Chapter 12:

Solas stared out across the greeny in this part of the crossroads. His eyes locked on the trees, unseeing. "You need to know that you have a-" a, what? Why had Dirthamen stopped Nimwen before she could tell Solas? What was Dirthamen planning? The more Solas thought on these questions, the less any of this made sense. His memories pointed to Dirthamen being there, aiding the others in the war against Fen'Harel and, yet - Solas rubbed his eyes.

The memories pulsed through his skull, beating a headache into his mind. There was something off about them, fuzzy; wrong. In all of them, Dirthamen never once spoke. Then there was what Dirthamen had said in the temple: "that is a far more interesting question and one, I fear, you must discover the answer to without my meddling." What had he meant by this? Then, when he had said Nimwen's daughter was Solas's…

Solas closed his eyes. He had spies looking into this piece of information though he doubted anything would turn up about it. Nimwen had moved on after he had left. Solas had no children.

There was a more pressing issue, what Dirthamen meant. Solas had seen Dirthamen there, standing over his dead mother with his brother.

Solas closed his eyes, focusing hard on this memory. Then, the image of Dirthamen being there flickered. Falon'Din had been standing close to Elger'nan, Andruil at his other side. Where Dirthamen had been standing in the background was now empty air. Solas opened his eyes. No, the memory was a trick of the mind. Dirthamen had helped kill his mother. Dirthamen was just as corrupt, power maddened, and far more deceiving than the others.

Or was he?

Another memory tickled the back of Solas's mind. One moment he hadn't thought on in many centuries:

Solas exited an eluvian to where he normally met Mythal. The space within the crossroads was bright and beautiful. Tress mirrored the world beyond the crossroads and lined a path down to where Mythal stood. Behind Solas was an eluvian framed by a dragon and a wolf.

Solas started down the steps but stopped when noticed Mythal wasn't alone. A frown pulled at Solas's lips. The elf across from Mythal wore fine robes of greens and gold. He tilted his head back, causing the gold tipping his pointed ears to catch the light.

"You know where that insect is!" spat the elven man. His yellow eyes flashed with rage as he took a pace towards Mythal. "Tell me!"

Solas moved down the steps, careful not to draw the attention of the man. His eyes narrowed then widened as he recognized one of the twins. It was Falon'Din. The moment this fell into place, Solas stopped. His gaze flickered over the large space. There was no sight of Dirthamen anywhere.

This made Solas wary. There were only a few times in his memory he knew the twins to be apart. The one which wrinkled him the most had been when Dirthamen bound two demons to him in order to catchup to his brother. Yet, there was no sign of Dirthamen anywhere, not even lurking near the eluvian.

The gold rings on Falon'Din's hand flashed as he caught hold of Mythal's shoulder. "Where is he?" Falon'Din snarled, sounding more like his father with each new word uttered. Rage leaked through his teeth and blazed as a fire in his eyes. "If I learn you're hiding him—"

"Dirthamen isn't here, Falon'Din," Mythal cut off her eldest child, her tone even. She locked gazes with Falon'Din. Her eyes calm. "If he wanted you to find him, you would have found him by now."

Falon'Din scolwed.

Solas shifted.

Falon'Din's gaze snapped to him. His scowl twitched into a sneer as he released his mother. "If it isn't the Dread Wolf himself." Falon'Din started towards Solas. Each step clicked against the stone. More gold could be seen with each step he took, lacing his toes and ankles. "I bet the insect raced to you to cower and hide like the pathetic bug he is."

Bug? Solas felt a frown pull at his lips. "I've not seen Dirthamen in many centuries, not since our last co-project at least." Which was more than true, given the last time Solas had seen his other nephew had been back when the People viewed them as honored elders and not kings let alone gods.

Falon'Din turned so he was able to see both Solas and Mythal. "If I learn either of you are protecting him it will be war!" his eyes flashed with raw hatred as he glared at Solas. Contempt appeared on his features as he looked at his mother. "One way or another will find the insect." Falon'Din strode passed Solas and stopped. "And mother," – the word sounded as if it was something foul on the tip of his tongue – "I will learn who it was you betrayed father with."

Solas turned. His gaze locked on Falon'Din's back as he nephew stepped through the eluvian. Air seemed to crash down on Solas. That hadn't been pleasant to say the least.

"What was that about?" Solas turned to Mythal. "What was he talking about, Mythal? And why was Falon'Din calling Dirthamen an 'insect'?" Solas moved down the rest of the steps as he asked these questions. He stopped before her, eyes locked onto hers.

