's tip. Dirthamen vanished again and reappeared only inches from where he had stood. His grip slid on his staff, breathing uneven.
"I know I am not the one who can convince you," he panted as he backed up into the door once more. He kept moving back. "I know I am forever cast as the villain in your eyes and seeing me here, 'free' will only make you fight harder."
Dirthamen was too weak now to use his magic. The retreat was clear sign of this as well as the fact his last dodge has moved him inches.
"Melda, your blade," Solas whispered to the girl and held out his hand.
Melda strode to her master's side. She handed him one of her blades, eyeing Dirthamen with mild curiosity.
Solas took the blade and replaced his staff on his back. He moved up the few steps onto the dais. Dirthamen was meaning to close the door. Solas Fade stepped forward until he stood right before his nephew.
Dirthamen looked into Solas's eyes. There was only sorrow there, no shock, nothing but the sorrow and a pain hidden deep down in a vain hope Solas couldn't see it.
Solas thrust out his arm, meaning to strike Dirthamen in the gut. Dirthamen's form blurred. The blade sank into his hip and stuck bone. A gasp escaped Dirthamen. He pitched forward. His hand wrapped around Solas's arm. The hold weaker than Solas ever remembered his nephew being.
"If you destroy this world," the words were low and pained, "you will be destroying more than your heart but your daughter as well." Dirthamen looked up into Solas's face. His hand clutched Solas's arm and the staff for support. "Can you live with yourself if you kill her as well, Solas?"
Solas blinked. The dagger slid from his grasp. Daughter? No, the child of Nimwen wasn't Solas's. He knew the child had to be from another. "I have no child."
A pained laugh came from Dirthamen. He staggered back. Blood trailed after him. "You have the world you once wanted and can't even see it. I pity and envy you, Solas."
Solas made to move after Dirthamen.
In the next instance, Dirthamen was gone. Blood fell from where he had stood and the path he had taken. Solas looked after his nephew. The words rang in his ears.
"Where did he go?" Melda asked. She spun in search of Dirthamen, but he was gone. "Shall we go after him, my Lord?"
"There's no point, he could be miles from here by now."
"Great," Melda griped. "What was he going on about a girl? I was unaware the Inquisitor had a child. Or was that another lie of his?"
"She has a child, though I have never seen the child with my own eyes. The spies I have within their group told me of the child's existence before you joined me." Solas moved forward. The blood trailed led through the second trial and vanished into the other room. He was using it as a distraction from the thought of his vhenan having another man's child. She had still loved him when he'd seen her a month ago, but two years was a long time for a mortal to be alone. Despite the fact she had a child, he still loved her and still longed to be with her and, yet, in doing so he would forget himself.
"You are certain the child is not yours?" Melda asked. "Dirthamen clearly meant to shake you. Perhaps some of our spies could look into it, prove his accusations false?"
"Do that," Solas instructed. He could feel what little of Dirthamen's magic had once been here was gone. The halls echoed as dead and silent as the rest of the world. "There is nothing for us here. I have no reason to doubt Dirthamen would destroy his research and his Foci." There was more troubling him as Solas turned and strode back the way he had come.
"I shall get on it, Lord Fen'Harel," Melda said with a bow.
Solas nodded to her but didn't otherwise respond.
There had been something about Dirthamen. The power in him couldn't have been denied; yet, his body had been far, far weaker than all of Solas's memory of his nephew. It didn't make sense. By all rights, with the power Dirthamen had in him, he had to have been awake for twenty centuries. Twenty centuries, unchanged and still himself rather than a shadow or posing a body like Mythal. Awake, outside of the connection to the Fade, it was impossible. Then how frail he had been, how strained his breathing was. None of it made sense.