Mythal looked at Solas. Her gaze was sad. "My thanks for arriving when you did, Solas. All I know is Dirthamen is missing and Falon'Din is trying to find him."

Solas frowned. The words made his heart flutter with unease. It felt as if she was dodging the questions, as if she knew more of what was going on than she wanted to tell him.

The memory faded.

Solas placed his head in hand, staring at the ground. That meeting had been mere days before the others had killed Mythal. He remembered now, Dirthamen had gone missing. The hatred in Falon'Din's voice as he spoke of his brother. All of it, Solas remembered.

"I am forever cast as the villain in your eyes," the words Dirthamen had uttered in the temple echoed in Solas's ears. "You must forever see me as a villain." Solas blinked. Those words, he couldn't remember when Dirthamen had uttered them, only it was an echo of a moment long since forgotten. "You can never know my truth. You can never see me as anything but a shadow of Falon'Din and Elgar'nan. It's how it must be." The words faded.

Solas looked up. He needed the truth, to know if Nimwen's defense of Dirthamen was right or if Dirthamen was manipulating everything once more. In the end, Dirthamen would hurt Nimwen.

Solas closed his eyes. It wasn't his place to worry about this. He had to stay focused on finding a new way into the Fade. All of this was proving a distraction.

The cool feeling of stone pressed into his bare feet as Solas stood. Yet, what if he had been wrong? What if there was more to what happened back then? Then there was the girl, Nimwen's daughter. It would be cruel for Dirthamen to have used the idea of a child in such away. But, could Solas really be her father? A warmth prickled in his heart at the thought. A child?

No.

Solas shoved the notion aside. To believe something so pure, so innocent could be created by him and his heart was impossible. He had lived many centuries, been with many women, and none of them had ever ended up pregnant. He had no children. He would never be one to help create something of such pure innocents in this, or any, world.

*~ x ~*

"We can stop here," Nimwen called out. After days on the road Val Royeaux was now but a day away. Despite their closeness though, Nimwen knew everyone could use a rest, including herself. Her legs ached from being in the saddle for so long, and now even her bedroll seemed a sweet haven. She dismounted her horse, stroking the beast's side. "Cassandra, why don't you and Vir take the horses to that creek for some water? Mahvir and I can set up camp."

"That sounds good," The Seeker replied.

"Help me take the stuff?" Nimwen asked Mahvir.

Mahvir slid off his mount. His landing was almost graceful; yet, there was a slight stagger to it as he placed weight on his legs. He winced. "Too long riding," he gave her a soft smile before turning to the mounts.

Nimwen eyed him with suspicion, but it occurred to her she might have been just paranoid. After all, she was feeling the aches of the saddle too, right? Still, as she and Mahvir unloaded the horses and began to set up camp, she kept an eye on him while trying not to be too obvious.

"Want me to fetch the firewood?" she asked. The night air was crisp and filled with the sound of crickets. A slight breeze made her neck tingle. "I think I can find some in that thicket over there."

"If you so wish, one of us needs to stay with the camp after all." He shifted, leaning against his staff. "If you need help come back and we can switch."

"All right. Don't get yourself into too much trouble while I'm gone," Nimwen teased.

"Fear can go with you." Mavhir nodded to where Fear was perched on his shoulder. Deceit seemed to have followed the others.

"That's fine with me," Nimwen replied, though inside she was a little weary. She was still unsure where she stood with the bird, but was willing to take a chance.

Fear flapped over to her shoulder and settled himself there. There was a soft noise almost akin to a cawing purr which came from him. "Let's go, Mortal Soft Shoulder."

"As you wish," Nimwen said with a shake of her head. She entered the thicket and started to search for some suitable firewood. Fear sat on her shoulder, even as she bent down to pick up sticks. His talons gripped the shoulder of her coat, but not uncomfortably so. "Say, Fear," Nimwen began. "Could I ask you something?"

"Hmm?" Fear opened an eye a slit. "What?"

Nimwen bit her lip. How to go about this… "When you do that...thing with Mahvir. When you fused with him," she began. "What's it like?"

"Good sex."

Nimwen sputtered and dropped half her wood. "What?!"

Fear snapped his beak and cawed in laughter. "You are more gullible than Dirthamen." The raven continued to laugh at her.

Nimwen felt her cheeks go red. "Ha, ha, very funny." She rolled her eyes as she bent down to pick up the wood she dropped. "Are you sure your name isn't Humor?"

Fear gagged on his caw. "I am Fear!" he snapped his beak in anger, feathers fluffed. And, then he relaxed. He shook himself. "To answer the question: draining. For the time we're fused, I take on all of his physical disabilities and he is given all my power in exchange. You could say for a moment he is more demon than elvhen and in the same moment he's not. I feel all the pain he lives with. All the agony his body is in after the fire, all the difficulty breathing. Then there is the terrible weakness." Fear shuddered. "It didn't used to be that bad. It used to be shared between Deceit and I. Even when it wasn't, he didn't used to be so," Fear trialed off and cocked his head to one side.

Nimwen bowed her head. "Were you there?" she asked. "The day he and Andraste were…"

"Burned alive?" Fear asked. He gave an indigent caw. "Of course Deceit and I were there. We're bound to that fool for all eternity."

"In my clan, I grew up hearing stories about how Shartan led our people beside Andraste, and was killed for it. Hearing he was burned made us all feel sickened and saddened, but, now, actually seeing the effects...it only makes what they did more horrible."

Fear titled his head to one side. "Perhaps, but Dirthamen chose to stand beside Andraste even knowing his fate would be to fall with her. Granted most of the time with her, he tended to ignore his foresight and tell us to stay away. Not that we listened." He snapped his beak a little was if angered at the notion Mahvir had ordered him to stay away. "Tell me, Soft Shoulder, what do you think of the great Shartan now you've actually met him?"

"I think the tales will never be able to do him justice," Nimwen said. "He's a good man, and I wish there were more people like him out there."

"A good man who will never stop running," Fear stated. "He's soft hearted, always has been. But his mind is sharper than any blade. He pulls strings and manipulates outcomes to being the best for all people even without them noticing. Perhaps that is a 'good' man and perhaps that is just the mark of a man just as scarred by history as the elf known as Pride is."

Nimwen hadn't thought of that. Actually, she had, but she'd been stuffing it in the back of her mind along with all the other things she'd rather not deal with. She sometimes would forget the extent of Mahvir's powers, and when she did remember, she was genuinely frightened. To be able to know the course of time, and all its nuances, no being should have such power.

"I would rather no such power belong to anyone, but if it must be bestowed upon someone, I'm glad it was given to someone like Mahvir instead of someone like Corypheus."

"Such powers are viewed as godlike to many," Fear stated. "It invokes a true fear in them. An awe so deep, most who learn of it come to view Dirthamen as either a god or a blight to be destroyed." Fear's voice seemed to drip with pleasure with each word. His eyes glittered in the night, feathers raised in excitement.

"This pleases you?" Nimwen asked, eyebrow raised.

"I am Fear after all. To invoke such a fear in mortals it actually turns to awe is a feat none of my kind have managed before. So, yes, it pleases me."

Nimwen sighed. It was easy to forget that he and Deceit were actually demons, not just talking birds. "Let's head back," she said. With firewood in hand, she trudged back out of the thicket. "Got the wood," she said to Mahvir.

Mahvir was looking at the sky and the stars spread out across it. "Good." Mahvir pulled himself to his feet with his staff. "No problems while you were out?" his voice was polite, though given his ability it was clear the question was asked only to be polite.

"Oh, yes, he was quite the helper," Nimwen replied. She set the wood down and began to erect a fire. "Anything happen while we were gone?"

"No. The others should be returning soon as well." Mahvir paused. "Would you like some help?"

"Sure," Nimwen said. Three hands were better than one after all.

Mahvir moved next to her and settled himself on the ground. His bad leg was moved out to one side and he winced a little. He started to help make the campfire. "I'm afraid you're going to have to light it. No talent for fire magic, sadly," he joked. He smiled at her as they worked.

"I just have enough to be useful for lighting fires or heating metal," Nimwen replied. "If you want true talent with fire, you go to Dorian."

"The magister?" Mahvir's eyebrows rose. "My, I think I would rather avoid the Imperium even for such talent in fire magic," he kept his tones light and joking.

"Dorian's a good person," Nimwen said. She could only imagine Mahvir's lingering feelings for the mages of Tevinter, and wouldn't blame him for them. Still, she felt Dorian shouldn't be lumped in with them. "I haven't met many Tevinters, but out of all of them, Dorian is the best." She sighed. She wondered when she'd ever see her friend again. "He gave me this." Nimwen reached into her shirt and pulled out the Messenger crystal tied to a string around her neck. "It's a communication device," she explained.

"By the looks of it, you could speak with him daily then." Mahvir looked at her with an even gaze. "I wasn't saying anything against your friend, Nimwen. I've ventured into the Imperium a few times since the war with them in order to help the People there. I just don't have a fondness for the country. I'm sure this Dorian is a good man and a loyal friend."

"He is." Nimwen looked down at the messenger crystal. "We haven't spoken in almost two weeks," she said, twisting the crystal in her hand. "Still, it's better than waiting for letters months at a time."

"True." Mahvir bowed his head. "And far better than a memory of them." Mahvir placed his hand on her shoulder. "Goodnight, Nimwen." Without another word or even waiting for the fire to be lit, Mahvir struggled back to his feet and limped to where he had placed the blanket he used in place of a bedroll. As with every night, he was sleeping far from where Nimwen and Cassandra were. Vir normally took guard and slept on the spare bedroll when he could.

Nimwen snapped her fingers, and a spark appeared in the center of the wood. After making sure the fire got started, she stood up and made her way to Mahvir. "Okay," she sighed. "How bad is it?"

"Is what?" He had settled himself on the ground once more.

Nimwen crossed her arms. "Don't think you've fooled me. I've been watching and your limping. Different from your usual limp," she added before Mahvir could use that as an explanation. "You've hurt yourself somehow and I want to know how bad it is."

"Nimwen, I am fine. And am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Mhm, and I'm the queen of Antiva." She knelt beside Mahvir. "I doubt you want me to force you to comply so I'm going to ask again, where are you hurt?"

"So, by forcing me to comply, you would, what? Strip me?" His tone was light, but there was a note of displeasure at such an event in his voice.

Nimwen snorted. "Don't put it passed me, I have a two year-old remember?" She grew serious. "Mahvir, I'm sorry I'm such a hovering hen, but I can't help it. If you're hurt I want you to be able to tell me so I can help."

There was a long moment in which he looked at her, face even. "I am fine. The riding just aggravated my bad leg a little, nothing more."

"You're sure?" Nimwen asked.

"Would I lie outright to you?" He blinked and looked away.

"I would hope not." Nimwen sighed. "Very well, I'll let you off. But, if I find out you were lying you're going to be in big trouble, understand?"

"Yes, mamae," amusement laced his voice as he said this.

Nimwen blinked. "Huh?"

"Forgive me. Mamae means mother in the old tongue."

"Ah, I-" Nimwen paused. 'He called me mother.' Even though it was obviously in jest, for whatever reason it made her smile.

"We're back."

Nimwen looked up to see Cassandra and Vir leading the horses back from the creek.

"Welcome back." Mahvir bowed his head to them. "And goodnight." He pulled the blanket around him and moved so he was sleeping on the side which hadn't been injured almost a week ago, his back now to Nimwen.

Nimwen looked down at him. "Goodnight," she said, patting his shoulder. She stood up and helped Cassandra and Vir tie up the horses.

"He is asleep already?" Cassandra asked.

"He's probably tired from all this riding," Nimwen explained. "How about you, Vir, how are you?"

Vir blinked. "I can stand guard." He bowed his head and moved off to do just that.

"I can help," Nimwen offered.

"I think you should get some rest as well, you stood guard last time," Cassandra interjected.

"I know," Nimwen sighed. She warmed her hands by the fire and reached into her pack to pull out some rations. "I'm just trying to make the most of this before we're back to the masks and cobblestones. I so rarely get to see the countryside anymore."

"This has hardly been a camping trip, Inquisitor."

Nimwen snorted. "True, but it's as close to camping as I'm going to get for the foreseeable future."

They warmed up meat from a rabbit Cassandra caught the other day with some dried fruit. After their simple meal, they retired to their sleeping rolls. Nimwen gave a yawn, wishing she could enjoy the night sky for just a bit longer. However, sleep was calling her, and she gave in and nestled into her dreams.

The soft feeling of a hand shaking Nimwen was followed by an even softer voice, "Nimwen." The sound seemed to come from a great distance through the haze of sleep.

The elven woman groaned. "What?" she slurred. She opened her eyes and looked up from behind her hair at the bleary image of Mahvir.

"You have a call." Mahvir held out the message crystal to her. "And I don't believe he was too happy I answered. Forgive me for that." He bowed his head to Nimwen.

Nimwen made a noise of confusion. She took the crystal from Mahvir and held near her face. "Hello?" she mumbled.

"Your enthusiasm is contagious, my dear."

"Dorian?" Nimwen was wide awake now, She sat up and pushed the hair from her face with her hook. "Where have you been? It's felt like ages."

"I know, so sorry about that, love. Things have been a bit hectic here and when I haven't been busy keeping my fellow mages playing nice, I've been asleep at my desk. Terrible for one's sleep patterns, I assure you. Though, right now I'm more concerned about the gentleman who answered your crystal for you."

"Oh, Mahvir?"

"Ah, so that was the name, but now I need details."

While Nimwen had been speaking, Mahvir had moved to the dim light the fire had become. The soft sound of him carving Lori's birthday present soon followed. The sound was quiet enough it wouldn't wake Cassandra or Vir who Mahvir seemed to have relieved from guard duty.

"He's ah…" Even if he wasn't in front of her, Nimwen knew Dorian could tell when she was lying. "Relative."

"Relative? Is he from your clan? I don't recall you ever mentioning him before."

"He's a, new addition." Nimwen cringed, hoping she seemed believable. "And he's helping us out."

"I see."

"So, how's Tevinter?" Nimwen asked quickly, trying to change the subject.

"Oh, you know, nobles vying for power, backstabbing, magic running amok, so rather normal. The only thing that could make it better would be to see you or Lori. Speaking of which, where is my darling niece? I would love to speak to her."

"She's not here right now."

"Where is she?"

"Back in Val Royeaux."

"But I thought you were in the city too?"

Nimwen blinked. Oh right. "Funny thing about that," she chuckled nervously.

"Nimwen."

"Yes?"

"Where are you?"

"A day's ride from the city."

"And pray tell, what took you from the city in the first place?"

Nimwen sighed. "I'm returning from an expedition to the Temple of Dirthamen."

"You what?!"

Nimwen cringed and cupped the crystal in her hand to muffle the Altus' voice. She glanced back at Cassandra and Vir and saw they were still asleep. She looked over at Mahvir,

Mahvir cocked an eyebrow before he gave her a small smile. He turned back to the craving.

Nimwen uncupped her hands. "Keep your voice down," she whispered into the crystal. "There are people sleeping."

"You went to that dreadful place?" Dorian hissed, in a whisper at least. "Darling, I know you're capable but I think you're forgetting that place was full of spirits and undead and you are missing a few crucial parts."

"Not anymore, I have a new arm," Nimwen explained.

"Wait, what?"

"Dagna."

"Ahhh."

"But anyways, Dorian. I understand your worry, but I can't sit around and do nothing forever. I know there are things I can't do anymore, but there's also a lot of things I still can do, including magic. Mahvir actually helped me a lot with that. He helped me learn how to wield a staff again, and that was before I even got the prosthetic. Plus, Dagna filled this thing with so many gadgets I could be Tranquil and still be dangerous,"

"Maker forbid such a thing ever happens." Nimwen heard Dorian sigh. "Just… be careful, okay? You tend to underestimate situations and I'm not there to make the baddies go crispy, even if I want to."

"I know." Nimwen curled the crystal close to her, the closest thing to a hug she could get from him for a while. "I miss you, Dorian, and I know it must be hard for you up North alone."

"I miss you too, love. You, and Lori, and Bull, and everyone else. But don't worry about me, I chose this path and I'm going to see it through. Also, I'm not completely alone. I've got Maevaris."

"That's good."

"Plus the stable master has a lovely tenor if you can convince him to show it off."

Nimwen laughed. "Take care of yourself, Dorian, and try to call more often."

"Of course, I'd never do something as cruel as deny you my sweet voice."

Nimwen snickered. "Your modesty is bleeding through the crystal."

"Always. Say Nimwen, could you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Put that Mahvir fellow on for me, would you?"

Nimwen raised a brow, but turned to Mahvir. "He wants to talk to you," she said.

A moment passed as Mahvir rewrapped the wolf. Over the past week he had added to it until one of the legs was now there and the joints moved. He pulled himself to his feet and limped over to her.

"All right." Mahvir took the the crystal from Nimwen.

"Hello, Mahvir. So glad to finally have a name to the voice," Dorian said.

"Andaran atish'an, Lord Dorian. It is nice to have a voice to the person I have heard about from Nimwen," Mahvir spoke in polite, quiet tones.

Dorian chuckled. "Of course she'd speak of me. I am the most important man in her life, after all."

Nimwen rolled her eyes.

"So, she tells me you're a new addition to her family, yes?"

"New, old, somewhere in the middle, all are correct."

"I also heard you helped her get back on her feet in regards to her magic, I wanted to thank you for that. Had I been there in person I would have taken that on myself, but as you can see I am but a crystal right now."

"I imagine you would have aided her without hesitation." Mahvir looked at Nimwen as he spoke, his expression calm. He shifted his weight to his bad leg.

"Well, of course, what kind of best friend would I be if I didn't? A rather shit one if you'll forgive my language," the Tevinter chuckled. "Though, my point is, you're clearly somebody close to her who is also in a position to help. I ask that in my tragic absence you keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't get into trouble or do something stupid."

"Dorian, when have I ever done anything like that?" Nimwen interjected.

"Darling, Varric literally wrote an entire book on that subject, I'm sure you've read it by now, they've already begun selling translations in Tevene."

Nimwen opened her mouth to object, but found herself stumped.

"Vair-Vair!" a sudden shriek sounded. The next moment a raven landed on Mahvir's head. "I want to read All this Shit is Weird. Open it, Dirthy, now, I demand it of you!"

"Now who's that?" Dorian asked.

"It's, um…" Even if she left out the part about her being Mahvir's demon-raven, she'd still have to explain why her name was Deceit. "She's Mahvir's friend...Denise."

"Denise?" Deceit cocked her head to one side. "I like it. You must now call me Denise, Dirthy."

"No." Mahvir's voice was flat.

Deceit peaked him. "Now."

"Fenedhis," Mahvir spat the curse.

"Nimwen, what's going on?"

"Inside joke," Nimwen quickly lied. "Anyways De...nise, came here with Mahvir and she's a huge fan of Varric."

"I'm sure he'll be glad to hear not all his fans are wrinkled councilmen and Seekers in denial," Dorian chuckled. "So, what was that about her calling him 'Dirthy'? His name is Mahvir is it not?"

"It's the, uh, second part of his name. You know the Dalish sometimes have more than one name, like Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan."

"Ah, that makes sense I suppose. Well, I have a meeting soon and if I don't have the proper papers with me, somebody is going to die."

"I'll pray for you," Nimwen replied sardonically.

"I shall speak with you later. And make sure you let Lori talk to me, okay?"

"I will, goodnight, Dorian."

"And goodmorning from my end, Nimwen. Take care as well, Mahvir, Denise."

"Dareth Shiral, Lord Dorian." Mahvir made to pass back the crystal to Nimwen

"Bye, Mortal crystal person!" Deceit clicked her beak. Her eyes glistened in the night. "Book, now, Dirthy!"

The light emanating from the crystal faded, and then went completely dark. Nimwen was slightly sad to see it fade, taking Dorian's voice with it, but it had been worth it to hear from her friend again and to know he was safe.

"Well, that was Dorian," she said to Mahvir as she tucked the crystal back into her shirt.

"I'm rather glad he missed Deceit calling him a mortal. Ouch!" Mahvir jumped when Deceit pecked him. At once his leg crumpled and Mahvir struck the ground. "Deceit," he growled.

"Mahvir!" At once Nimwen was hovering. "What happened, where does it hurt? Is it your hip? It's the hip isn't it?"

"Nimwen, I am fine. Just stepped wrong on my bad leg." He glared at Deceit. "You're not getting the rest of All this Shit is Weird tonight, Deceit. So stop with the pecking."

"I still want to check on your stab wound," Nimwen insisted. "I've let you handle it yourself for a while, but I want to see how far it's healed. To make sure everything's all right."

Deceit grumbled. She took off and claimed her spot next to Fear on the bed roll Nimwen had originally brought along for Mahvir. All the while the demon complained about not getting to read anymore of the book. She settled down and tucked her beak under one wing.

Mahvir straightened on the ground. "It's healing fine, Nimwen. You needn't worry so much." Mahvir smiled at her.

Nimwen crossed her arms. "Mahvir, in my experience when people say they're 'fine,' they really aren't. You remembered what I said if I found out you were lying about being hurt, right?"

"That I would be in 'big' trouble," there was amusement in his voice at this. "I've pondered this 'trouble' you spoke of and find it rather amusing you view me as a child at times like this."

Nimwen's eyes widened. "I, uh." She felt her cheeks warm up. "I apologize if I've been patronizing, that hasn't been my intention." She had no idea how it had gotten to this point, especially since Mahvir was centuries older than her.

A soft chuckle came from Mahvir. "It's rather refreshing to be treated in such away sometimes." He sighed and then bowed his head, long hair falling around his face in a tangled mass. He had taken the time to clean his hair but hadn't bothered with keeping it nice. "It's just odd to have someone care again, especially in the way you do."

"I'm sorry you've had to go so long," Nimwen said, gentle. "I'm hoping you won't have to go that long again, not if I can help it." She looked him up and down, then sighed. "If you refuse to let me see your wound, then at least let me do something with your hair. No offense, but it's a mess and I fear that creatures will start living in it."

Mahvir chuckled. He pulled a dagger from his belt. "I was going to cut it when we made it back to the city. I can do so now though." He twisted his hair and placed the dagger behind the the twisted mass.

"Oh, no, you don't," Nimwen protested. She grabbed his hand before he could cut. "Do you want it to be an uneven mess? Let me cut it for goodness sake."

"It's how I've always cut my hair. What's wrong with the uneven mess?"

"Consistency is not the same thing as quality," Nimwen insisted. 'Goodness, I sound like Vivienne right now,' she thought to herself. "Hair is an important thing and it deserves to be cut nicely."

"Hair is an important thing?" Mahvir tilted his head to one side. "Forgive the question, but if this is true then what do you think of Solas being bald?" his voice was light, teasing.

Nimwen sputtered. "W-well, it...just let me do it, mister sassy-britches."

"Sassy-britches?" Mahvir chuckled and bowed his head. "Very well, Nimwen." He stood and limped over to the fire so they could have better light.

Nimwen put the dagger aside, then reached into her bag. "Where are you?" she mumbled to herself. Her hand dug around until it brushed against something wooden. "Aha." She put the object in her pocket then picked up the dagger. Nimwen shuffled so that she sat behind Mahvir. "Alright, before we even think about cutting your hair, we need to use this." She pulled her newly acquired comb from her pocket and started the large task of detangling his hair. "Look at all these tangles," she shook her head as she gingerly combed out the knots. "And you were just going to start hacking away without fixing this?"

"Why fix it? All the hair will be gone anyway." Mahvir didn't move even as he spoke, "I will admit I've never been the best at taking care of hair. And the last time someone actually cut my hair was…" he trailed off. "Twenty centuries ago, actually."

"Well, now you have me," Nimwen smirked. She patted his shoulder with her hook. "So just relax and don't question anything. Also, let me know if I pull to hard, these things have made a rat's nest." Nimwen grimaced as she felt her comb get stuck on a tangle.

"You could comb to just below my shoulders and not worry about the rest of the hair since that's going to be cut off," he pointed out.

Nimwen tsked. "You sound just like Sinderon," she said. "He got tired of combing out all his tangles and asked me to just cut it all off. Then, he ended up regretting cutting his hair and moped for a week. I swear for a giant, he could be a baby sometimes," she chuckled. She managed to get a small section of his hair tangle free."Your hair is nice though, like his," she added.

"I can imagine, he can be. I promise I won't be moping." He paused. "I used to wear my hair this length after the end of the First War when the People started to view us as kings. I didn't have to go anywhere and it was easier to forget about it. Granted, I also didn't have brush my hair either," he joked. "Falon'Din loved the attention the People gave us. I always wondered why I was called his reflection and he my shadow." Mahvir gave a choked laugh.

The mention of Falon'Din made Nimwen tense. She still remembered the visions she saw back back in Val Royeaux, the horrid scene between the two brothers. She was unsure what to say, fearful she would prod old wounds. "I think you would like Sinderon," she said. "He's a bit quiet, and it's hard sometimes to know what he's feeling, but he's sweet, even if he would never admit it."

Mahvir was careful not to move. "It is rare I get to meet clans," he mused. His voice became sad. "I wish there was a way to repair our people and build a new home for all of them without destroying this world to do so."

Nimwen finished combing out the knots. His hair now fell straight down his back, and felt soft beneath her fingers. She picked up the dagger. "I wish that too," she said quietly. Nimwen used her hook to separate a section of his hair, and slowly started to cut away at it. "If I had been told years ago, when I still lived with my clan, that there was a chance to create a world full of magic and this world would belong to the elves, I would have been overjoyed."

With delicate precision she trimmed away at all the split hairs and dead ends. Every now and then, she would exchange dagger for comb to brush away cut hairs.

"But I was ignorant back then, ignorant of the world beyond my clan. The only humans I'd ever seen were the occasional farmer or merchant we'd pass by in our travels, and I had never spoken to any of them. When I was sent to spy on the Conclave, that had been the first time I'd even been in a building.

"My time with the Inquisition… I finally learned what the outside world was really like. I met dwarves, Qunari, humans; other elves. They became my comrades, my followers; my friends. My world grew from my clan's aravels to all of Thedas, and I realized how beautiful it was."

Strands of black hair now covered the ground and in her lap.

"I love my people, and I want the elvhen to live good lives, happy lives," she said. "But this world is glorious in its own right, I will not take it away from the others just to lift up the elves, and I won't let Solas do it either. This world belongs to everyone." She set down the dagger and combed Mahvir's hair one last time. "What do you think?" she asked.

Mahvir had been silent all through her speech, remaining motionless. Now, he lifted his hand and touched his shoulder length hair. "My thanks, Nimwen." A long moment paused in which he looked up at the night sky. "Too many humans have elven blood now. Are they any less our People than those who are pure? To Solas they're no more our People than any other human. In the world he envisions, humans can never stand as equals to elvhen. While he would never enslave them, elves would still do so. Out of revenge, lust of power, and desire for greed. For those other races who also survived the world would become a living hell."

"Solas despises slavery, anything that takes away from people's freedoms, he would oppose passionately." Nimwen sighed. "Does he not realize he is making decisions for all of Thedas, taking away their choice? It makes me angry how blind he is, and it also makes me sad. For I fear if his plan succeeds, he will realize the world he'll create is not what he wanted."

"No man, no matter how powerful, can control the world. Not even a group of nine could do it, though we came close to controlling the fates of all elvhen. What Solas sees, is a way to undo the final desperate act to save our People from us. A way to make the pain he caused vanish. What he can't realize on his own is in doing so he will cause far more pain than what he thinks he's undoing."

"And that is why we must make him see reason," Nimwen said. She brushed the hair from her lap. "Whatever it takes, we will save him from himself."

Mahvir turned to Nimwen. His dark gaze intense in the light of the last embers from the fire. "Not we, Nimwen, you. You, alone, can convince where no others can. You will forever be his heart." He smiled. "And, in many ways, the better part of his conscious."

'Yet you couldn't get him to stay. Thrice.' Nimwen smiled, but she could tell it didn't reach her eyes. "I hope I'm enough." 'But you're not.'

Mahvir gave her a soft smile and placed his hand over hers. "Never underestimate the influence a woman has over her lover."

Nimwen chuckled. "So I shall save the world with my feminine wiles?" she teased.

"Perhaps and perhaps with just your presence at seeing him at his lowest point. Either way, you will save this world. Or Solas will end up being stopped by other means, means which can never involve death."

"I don't think it will be that simple. Otherwise I could have reasoned with him when he found me in the woods." Nimwen scowled. "I can't believe I let him get away, again."

"The circumstances weren't right then," Mahvir told her. "No matter what you told him, it would've only driven him to other extremes. Together we can create the circumstances which will set up the situation where he listens and hears you."

Nimwen raised a brow. "I don't understand, what sort of circumstances do you think are needed? And how are we supposed to arrange them? This isn't exactly Wicked Grace."

"Some tacticians would disagree there. They would say the world is but a board and the people pieces to be moved upon it." Mahvir frowned. "But this isn't what I am trying to say.

"The circumstances in which he listens depends on many matters. One of them is learning through his spies he has a daughter, placing piece by piece the information into his hands so he learns something good has come from him in the centuries since Elvhenan's destruction. Others depend upon us destroying pieces he needs to make it so he can rip down the Veil. And, others still..," Mahvir trailed off. "There is a lot."

"Such as…?" Nimwen had a feeling Mahvir was hiding something.

"A show of faith on your part. One which makes it clear you are on his side even if you don't believe in what he is doing." Mahvir pulled himself to his feet. "It's late, Nimwen, and you need rest before the last leg of the journey in the morning."

"Very well," she sighed. She stood up and collected the dagger and comb. "I'm sure you'll want this back," she said. She was about to hand him the dagger when she frowned. "Hold on."

Mahvir cocked an eyebrow. "You needn't worry about my hair, Nimwen. I am fine with it as it is."

"Just hold still, it shall only take a second." Part of his hair on the right side was slightly longer than the left. She took hold of it and quickly trimmed it. "There, now you're perfect," she grinned.

Mahvir chuckled. "My thanks, Nimwen." He took the dagger from her. "May your dreams be guarded." He bowed his head to her.

"Yours as well," she replied. Nimwen picked up her comb and put it back in her bag. She shuffled back into her sleeping roll, settling in with a sigh. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I almost can't wait to be back in Val Royeaux," she chuckled.

Mahvir had turned back to the fire and pulled out the carving for Lori. He didn't speak, only set to work on the carving once more.